Omorinsojo Spaine’s After 30 misses its mark at several turns but holds its own in the exploration of motherhood from an unusual POV: aversion. The sequel, which brings back the four girls—Temi (Damilola Adegbite), Nkem (Beverly Naya), Ama (Anee Icha) and Aisha (Meg Otanwa)—has them facing much tougher obstacles: grief, sexuality and motherhood.
Spaine dissects motherhood using Aisha. When we meet Aisha in After 30, she has just had a baby. In a fast-paced montage, we see her in the hospital holding the baby; her exhaustion is imminent. Temi’s voiceover plays over the scene: “This was one threesome Aisha would be happy to accommodate. Or so she thought.”
In the first few minutes, it is quickly established that Aisha abhors motherhood. So, when her husband, played by Patrick Diabuah, suggests they have another kid, she ties her tubes. During a devastating monologue, she admits to Nkem that she hated her child. This is in contrast to how motherhood is depicted in Nollywood, and it is important.
There is a belief rooted in and upheld by the patriarchy that women are born nurturers. It is why the system relegates women to household duties and presents motherhood and family life as the ultimate goal. Without it, women are unfulfilled. Aisha’s battle with motherhood squashes this belief. We witness her suffering as she tries to care for her child. She stumbles and loses her mind. With her, we see that the ability to nurture does not come with the vagina. Women are raised for motherhood and domesticity and this explains why women could be more nurturing than men, which points to a sociological construct and not biology.
Aisha’s story in After 30 is one of many women who were taught guilt and shame when they failed to perform patriarchal womanhood and motherhood. Motherhood within the patriarchy expects mothers to care for their child all on their own. They are to become omniscient the minute the baby comes into the world. In some Nigerian communities, nannies are frowned upon, and the mother is termed lazy. Aisha is forced to shoulder these expectations as she raises her child. Motherhood causes her so much anguish and yet she refuses to get a nanny because she feels “deep shame” about getting help.
For some mothers, this shame extends beyond being unable to solely care for their children. It is undergoing a Caesarean section instead of vaginal birth, which apparently comes with prestige as it adds “value” to womanhood. Many women speak about Caesarean sections as if it is a dent on the sanctity of motherhood. For others, it is the inability to produce milk, which is no fault of theirs or using epidurals during childbirth–an excruciating process. Patriarchal motherhood is punctuated by bequeathed shame and guilt. In After 30, Spaine excels in presenting the realities of numerous mothers often shrouded in hushed conversations or kept in silence.
During Aisha’s heartbreaking monologue, Spaine compels audiences to see the multidimensionality of motherhood. Aisha begins her monologue affirming the love she carries for her child before telling us she hated the little girl in the past. Going by the patriarchy’s creed, love is the only emotion a mother should nurse towards her child, but here, Spaine is saying no. Mothers are not saints incapable of negative feelings; they are human beings. By doing this, she destroys the pedestals and boxes mothers are confined to.
The irreversible decision Aisha makes to tie her tubes is of utmost significance and is an interesting tactic for a film like After 30. A woman raised within the walls of patriarchy decides she does not want more children and sticks to it. The halo effect is simply a placebo. Aisha lives contrary to popular notions held by the patriarchy; a woman’s greatest joy and desire is motherhood and without it, she is incomplete. But for Aisha, the word regret resonates more in relation to motherhood.
This depiction of motherhood, unfamiliar to Nollywood, and Nigerian society, is essential. For many years, mothers have kept their struggles with mothering hidden because to speak of it is to tell tales of their incapabilities as mothers; an abomination. More Nigerian women are choosing to be child free and for a society whose ideas are quite patriarchal, it is puzzling. They demand a list of reasons why a woman will steer off her “nature”, drown her “deepest desires” by refusing to birth kids. The Nigerian society is one that repudiates motherhood as anything but roses and rainbows. Thus, it celebrates the struggles of mothers, passing them badges for endurance in place of a resolution that makes the process easier.
The representation in After 30 is a rare instance of art imitating the experience of people who have chosen silence time and time again. A new mother grappling with the concept of motherhood could watch Aisha and be comforted by her lack of motherly omniscience. An older mother could forgive herself for resenting her kids. A young woman can rest in her decision to be child free.
After 30 fails at a lot of things but its critique of motherhood in a patriarchal setting is one that will echo for eons.
