Post by Prince Atanda (@princewriter01)

Why It Sucks to Be Born a Princess in Precolonial Yorubaland.

Let me take you back.

Your father is the king. He has 15 queens. Your mother is the 7th.

The day you are born, there is joy. You are a girl. They ask the midwife: Isun or iwale? Life or death? They said isun. A smooth delivery.

But your mother is not happy. She knows the truth. A prince would have solidified her position. A princess? You are a bargaining chip. Born into danger.

At 5, you realize you are not alone. Too many princesses to count. You play among royal children but never leave the palace.

At 7, you are enrolled in the queen's private classes. They teach you how to speak. How to sit. How to eat. You must speak poetically. You cannot say "I want to defecate." You must say "I want to lower myself." You realize you must be difficult to understand. That is what it means to be a princess.

At 8, your mother stops you from counting your siblings. "It is forbidden to count children that are not yours." Your world has rules.

You sit at the king's feet with other princesses. You realize he is selling your beauty to entertain guests. "I have beautiful daughters," he boasts.

The king's first daughter was married off at 15. She cried on her wedding night. You did not understand why.

At 10, palace staff take you to the king's mother's court outside the capital. She must not live in the same palace as the king. You are confused.

On the way, you see a commoner bride. She is 18 or 20. Old for marriage. You realize she is a businesswoman. A basket seller. You start questioning your royal life. What are commoners expressing that you cannot?

At the king's mother's court, you are sent to apprentice as a potter. "I am a princess! I cannot be an apprentice." But you are Yoruba. You do not speak when elders speak.

You learn the rules. You make friends. They cannot understand your poetic words. You adapt. They love you because you do not treat them as outsiders.

After 3 years, you return to the palace. Smarter. Humble. You respect the slaves. You make friends with them.

Your step brother who was rude has become humble after his apprenticeship. You laugh and share stories. You wonder who invented this system.

You start wishing for a common life. You see how free they are, even with taxes on their necks. You wish you could choose your husband. You still want to marry a prince.

But your father has other plans. You will marry a local chief. The 5th wife.

"No!" you say. "It cannot be! My status!"

But this is your world. This is the system. Freedom is for the poor until war comes. Then you are prioritized, and the poor suffer for a history that does not account for them. History does not account for you either.

You get married. You see the system. The wives are all working. You know these women are independent unless they are noble and royal. Still, your co-wives are jealous. They want you to respect them. You do. But they take your respect as humility. This is not Omoluabi behavior.

You suffer poison attempts. You start working. You gain influence. Some resent you because the market is about you. Iyalode gives you a position. You go home with money. But going home feels like walking into an assassin's trap.

You decide to divorce your husband. Your mother rejects it. "You are a princess. You should be a role model." But you have rights. You say no.

Your father says nothing. You are welcome back to the palace. Every girl is welcome in her parents' home in Yorubaland, if she can bear the slur: Adelebo. Divorcée.

Iyalode and other women support you. You are never alone. You purchase a house. You start your life. Your property.

You look back at your life. You are now a lonely, influential woman with no husband. Perhaps you will have one. But it will not be a prince or a king.

Perhaps it might be no one at all.

Now let me ask you.

Was being a princess a privilege or a prison?

And who does history remember? The queens who built empires, or the ones who chose peace?

This is Prince Atanda. Telling the stories history forgot.

Follow me for more untold stories.

#lekeelekee #YorubaHistory #Princess #PrecolonialNigeria #Royalty #WomenHistory #UntoldStories #Unfiltered #PrinceAtanda

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