...But I'd like to deviate from the daily Parisian round-up and share my new poem with you. Enjoy. Birthright Before I could even learn to appreciate you, I was desperate to shrug you off, this mantle that clung to the nuances of my dark skin like birthplaces and legacies. You were the mirror I was ready to turn …
difficult names.
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 …
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) 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 …
from the start.
I've always been different.I entered the world quietly. No crying or whimpering. As a result, the doctor gently swatted me on the bottom. My mother said I turned my brand new head toward the doctor and seemed to gaze at him with disdain. Like, did you just SWAT me, fool? I then responded to the swat with a slight whimper. …
This Square Peg. 