“If ‘Ashawo’ Doesn’t Move You, You’ve Won Half the Battle” — Nigerian Women Redefine Power Through Indifference

In a society where labels are often used as weapons, a single word — “ashawo” — carries the weight of centuries of moral policing and gender bias. Yet, in the ever-evolving social landscape of Nigeria, women are learning that indifference can be the ultimate armor. This truth recently went viral after a Nigerian lady, identified as Eloho Johnson, took to X (formerly Twitter) to share a piece of advice that resonated deeply with thousands of Nigerian women. “If the word ‘ashawo’ doesn’t get to you as a Nigerian woman, just know you’ve solved 50% of your problems,” she wrote.

Her statement, simple yet powerful, sparked a cascade of reactions, stories, and reflections on what it truly means to be a woman navigating judgment, patriarchy, and societal expectations in Nigeria. Beneath the humor and banter of the internet’s response lies a profound message: the journey toward emotional freedom in a culture that often seeks to shame women for merely existing outside prescribed boxes.

One of the most striking responses came from a user named Ifediche, who recounted a personal experience that captured the essence of Eloho’s words. She shared how she wore a thigh-slit black gown to an event and, due to poor road conditions, had to hop on a bike to cross. “I had climbed and sat down before I noticed a man staring at my laps which I covered with my bag. When he saw I had caught him, he hissed and said, ‘Ashawo! No tight, no pant, just disgracing your family,’” she wrote. “I said, ‘Normally,’ and laughed loudly as the bike moved.”

Her laughter — defiant, confident, and utterly unbothered — became the symbol of what many women wish they could do in the face of everyday shaming. For countless Nigerian women, being called “ashawo” isn’t new; it’s a label society throws at them for almost anything: wearing a short dress, laughing too loudly, walking alone at night, having male friends, speaking their mind, or simply existing in confidence. But as Eloho and others are now showing, the real rebellion lies not in fighting the label, but in stripping it of its power.

The conversation around “ashawo” has long been one of moral hypocrisy. In Nigeria, where issues of gender inequality remain entrenched, women’s clothing and behavior are constantly policed under the guise of culture and morality. Yet, the same society that condemns women for being “immodest” often turns a blind eye to the double standards that protect men from similar scrutiny. The word “ashawo” — meant to shame — has ironically become a mirror reflecting the insecurities and control issues of those who use it.

What’s changing now is the collective response. More women are choosing laughter over anger, confidence over fear, and self-expression over conformity. Social media, often a breeding ground for judgment, has also become the stage for women reclaiming the narrative. Comments flooded under Eloho’s tweet, with users echoing her sentiment and sharing their own stories of choosing peace over validation.

One user joked that maybe the term “ashawo” has lost its sting because it’s been overused. “Isn’t there like another title?” she wrote. “This ashawo is too popular now o. Maybe Ashbaby or Ashwee?” The humor was infectious, but beneath it was a quiet revolution — the collective desensitization to a word once wielded as an insult.

What Eloho highlighted, and what Ifediche’s story embodied, is a form of social awakening. The Nigerian woman is no longer bending under the pressure of labels. She is reclaiming her autonomy, her choices, and even the words used against her. Whether it’s through laughter, fashion, or self-assurance, this generation of women is learning that freedom isn’t granted — it’s taken, one act of indifference at a time.

But the conversation isn’t just about emotional strength; it’s also about calling out the cultural conditioning that normalizes such verbal attacks. For too long, men have been emboldened to hurl derogatory words at women for doing absolutely nothing wrong. A woman walks confidently down the street, and someone mutters “ashawo.” She dances at a party — “ashawo.” She posts a picture online — “ashawo.” The ease with which the word is used speaks volumes about the casual sexism embedded in the social fabric.

And yet, women like Eloho are proving that language only has as much power as you give it. Once you stop reacting, the weapon becomes useless. The man who called Ifediche “ashawo” wanted her to be embarrassed, to shrink, to feel lesser. Instead, she laughed — and in that moment, she won.

It’s a dynamic that is becoming increasingly common among young Nigerian women. Many are using social media not just to share their experiences but to build solidarity. There’s a growing understanding that the collective refusal to be shamed creates a stronger, freer community. By normalizing resilience and humor in the face of misogyny, they’re dismantling the old systems of control one tweet at a time.

Of course, this doesn’t mean the battle is over. Gender-based insults still reflect deeper societal issues — from the lack of respect for women’s autonomy to the persistent culture of victim-blaming. But as more voices rise to challenge these norms, the cultural shift becomes undeniable. The new Nigerian woman is bold, unfiltered, and unwilling to internalize anyone’s small-minded opinions.

Eloho’s viral statement might seem lighthearted, but its impact runs deep. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most radical act of resistance is to simply not care. In a world that constantly tries to define women by what they wear, how they talk, or whom they love, choosing indifference to judgment is revolutionary.

Ifediche’s story, Eloho’s tweet, and the responses that followed have now become a digital snapshot of empowerment in real time — proof that the tides are turning. Nigerian women are no longer waiting for permission to exist freely. They’re creating their own space, their own standards, and their own sense of peace.

Perhaps that’s why Eloho’s message struck such a chord. It wasn’t just a statement; it was a survival guide. In a country where being called ashawo is almost a rite of passage for daring to live fully, the ultimate victory is not letting it define you.

So maybe the real advice is this: the day the word “ashawo” no longer rattles you, you’ve truly begun to live on your own terms. And in a society that profits off your silence, your laughter — loud, confident, and unbothered — might just be the most powerful sound of all.