He Informs, She Seeks Permission: What Our Mothers Couldn’t Say Out Loud

At some point in my work in research consultancy, some years back, we had a project which required I travelled to several farming communities to hold focus group discussions with both men and women farmers. One of the tools we used examined gender inequality, particularly in relation to access to and control over resources.

As the conversations unfolded, it became clear that inequality does not stop at land, money, or tools. It runs much deeper into household decision-making and everyday freedoms.

So I asked a simple question.

When a man needs to travel and be away from home for some days, does he inform his wife, or does he seek permission?

The group answered without hesitation. “A man informs his wife”.

Then I asked the same question about women.

If a woman needs to make a similar trip, does she inform her husband or seek permission?

This time, the answer changed. “A woman must seek permission”.

At that moment, something interesting happened. The women began to giggle. Not because the answer was funny, but because something deeply familiar had suddenly been spoken aloud. It was as if their everyday reality had been placed in front of them like a mirror.

They began to ask their own questions.Why is it that marriage is between two people, yet when it comes to movement and decision-making, the man informs, while the woman waits for approval?

Some of the men, noticing these giggles, then introduced the bride price into the conversation. They explained that because they had paid bride price, they had, in a sense, bought the woman. This shifted marriage from a relationship of partnership into something closer to ownership.

That was the moment my thoughts travelled beyond that room and back into history.

Were Our Mothers Really Happy?

We often hear people say that marriages in the olden days were better and that they lasted longer.

But a different question needs to be asked.

Were our mothers and grandmothers truly happy, or were they simply unable to leave?

Many of them stayed not because the marriage was fair or fulfilling, but because they had no education, no income of their own, no social permission to walk away, and no voice to question the rules.

Submission did not always come from love.

Sometimes, it came from dependence.

Their unhappiness did not disappear. It found expression in how they raised our parents, in how our parents raised us, and in how fiercely some of them pushed their daughters to go to school, to work, and to stand on their own feet.

So another question emerges.

If those marriages were truly perfect, what called for change?

Why did women begin to fight for education?

Why did they seek financial independence?

Why did they want a voice?

Perhaps what we are seeing today is not rebellion, but a delayed response to pain that could not be spoken then.

Change Did Not Come from Nowhere

Our forefathers built a certain narrative about marriage, authority, and gender roles. That narrative shaped our mothers’ lives. The cracks in that system shaped the changes we see today.

Now we are building another narrative, whether consciously or unconsciously.

That is what should concern us.

If we do not understand what went wrong before, what women endured silently, and what inequalities still hide inside what we call normal practices, then the next generation may also change things, but for the wrong reasons.

This is why intent matters.

Traditions are not just actions. They are messages. They teach people what is acceptable, what is expected, and what is allowed. When we do things without understanding why we do them, we pass down behaviour without meaning. We inherit systems without questioning their purpose.

And when intent is unclear, harm can be repeated in new forms.

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A Question for All of Us

This reflection is not meant to accuse men.

It is not meant to glorify women.

It is not meant to romanticise the past or dismiss the present.

This reflection came from a simple field question.

He informs. She seeks permission.

Yet it opened a door into history, pain, tradition, power, and change.

I do not claim to have the answers.

But I believe the questions matter.

So I ask you.

• Which traditions protected families, and which ones silenced people?

• What kind of narrative are we building for the next generation?

• How do we build marriages today that are based on partnership rather than permission?

  
  

Let us talk.

Not to fight tradition.

Not to attack men.

Not to blame women.

But to understand why change came and how to guide it wisely.

Because when we fail to articulate the intent behind what we do, we inherit systems without wisdom. And when we clarify intent, we create room for healthier choices, better relationships, and a future built on understanding rather than fear.