“I did not pay her Mahr just for her to turn around and challenge my authority.” a man blurted out to my hearing for the umpteenth time and I knew that this was a topic I couldn’t put aside anymore. For some time now, I’ve found myself in circles where the subject of conversation has been about drawing a parallel between slavery and marriage and whether or not there’s any practical difference between the two. Lots of women have argued that the term “marriage” which connotes a union of love and mutuality has been plastered upon slavery to make it…

Dear Memuna,

My maternal great grandmother. I can feel your blood running through my veins. You departed this world just a year after I was born, before my mind became mature enough to remember your face. But I’ve heard stories of you; stories that make my heart swell at the privilege of being your great-grand daughter. My mother spoke of your sass, your no-nonsense attitude and the way you raised the middle finger at those who tried to stand in your way.

I was told that you were a little woman who took up big spaces. And who am I not to…

Here’s How I Did It.

I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. I used to be so focused and productive. I would write a to-do list and smash almost all the items on my list. Those were the glorious days when it felt like I was not just a dreamer but a doer. As time went on, FOMO got me glued to my phone screen almost every hour of the day. I would wake up to chiming notifications and a beaming blue light beside my pillow. I would spend most of my waking moments tethered to my phone. I would delay projects, postpone assignments…

My mother showed me pictures of my great-grandmother. She was a smart, petite woman with skin the shade of a walnut. I saw admiration in the eyes of everyone who talked about her. They spoke of her sass, her affluence, and how she raised her middle finger when the world tried to draw her back. I was told that my younger sister shared her traits; the petite body, high cheekbones, and walnut skin. My mother would work thick pastes of Vaseline jelly into my sister’s skin until it came out shiny like raw black gold. I, on the other hand…

Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse

It’s 10 pm. I’m doing my usual bedtime reading just before my eyes get heavy and my hands get light enough to drop the book without me even noticing that I did. I’m drawn into the story of Carole, the fourth character in Bernadine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other. A few pages in and an involuntary “Oh my God!” glides off my lips, causing my heart to stop for a split second. It’s the second time I’m reading this chapter. Yet, I can’t seem to get over the horror of what happened to her. A chill breeze…

I can’t remember when those nightmares began to haunt me. For as long as I can remember, drifting into the arms of sleep meant drifting into the land of terror. The most recurrent dream was me finding myself in the kitchen of my childhood home, riding a walker as a baby and having scalding-hot water from a stainless-steel kettle emptied unto my body. After that, I would have bouts of insomnia, until the daylight tickles my eyes into full wakefulness. I kept this dream to myself for so many years. …

“If there is anything behind a face, that face improves with age.”
~ Karen de Crow

I am climbing up the stairs that lead to our apartment, tiptoeing into my mother’s colossal dressing room to hide from the other kids. Rather than hide, I stand by the door and stare at my mother. She is wrapped in a cream cotton towel, water dripping from her face and body. I watch her rub blue seal Vaseline on her wet skin, comb out her shea butter infused hair and slip into a big pair of trousers under large boubou blouse.

My mother…

This Is Us

One late September evening, my husband and I were chatting at the dining table in my father’s home. Our conversation was interrupted by a high-pitched meow from the window. It was the tomcat that had fathered Coco’s kittens.

I heard pain in his voice. He had shrunk in size from the last time I saw him, months before my mother moved out and took Coco and the kittens with her. He appeared to have not recovered from the agony of the sudden separation, a tortured soul wandering the neighborhood in grief. The sight of him changed the mood.

That night…