“Girls should not show their shoulders”, “Decent girls don’t expose their thighs”, “Your skirt should not be short”, and “Who are you trying to seduce with your dress?”
These and many more similar phrases have been echoed through the ages, a mantra of misogyny that refuses to fade. The words are often laced with a sense of entitlement, a belief that society has the right to dictate what women wear and how they present themselves to the world.
Recently, a friend narrated her ordeal with a stranger at a bus station who felt the absolute need to loudly tag her an ashewo (prostitute) for wearing a sleeveless turtleneck shirt and female work pants. According to this stranger, leaving her shoulders exposed was proof of her looseness.
Fueled by anger and curiosity, I decided to research what “appropriate fashion” was for women in Africa, and I could not be more appalled by my findings. From close family members to strangers on the streets and those in positions of authority, the policing of women’s clothing is a pervasive plague.
Uganda’s miniskirt ban
While Uganda is among Africa’s most culturally diverse countries, it once had what I term ‘the most misogynistic restrictions’. In 2014, The Anti-pornography Bill was introduced, leading to a ban on “indecent dressing”. Women were required to wear sleeved blouses that covered their cleavage, navel, and back, and soon faced harassment and arrest if they were seen wearing skirts or shorts that stopped “above the knee”. The introduction of the bill, dubbed ‘the miniskirt ban’ by the media, prohibited women from revealing their thighs, breasts, and buttocks, and dressing in a manner that could ‘sexually excite’.
In response, about 200 women dressed in short skirts gathered outside Uganda’s national theatre to voice their anger, but it wasn’t until 2021 that the legislation was scrapped. Uganda’s constitutional court said the law was “inconsistent with or contravening the constitution of the Republic of Uganda”.
Nigeria’s web of restrictions
In Nigeria, a complex web of laws, social norms, and cultural expectations ensnares women’s fashion choices, dictating what they can and cannot wear. In the streets of northern Nigeria, a moral police force known as the Hisbah Board or the Sharia Police seeks out women who dare to dress in a way deemed “immoral” or “indecent”.
With a zealot’s fervour, they swoop in, arresting and detaining women for the “crime” of wearing tight clothing, short skirts, or low-cut tops. The accused are then subjected to detention, interrogation, and forced Islamic education classes, all designed to shame and intimidate them into conformity.
Strict dress codes in universities also restrict women’s body autonomy, and a major contributing factor is religion. In Nigeria, a largely religious country, conservative dressing is seen as the standard for women, and this spills into schools, the best of which are run by religious individuals.
Islamic schools in Nigeria enforce hijabs and abayas, while Christian schools ban denims, pants, skirts that stop anywhere above the knees and more. An inability to measure up to the school’s standard results in severe punishments. From banning tight-fitting clothing to enforcing modest necklines, these rules reinforce a damaging narrative: that women’s bodies are inherently provocative and must be controlled. By policing women’s attire, universities reduce them to objects of scrutiny and shame.
No trousers for Sudanese women
In 2014, there was outrage as twelve women faced 40 lashes for the crime of wearing trousers. Thanks to Omar al-Bashir’s Islamist regime, harsh interpretations of sharia law meant thousands of Sudanese women, irrespective of religion, were arrested each year for “public order” offences such as wearing trousers and short skirts.
Reuters reports that many of the strict social rules that once defined Sudan are gradually easing since Omar al-Bashir’s Islamist regime was overthrown in 2019. The new Sovereign Council passed a law banning the party of ex-president Omar al Bashir, and repealed the misogynistic legislation banning women from attending parties or wearing trousers.
That said, restrictive laws are still in place that bar women from dressing freely. They are not allowed to wear skirts and are constantly advised to dress “modestly”. For women, T-shirts should cover your top part, including your chest and shoulders, while the jeans cover your legs past the knees.
Conservative Lesotho
In Lesotho, a deeply ingrained cultural heritage influences women’s fashion choices, where tradition and modesty are deeply intertwined. While no explicit laws govern women’s attire, societal norms encourage conservative dressing, favouring traditional “seshoeshoe” dresses and discouraging revealing or tight-fitting clothing. In rural areas, women’s choices are further limited, with pants and trousers seen as unacceptable.
Rejecting the pressure to conform
The rules are clear: dress modestly, dress demurely, and dress to avoid attention. But what happens to self-expression? What happens to the simple freedom to be? What if society acknowledged that our bodies are ours and our choice of clothing is no one’s business but ours?
@joolieannie
The weight of societal expectations can be crushing, as women face relentless pressure to conform to “modest” dressing norms in every aspect of their lives. From the workplace to the market, the bus stop to the family gathering, the gaze of judgement is ever-present, scrutinising every hemline, every neckline, every inch of skin. A woman’s choice of clothing is not just about personal style, but also about constant negotiation with cultural norms, religious expectations, and familial obligations.
I celebrate women who dare to dress differently and who refuse to be bound by the chains of conformity. Ultimately, it’s not about our clothes but the freedom to choose, express, and be. I envision a continent where women can dress without fear of judgement, and fashion becomes a tool of liberation, not oppression.
