When Men Cry Over Losing the Right to Marry Girl Children

There’s a video circulating online that’s hard to unsee.

A grown man — face twisted in outrage — lamenting that Somalia’s parliament has betrayed men by ratifying a law that protects children.

His complaint? That the government has stolen their right to marry girls.

Not just children — girl children.

Because no one is marrying off boys.

And that distinction matters. Because what’s happening here isn’t about “child marriage.” It’s about the systematic control of the girl child — stripping her of choice, of safety, and of a childhood that should be hers by birthright.

The hypocrisy of “culture” and “religion”

Somalia recently ratified the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child, finally joining 51 other African nations in affirming a simple truth: children deserve protection.

The charter explicitly condemns harmful practices — including girl child marriage and female genital mutilation — and calls for a minimum marriage age of 18.

But within days came the caveat:

Government officials clarified that any clause “contradicting Islamic law” would not apply.

Translation?

We will protect children — but only when it doesn’t challenge men’s entitlement.

That isn’t protection.

That’s performance.

And it’s the same tired playbook used across the continent, where “tradition” and “religion” are wielded as weapons to justify harm. It’s not culture — it’s control.

Because no culture built on the suffering of girls deserves preservation.

The theft of choice

Across Africa, many girls are not raised to have choice — they are raised to comply.

From the moment they can walk, choices begin to shrink.

They don’t choose who to marry.

They don’t choose when to become mothers.

They don’t choose their futures — they inherit them through silence and expectation.

A girl’s voice is often buried under layers of obedience, fear, and survival.

And even when she dares to whisper “no,” the world calls her defiant — as if defiance is a sin instead of self-preservation.

This is what makes these laws, and their reversals, so dangerous: they don’t just dictate policy; they dictate who is allowed to decide their own life.

When girls are not seen as children

Let’s be honest: Black and African girls have never been given the full grace of childhood.

They are called “fast” instead of innocent, “tempting” instead of vulnerable.

Even in the West, Black girls are disciplined more harshly, sexualised more readily, and protected less fiercely.

Their bodies are policed, their voices doubted, their pain dismissed.

So when a man cries online because he’s been “robbed” of the right to marry girls, children – it isn’t just about Somalia — it’s about a world that still refuses to see Black and African girls as children worthy of safety, softness, and time to grow.

A global silence that betrays them

Where is the outrage?

Where are the international campaigns, the loud condemnations, the relentless advocacy?

Too often, the suffering of African girls is met with silence.

They are not trending topics.

Their trauma rarely goes viral.

And yet, every day, somewhere across this continent, another girl’s choice is stolen under the banner of “culture/religion.”

But culture should never require the sacrifice of girls.

Faith should never demand their silence.

And protection should never be conditional.

The tears of patriarchy

That man crying online isn’t grieving a religious loss — he’s grieving the collapse of control.

Because an educated girl is hard to manipulate.

A girl who knows her worth won’t be sold.

And a generation of women who refuse silence will not go back quietly.

This backlash isn’t about faith — it’s about fear.

Fear of what happens when girls have choices.

Fear of what happens when they have freedom.

Fear of what happens when they finally see themselves as worthy of living their lives on their own terms.

What true protection looks like

Ratification without enforcement is just performance.

Protection must mean laws that stand firm — even when men cry.

It must mean communities that see girls as futures, not property.

It must mean giving girls what patriarchy has always denied them: the power to choose.

Because the truth is this — when girls have choices, families prosper.
When girls have education, nations rise.
When girls are free, the world changes.

Koya Nkrumah

A call to those who have lived it — and those who can change it

To every woman who was married before she had a chance to dream, to every girl who was told obedience was her destiny, to every survivor who still carries shame that was never hers —please know this: you were never the problem.

What was done to you was not faith. It was not love.

It was a theft — of your childhood, your choices, your voice.

But you are not broken. You are evidence of survival, and you are not alone anymore.

May these words reach you like a quiet hand in the dark, reminding you that healing belongs to you now. You still have the right to choose — even if the world once said you didn’t.

And to everyone reading this:

Don’t scroll away in silence.

Share this story. Talk about it with your daughters, your students, your sisters, your sons.

Because change doesn’t start in parliaments — it starts in conversations, in courage, in the refusal to look away.

💜 Change Through Shared Experiences — because our stories can save lives.