For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard my mother say that we women are responsible for the home, for the children and, above all, for the care of husbands. And for as long as I can recall, outside my home, in my godmother’s house and in church I’ve also heard that it is women who are the guilty ones, responsible for any misfortune, so much so that as a child I tried as hard as I could to be a boy and not a girl. I wouldn’t play with dolls, I didn’t play house with kitchen sets, I was better than boys my own age in everything we called “boys’ games.” This was my way of proving I was different from other girls who, apparently, were so fragile and had so little freedom.

What good was it to be a girl?

I learned everything I could about being...

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