14/05/2026
Growing up, I was raised in a strict African, Christian home.
My parents were very particular about how we dressed.
You dare not wear a skirt above the knee.
Trousers were completely off the table — my mum had strong feelings about those.
No cleavage, no exposed backs, no statement earrings; only pins or studs were permitted.
If you grew up in a Christian-Nigerian household, you already know exactly what I'm talking about.
And then there was the triangular living: school, church, home.
That was the full extent of the world as we knew it.
I remember one time my dad bought me a camo outfit. Very beautiful fit and asked me to try it on and show him.
I was so excited.
I put it on, loved what I saw in the mirror, and went bouncing off to find him.
On the way, my mum spotted me.
She gave me the look. Then she sped straight past me to my dad's room.
The next thing I knew, I was told to take them off. And that was that.
We never wore trousers until my sister and I started volunteering at an orphanage that issued uniforms.
Trousers were the only acceptable workwear, for males and females alike.
My family couldn't argue with that.
And once the door cracked open, I quietly started buying lovely ones for everyday use.
Fast forward to now. My mum visited me in London, and I stepped out with my husband in short skirts, trousers, whatever I fancied that day. She didn't bat an eyelid.
And I've been wondering ever since; what changed?
Has she quietly given up on my heavenly race? Is it different once you're married? Does distance dissolve the rules?
Anyway, whatever her reasons, I have decided that when she visits next, I will be initiating her into the trouser- wearing gang too.
And I shall be sharing it with the world.
Good evening beautiful people.