So I shaved my hair.
I had been thinking of shaving my head for over a year but my balls hadn’t grown big enough. “What if the shape of your head is bad? Get a boyfriend first, that way, he can’t leave when you shave your head. Is it not a sin?”
Finally, my balls overgrew and exploded.
*poof* (more…)
I recently listened to Chimamanda’s Ted talk ‘The danger of the single story’. It reminded me of old times so I decided to tell you my story.
For the longest time, all my characters had ‘English’ names; from Kate to John to my favourite name, Eric (I overused this name sote I’m sure all the Erics were sneezing multiple times). I struggled to give them the ‘abroad’ lifestyle that I was not familiar with. Forced them to eat baked beans, drink orange juice with their bowl of cereal and speak back to their parents. I mean, unlike Chimamanda, I knew what baked beans tasted like but it was the underlying problem I became worried about. I held the ‘international’ lifestyle so high that I started to think I wasn’t good enough. The characters in my writings mocked my Nigerian accent and my lunch of stewed beans and plantain. Why didn’t school serve us burgers as lunch? Why couldn’t my thirteen-year-old boyfriend sleep over in my room? Why couldn’t I go for walks to the parks? (more…)
I had my first kiss when I was twelve years old. It was from my uncle Kareem. His lips were soft and plump like the pillows on my bed. His upper lip was dark like that of a chronic smoker and the bottom was deep pink, like the colour of the cotton underwear I was wearing. He had his hands cupped around my face and had the look of love in his eyes. I knew this wasn’t supposed to happen but he had promised to help me with the Math homework I had at school.
‘Don’t tell your mummy oh. Don’t you like it?’
I could feel the heat of his breath very close to my skin. It was obvious what he had had for dinner – Two scoops of fried rice, three deep-fried turkey breasts and a cold bottle of Fanta; just the way he liked it. And yes, I did like it. I liked the way his moustache tickled my face, but my head shook side to side in disagreement. He pulled back and sat on the rim of the bed with an offended look.
‘Ehn, your teacher will give you zero and mummy will beat you.’
So I let him carry me on his lap and kiss me – His tongue wagging in my mouth with too much force than I had expected.
Bold-ish 