I woke up in the morning feeling unsure of myself. It was as if the world had been watching and judging me as I slept. I got up and hurried to look in the mirror.

Something was not right. My hair was an affliction, my eyes were not bright and my smile did not radiate. For the first time I caught a glimpse of my breasts. They were but oddly shaped tiny melons. My shoulders looked broad.

For the first time I realised how much weight I had gained. I wanted to scream but my voice was coarse and unpleasant.

I wasn’t bad looking, I was just in bad shape. So I got to work. I dipped my hair in chemicals, I glued, I crotched, I ironed and straightened. Nature often has to be reminded of things, a girl has to make up for the gap. I painted something in and painted something out.

The rules for my clothing are quite simple but difficult to master. My skirt has to be short yet long. My top must show just a little cleavage, a girl can’t have her breasts dangling about in public. The secret, I found, is a tight push-up bra to prop them up. I put on my stilettos, a dash of perfume and I was ready for the world.

On that first step outside, the world’s indifference hit me like a ton of bricks. I was not met with appreciative smiles or friendly affirmative gestures. What met me were greedy lustrous eyes that looked at me like a juicy piece of steak to be devoured.

By the end of day my feet were screaming blood and my knees were weak. As it turns out, stilettos are made for something other than walking. But I put on my smile, my job as a woman was not done. I still had to do the cleaning, the cooking and the washing.

Finally the day was done but there was another one just like it ahead. As I slept, in silence and darkness, I could not help but ask myself why. Why do I give so much to a world that gives so little in return?

Why do I cherish men who treat me like a prize? Why do I slave for employers who treat me like an exception? Why do I expand so much effort to a church that commits me to subservience? Why do I slave in labour for children who will one day neglect me? Why do I cherish so much a society that treats me with coldness and indifference?

I soon fell off to sleep. When I woke up in the morning all was well. I was a man again.


  • LLB (UKZN), MIBL (UCL, France). A student of Anarchism. I write in my personal capacity. bradleighcibane@gmail.com / @Brad_Cibane


Brad Cibane

LLB (UKZN), MIBL (UCL, France). A student of Anarchism. I write in my personal capacity. bradleighcibane@gmail.com / @Brad_Cibane

Leave a comment