The Weight of Tradition: Being the Eldest Daughter in African Families
- Lerato Nonyane
- Jun 16
- 3 min read
Updated: Jun 28
Growing up as the eldest—and only—daughter in my family, I have always carried invisible expectations that few openly acknowledge. As the eldest granddaughter with four brothers and a large extended family filled with both male and female relatives, my role is steeped in tradition, yet complicated by the dynamics of those around me.
In Xhosa culture, the eldest daughter is called Mafungwashe, a title that comes with responsibility, care, and leadership. In Sepedi culture, the Rakgadi—the paternal aunt—often carries similar duties, guiding younger family members and upholding traditions. My experience draws from both these rich cultural tapestries, intersecting with what psychologists describe as “eldest daughter syndrome” and the heavy reality of parentification.
Parentification is a key part of this story—the moment when a child, often without choice, is pushed into adult roles much earlier than peers. As Mafungwashe or Rakgadi, the eldest daughter often becomes the silent backbone of the family, tasked with managing younger siblings, resolving conflicts, and sometimes shielding parents from stress. These duties are rarely acknowledged but deeply felt. The role demands sacrifice and strength, often blurring the lines between childhood and adulthood, and sometimes leaving one feeling isolated.
I’ve often felt caught in a paradox. Family members sometimes see me as too bold, too ambitious, or too strong—qualities they say I need to be humbled from. Yet, these same qualities are why they depend on me so heavily. I am expected to lead, to support, and to hold the family together, but I am also frequently the last to be considered when it comes to opportunities or decisions. It’s a delicate balancing act, being both underestimated and overly relied upon.
Navigating family dynamics with four older brothers and male cousins has its own challenges. In many ways, they are given priority in decisions and cultural expectations, while I carry much of the emotional labor and unspoken household responsibilities. Sometimes, female family members reinforce these expectations, echoing traditions that place me at a disadvantage—reminding me to be less outspoken, less ambitious, less “too much.” Despite this, I speak not from bitterness but from an authentic place of understanding. I see the weight of history and culture that shapes these dynamics, and I have learned to navigate them with resilience.
The contradictory nature of these experiences—being pushed to lead yet held back, being strong yet expected to be humble—has shaped me into a self-sufficient woman and a leader in my own
right. In a world that desperately needs transformational leadership, these lessons are invaluable. I’ve learned the importance of holding space for myself—to recognize my worth beyond family expectations, to set boundaries without guilt, and to pursue my ambitions unapologetically. Embracing the duality of being both caregiver and bold leader has allowed me to grow into a role that transcends tradition, facing the world with courage and authenticity.
Holding space for oneself is both an act of courage and necessity. It means creating time to reflect and recharge, nurturing dreams alongside family needs, and giving oneself permission to grow on one’s own terms—especially when cultural expectations push against that growth.
For anyone walking a similar path, remember: your strength lies not only in what you give to others but also in how fiercely you protect and honor your own journey.
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