Blackgirl

Hiiii, so I have a confession,  I AM A FEMINIST , how stupid does that sound, that in this day and time that has to be a declaration but sadly it is, given the comments and shocked looks I get when they find out I am. Just like a while back I was with a friend and we were discussing marriage I think and then I said I don’t think it’s compulsory to get married and then she was like  “Ah, I hope you have not joined those feminism people’’, I was shocked but I still said “ err , I am a feminist’’. Then she went into a talk, the whole time she was speaking you’d  think I joined a cult or a militant group.  In a way I can’t blame her as a lot of people still think a whole  lot of things when they hear feminism; ·         They think we hate men ·         They think we are against marriages ·         They think it’s about who cooks or does chores. ...

This piece is inspired by the kids I see on a regular in major markets in Accra. A lot of them  female, barely speaking English and not in school.     At the break of light Up, work starts Assembling, collecting Cleaning tools of service Vessels of steel, made for lifting Constant carrying, constant movement All to make dime for daily bread Scorching sun and rainy days  Never derails our helping hands Little bodies, heavy load Dark skin, sweat beads, flowy skirts Up and down Making business Night comes, loads go We clear our vessels Make beds at roadsides Our makeshift homes For tomorrow comes, When we shall again rise Hurdling and gathering at selling stops To use our vessels to lift others burdens

OK the moment we’ve all being waiting for (basically me) *drumroll*  MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!. So I rang in the day with Beauty and the Beast, with the closing credits ending two  minutes before 12:00 am, prayed into the new year and had a pretty chill day.  I’m really excited, not just because it’s my birthday but also because it’s a major milestone in my life for a lot of reasons. This  past year has been amazing, like really and I am grateful for the things I’ve learnt and i'm proud of myself.  This year I achieved some pretty badass things; ·          Watched a late night movie(almost midnight) ·          Snuck Suya/Kebab (whatever you call it) into the cinema hall ·           Officially launched and became serious with this blog ·          Started writing again( halleluiah) and read some a...

This week should have been great but it is not, I have a lot of work to do, my skin is messing up. I mean it's my birthday week, the least I deserve is a clear face but no, I have the worst acne I have ever had. Well, life is just a pot of beans but we move.  The fear, the regrets, the loving Losses, angst, despair All fuel our inner desires Of wanting, of being , of having Living everyday wary Of pointing fingers and shaking heads Not living our self Not going all the way Living out our wildest dreams Exploring our fantasies Toeing the line Communing as a pedantic Failing to live in today So we do not have to live tomorrow Dreams drenched in regrets And a life of sorry sighs

A lot of times, you'll see posts from people about how much they love their moms because of all the things she has done for them, how much she has sacrificed, how much she has suffered. A lot of them have this illusion that for you to be a very good woman you have to suffer or give the whole of yourself to your family.  Let me put it this way, from their 'appreciation' of mothers, it shows that majority of them won't love their mom if she didn't sacrifice for them because of course they have they no other reason to. Because of course motherly love = suffering. It’s this kind of mentality that keeps women bound in unhealthy, abusive, emotionally and physically draining relationships because they want to be seen as good mothers.  As young girls we are taught to kowtow and bend to the wills of men, so as not to inconvenience them. We are told to live our lives to please men, made to see men as the prize. ''Oh is this how you'll behave in your husband h...

This piece was heavily motivated by something that happened to me, when I went back  to Nigeria. I was so pissed all I could do was write. so here it is  Sneaky as they come Smiling on the way Dressed in sincerity Cloud of lies surround you Hiding your true self Your sneaky self Goodwill never can cover who you pretend to be Swiping and stealing when eyes are moved Tiptoes and hidden stashes Digging holes of mistrust among brethren Each a suspect to the other But there you are in their midst Grinning and shaking hands Just to empty purses where eyes are not