When I was a teenager, I lied about my name. True story. (Oh, irony.) My old friends once asked me what my middle initial, "O", stood for. I didn't tell them the truth. I didn't want anyone to know my very African middle name. I had visions of them balking and laughing and eyes widening …
Umbrellas.
Unlike Southern California, it really doesn't rain in West Africa. With the exception of the Harmattan season, where I have sweet memories of my mom gently rubbing lip balm across my lips to protect against the dry, windy weather outside, nothing really disrupted the hot, sunny days back home. Imagine the interesting reaction me and …
We Need to Talk About This.
So it's no surprise that I'm quietly freaking out about this. You know I love her. Here's why I'm happy with People's choice this year: 1. Does my Lupita (because she's mine, really) need a magazine to declare her beautiful? No, she doesn't. But this is icing on the cake. Such sweet icing. 2. We've …
The Unmarried African Woman. (shudder)
Some of you know this woman. She's your sister, your friend, your fellow cubicle dweller who insists on playing 70s soft rock on her Pandora station, your daughter, your cousin. Some of you don't believe that the fact that she's an Unmarried African Woman (UAM)Â needs to be capitalized, or even an issue. And if that's …
how not to be ignorant about Africa.
We won't get into exactly what inspired this post, only that its absolute necessity is imperative. Shall we, then? Africa is a continent. Not a country. When something weird happens in a country within the continent of Africa, it does not represent the entire country where it happened, the people in that particular country, or the people …
This Square Peg. 