I tell stories. Some through my pen, others by word of mouth. Some are enclosed never to be read by anyone, others are delivered to individuals and most are posted online.
My reading this year has taken a hit. There was a time I felt saturated with books and I could take in no more. My reading culture has been hanging by the thread of bookclub and this was our October book of the month.
We were sold on a romance book. We had just read Dark Matter by Blake Crouch, a science fiction and we wanted something light. The member who recommended this book had read 3 more by the author and she spoke highly of the writing style. I went in expecting my romance story and my description of this book would not feature romance much as there was a love story. It is more of historical fiction.
Elif takes us to Cyprus. I knew nothing about Cyprus when I picked this book. It’s inhabited by Greeks, Turks and few English people. The story is told by a Fig tree which narrates the ordeals of humans, animals, birds and nature at a time of war. The prose is highly descriptive and it reminded me of a literature tool we learnt of called personification.
Majority of the book club members loved this book and Elif’s writing style. One member hated that about the book but I think mostly so because he consumed the audio version. I had both love and hate. Love that the writing style was not the ordinary. Loved that we got to read about plants, animals and now I can bury and unbury a fig tree. Disliked the overly descriptive text. Disliked personification as it was unrealistic. I could not pin point a specific theme the book was bringing about but during the book club discussion, much came to light.
This writing is not for a surface level reader. A literature student would very much appreciate the text. I struggled reading to the end and I actually finished the book after the discussion. There is not much to write home about the book but I feel I must mention that it pointed out two things for me: Wherever you go, there you are and humans give differential treatment based on appearance.
I plan to give Elif’s writing a second chance but in the meantime, I would be careful recommending anyone to read this book. I look forward to the next book club meeting as I am now pinned to task in reading Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth.
If you are on the verge of a rut, do not pick this up.
If you know what the title to my post means, kudos. I am happy to have joined your lot this month and you clueless reader will be let in this knowledge too.
I am considering being one of those writers who reveal the meaning at the end so that I keep the curious minds reading until the last full stop. I would prefer a writer who stops the goose chase and let’s me decide whether I want more information on the subject matter then, I will keep reading. Fun Fact (ode to my watching young Sheldon) Zanzibar is just one among the Spice Island Archipelago. Some of the Islands do not have human population. The tangent of this post is now towards a Geography class and believe me, this was not the intention. The historian in me just wanted to give a bit of background information.
I was determined to plan this trip for my family. I did research on the activities we would engage in but my major challenge was how we would get around to the various places and where we would stay. I like planning with the geography of the place in mind so that the locations I settle for do not become an inconvenience. I would also focus on a specific part and exhaust the locality so that my next visit becomes slightly different from the first. My family mostly enjoy historical sites tours and game drives and this being a coastal town, It made sense why the target market is mostly honey moons and girls trips. To say the least I had a daunting task ahead. Being in charge of people’s enjoyment can go either way; success or failure.
On second thought, I think one’s taste in travelling cannot and should not be singled out as beach versus park. Of course there are outliers who are sticklers and conform to either of the two categories but packing my family in a box like that is far from truth. We mostly travel around this time of the year and we enjoy new town visits, beaches and game parks. All one needs to enjoy any trip is the travel spirit which includes: openness to change of plans, tolerance to each other, the ability to find joy amidst the challenges and being an active participant.
In this trip, My aunt, a geographer lent me her atlas so that I was well equipped for the task at hand. Her request was that I consider geographical areas and use the most scenic route. I did my research for about 2 months and had a conclusive list then one morning I woke up and saw a travel and tours group advertise our intended destination with the identified sites featured on their list and I was sold. The planning would be another’s headache and I would fully enjoy the trip. Their planning left a lot to be desired and although thanks to them we know better, I would recommend planning the trip yourself. I am assuming from the picture the destination is now obvious.
We travelled by road and Ferry. On our return trip the seas were rough and several people got sea sick. The attendants handed out sick bags so the sight was not messy and they took good care of the affected people.
Zanzibar is beautiful. The seas are turquoise blue, the people are friendly, and the sun is not too hot. The streets in town are corridor-like, allowing the breeze to penetrate. The market is well structured and protected from the sun. During the spice farm tour, we encountered a persuasive trader whose skills could be compared to the bus hawkers in Kenya. They explain products in such a way that even if it wasn’t on your budget, you find yourself prioritizing it as a necessity and allocating money for it.
For a first tour visiting places like Prison Island, Stone Town, Spice farm are worthy but for a return visit the itinerary would be very different. The hotels were affordable and if you plan for yourself you can choose even better accommodation. Hotel meals live you nothing to write home about because the meals are made to be good and enjoyable. We were intrigued by their fruit juices especially one that we guessed was an assortment of fruits because of its sweet and sour taste only to learn that the fruit is called bungo. I would definitely recommend a glass of bungo juice. It is also sold at Stone Town Market.
This trip was mostly relaxed. We did not have super early mornings chasing after wild life or tired evenings after long hikes. We mostly went to a historical site each morning and spent our afternoons at the beach or in boat rides to the various Islands and ended our evenings passing forodhani market for their array of foods. While at Forodhani I will recommend all sweet tooths to try the ice cream roll. Its one of a kind and I would go back just for another plate of that.
Writing this trip feels me with so much nostalgia. Whenever I come home from a trip I always feel the need to go for another to recover from the previous trip but with this one, I was content. I came back home happy, relaxed, feeling well rested and grateful for the experience yet looking forward to a return. During this trip we bonded as a family and of course the individual personal traits came up truly, wherever you go; there you are and we got to know ourselves and each other better.
I would also advise that when traveling, ensure you have medical insurance. For sure getting sick is not part of the plan but accidents do happen and you would not want to deplete your travel budget funding medical bills. Alternatively, carry an extra amount for emergencies.
My other take home from this trip was to improve my packing. My attires were in line with the itinerary but we had some unplanned activities cropping up and I needed outfits for that. I have since then been watching different you tube videos of people packing for their trip and luckily, I will soon get to judge whether I have improved on this skill.
For your patience dear reader, Zenj bar is Arabic for land of the blacks. Our guide mentioned something about it also signifying the good weather in Zanzibar. The history about Stone town is rich and fascinating and there you will hear more about the famous swahili doors that I got to carry back home as fridge magnets. I hope I have made you consider Zanzibar as one of your travel destinations.
I would first like to express my gratitude to my 98 subscribers who saw my writing fit enough to opt to receive notifications each month that I have a new post. I mostly write because you mostly read. Starting out this blog 5 years ago, I had no idea how it would pan out but so far, I am immensely proud of my consistency in putting out content, the bravery that comes with bearing my heart out and the satisfaction that comes with reading my content. I do have notable subscribers who never shy from sharing their 2 cents and hitting the like button; Thank You!!! I literally am because you are. Your likes, comments, and views keep me going. (You would think I got nominated for an award; let us just carry on with that thought). Here is to 5 years 🥂🍾✨💫
My blog anniversary is co-shared with my brother’s birthday. Days to the 13th of August I think of him. A day to the 13th August I remember my blog and swell with pride. I would mention this as my biggest achievement in a job interview but who wants the follow-up question that would be to share my handle. Starting out, my goal was to have content and consistency but I never knew that I would keep that up for 5 consecutive years.
I still want my by-line. Apparently, the want is not bad enough as my senses have not taken leave. A day after the blog’s anniversary I received the below email which made me shed a tear.
I had come across an advertisement for a writing position and I shared the link to the blog as samples of my work. I thought my style of sharing my work showed a lack of effort on my part and I should have shared stand-alone posts. As always I forgot the job application and went on with my life.
I always wonder what would happen when I get a writing gig. Would that be the end of dimples migraines and aahs? After due diligence on this offer, I realized this was not the breakthrough that would fast-track my writing career. I was disappointed but quickly got out of my misery when I discerned that I have always been doing what I love which is writing way before anyone would give me their platform. On a work team building last weekend, I described my work in the company as reading and writing. I thought I had belittled my role as everyone’s description had gist which made mine lacklustre. I wondered why the vocabulary I had amassed over the years of reading was not self-evident. This week I grasped that there was no better description of what I do and realised that I do what I love daily.
What next for Dimples Migraines and Aahs? I would like to change the layout of the page and utilize the full potential of WordPress. I keep saying this and I want to commit. I want to write more, write better. I want to look back as I do now and be amazed. I want to proudly show off the work of my brain and not fear another’s judgement or perception of me because of it.
5 whole years!! I have not kept anything this long other than friendships. Yes 5, I did that, and still doing it.
Welcome new follower
I enlisted the services of chatGPT on what to write when my mind hit day 30 being blank. None of the suggestions appealed to me. I want to clean up the drafts that no longer make sense. They could not salvage the situation now and I do not think they will in the future.
I paused leisure reading in August, exam season was upon me #Adult Education. The exams were the norm, and my sentiments from Qué sera sera remain unchanged. I embark on this month’s book club Dark Matter over the weekend and I look forward to rereading the book and having a different perspective or the same from the first time.
2023 so far has been blessed. I am hitting an all-time high in the number of trips to the Kenyan Coast. This weekend I will visit Mv Logos Hope, a ship that is a moving library. The last ship of this kind was at the Kenyan Coast 18 years ago and I remember going every evening after school. My mum bought me a pictured Bible story which I loved and a book called The Singing Bear. It was the first novel I had and I dare say the visits to the Library and the two books fuelled my reading passion. Then I also cultivated my desire to travel the world by ship. I was impressed by the fact that this ship which is self-contained, a moving library, with staff of different nationalities, fully funded and operated by volunteers gets to dock in different ports every other 45 days.
I have been tracing more of my habits to my childhood. I am still learning, unlearning and re-learning. I generally sleep well, I eat too much fries and drink too much soda. I love, I am loved. I am struggling with better managing my finances. I value my friendships, family and relationships generally.
Today, I grieve for one of my closest friends who is laying her mum to rest tomorrow. My heart pains for her loss and every other loss any of my friends have had to endure in their lifetime. I feel like death robs us. It robs us of time with our loved ones. It robs us of the people we would have been had we not gone through the pain of loss. It robs us of smiles and living carefree because at the back of our minds, we know that joy and laughter can be replaced with tears and sadness in no time. I particularly grieve for each and every friend of mine who has lost a parent. I know the loss of a loved one but that of a parent is unknown to me. It hurts that there are no words that can be said to relieve them of their pain. It hurts that they will not have their lost parent to share their success and life journey with.
I hate pain, I hate loss, I hate grief. I hate that it lingers, I hate that once you know it you cannot unknow it. I hate that even though you know it you do not completely understand anyone else’s. If only each person could have the blessing of living without knowing grief, that is the wish I would ask my genie for.
Of course the tangent this writing has taken is not what I planned but it is the truest I could write on day 31 now pressed with time and on the verge of losing a 5-year streak. Phew! this was really close. May the writing Gods continuously favour me.
Palm trees, humid weather, sandy beaches, salty water, ocean blue meeting blue skies, relaxation, rejuvenation, slowing down, breathing, healing, feeling, and living all are the attributes of the Kenyan Coast.
This was a girls’ trip with colleagues. Once after having Biriani at a Swahili restaurant, one of the girls mentioned that she had never been to Coast. I mentioned that I had never been to wild waters despite having lived in Coast another mentioned that she needs a good crowd that would not be going to Coast just to drink. It was at that moment that we decided to vacation at the Coast for the weekend.
During this visit, I was able to cross several items off my bucket list. The trip was a mix of savoring coastal food and doing things for the first time whilst being the group tour guide.
Wild waters is a water park if I may borrow what Tanzania calls their Kunduchi park which is similar. It has several slides for both kids and adults. There is even one for ‘couples’. Going down the slides is thrilling. One picks up momentum and as you get to the water, you slightly float through the surface. Despite the climb involved before you get to the slide, we found ourselves going back several times. Each of the slides is different. There is a dark tunnel, there are some you go in with floaters others without. There was also a whirlpool which is opened for an hour from 4.00pm. We left wild waters hungry and lucky for us the next activity was sampling Coastal food at Mama Ngina drive before heading to Diani.
The slides at Wild Waters
Shawarma at Mama Ngina Drive
Needless to say, each of us had different personalities. One was lackluster. Yes, we are on vacation but considering the limited time we had, a sense of urgency would take us a long way. This trait almost made us miss our bus after the stop in Mtito Andei. I was torn between team spirit and looking out for my own interest which was ensuring I got my money’s worth. I decided to go talk the driver into giving her a few minutes but if this proved adamant, hopping and veering off with the rest of the passengers was an option.
Another was constantly planning, ready to disregard a place or thing because of one or two things going awry. No sooner had we savored a moment than she started anticipating the next. I wanted to shut her up and keep off because why was she such a party pooper. The last one was not any better, brooding and giving curt remarks even though everyone’s patience was tried.
I remember our host asking if she would sulk the entire evening because the waiters had forgotten her order and she had been waiting for a whole hour angry and hungry. She expressed her displeasure in the services including urging us to go to another establishment. Miss constantly planning had in this instance demanded to see the chef after returning her plate of fries and chicken because the quantity was too small and the next time she was served a part of chicken she did not fancy.
Each girl had separately at some point during the weekend vacation come to the conclusion that in no circumstance should the others be considered as travel partners. This was another validation of the book Bird Summons by Leila Aboulela. Speaking of books, the first book club meeting took place and I recommended Dark Matter by Blake Crouch as our August book of the month. I am Looking forward to hearing the thoughts of other book club members on it.
In this trip, I finally boarded the SGR from Mombasa to Nairobi. On reaching the Nairobi terminus, I took the commuter train to the CBD. I appreciated the cost-effectiveness of the transport system and the transition was very smooth.
My view from the Mombasa Terminus Waiting Lounge
This trip made its memorable mark and despite our differences, we made it safely back home each with a head full of hair. I loved that we discussed our shortcomings on our train back and that we never allowed them to hinder us from having the time of our lives. More than ever I am convinced that a trip to the Coast will forever be my vitamin sea and this prescription must be taken yearly if not thrice a year.
Finally my book hiatus has been lifted. It has been a struggle to find a book that soaks me in from the onset and keeps me turning the pages. This book my dear readers got me captivated for 3 days and only because I left room for my daily responsibilities. I remember waking up on Monday morning to work and I slot in 15 minutes for a nap which was substituted by book reading. I have enjoyed my commute these 3 days and I seem to be getting back hold of the routine that has steadied me for the past 3 years.
I might have jinxed myself at the beginning of the year when I boldly put out 40 books as my year’s reading challenge. Previously, I have not been committing to the number and the goal was just to read. Then, I easily reached this target. I am yet to check my track but I am far from hitting 15 books. Normally at this time of the year, I would be on my 23rd. To summarize the perks of In Every Mirror She is Black;
The writing checks
Characters check
Delivery of the plot checks
The pace of the book checks
I am still yet to figure out the reasoning behind the choice of Title
The book is about 3 black girls; Muna is Somali, seeking asylum in Sweden, Brittany is African American first generation immigrants from Jamaica, Kemi is Nigerian but raised in America. Yes, their skin colour makes them stand out. They each face different struggles having found their way to Sweden through different circumstances but all as a result of Johnny Von Ludin and they all come to meet (six degrees of separation at work) which is always the beauty of life. I waited for this meet-up. I think each of them having different circumstances made it hard for the writer to conjure a seamless scene. I liked that the author did not meet my expectation or succumb to the guise of sisterhood just because the girls are black.
This book hit close to home for two reasons: Ever since my first visit to Sweden, I always thought I would go back for either studies or work. It was easy for me to figure my way around, the food was generally of acceptable quality as there were many cuisines to pick from and the provision of drinking water at restaurants was a given. Like Kemi, I did quickly slip into a routine of getting my morning coffee and pastry from one local cafe at the same time each morning. I also noticed that in social places i.e clubs, the men would generally hold your gaze and or stare suggestively without necessarily making a move. It was hard to socialize within the Swedish circles which I now understand is because they generally refrain from indulging in personal conversations. Also, the concept of fika and the lagom lifestyle were ideals that I would want to be part of my life. Brittany’s description of the greys in Johnny’s lavish apartment made me crave colour and personality as opposed to just simplicity which is mostly reflected in neutrals.
We may never put the final nail on the question what do women bring to the table but from Brittany and Johnny’s relationship, it is clear that all their eggs are in one basket and that basket is on top of the table. I am really holding back on having this discussion here as I will reveal some spoilers. I am looking forward to the book club meeting and having this issue discussed.
Kemi seems to have grasped the concept of all that glitter is not gold. In her professional capacity, she is expected to date a certain calibre of men but time and again she is mingling with the exact opposite. During the catch-up call when she informs her twin sister she has met someone, the sister conveys her hope that Kemi did not leave the American electricians to settle for Swede electricians in reference to the profession of her ex-boyfriend who clearly did not have the family’s approval. Kemi translates this as God’s time is right but God’s electricians are apparently not right for her.
Brittany who is dating someone from the upper class is viewed as a gold digger, Kemi is looked down upon for dating men lower than her pay grade. In Kenya when a woman gets her man to listen to her, be a present father and dote over her as should be the case you will hear that the man is bewitched and that he has lost himself. Kemi was left wondering if Sweden was giving her Tobias in exchange for her career.
This book hit close to home because it has been a month since one of my best friends left to work abroad. While reading I am wondering whether she has a softer landing. I would like to have the opportunity like Tanesha to visit often and be part of her milestones. I have had another set of friends go for studies abroad and from them I learnt that it gets lonely and having friends and family checking in is a reprieve. My heart goes out to my other friend who went much earlier during COVID and I hope the feeling of isolation is not drowning.
I believe we should have more books that portray a golden lifestyle, where love triumphs and the male character is rich, kind, affectionate, and free from any hidden intentions. It seems like we are constantly reminded to be cautious of men, and the world could do with one less reason to fear them. I did love the depth of this book. I am perturbed by what a train delay is euphemism for. I cannot wait to walk the streets of Sweden with this book in mind. The suspenseful conclusion was perfect. I am left with Kemi’s relationship and career and Brittany and Maya on my mind.
I love firsts. I am happy to have been introduced to Lolá through her first adult novel. She gave the book a more personal touch with the conversation at the tail end and for that, she will be etched in my mind. Every time I read an author’s first, I re-birth my dream of writing someday and I hope I will be as good an author. Your voice is more powerful than you think… Never, ever let the world convince you that your struggles are invalid. Never stop fighting to be nobody but yourself; she advices.
I am convinced age makes one a better student. Either that or the point our parents and teachers used to make that our success in the education realm is for our benefit is finally home. My lecturers in university would be proud of the student I have become. One who raises their hand to contribute to the class discussion. One who willingly gives points and examples that enhance learning. I still struggle to be attentive for a long span of time and I maintained the habit of reading recommended texts before class and revising my notes after.
In one particular class, a lecturer had probably caught me not paying attention and he singled me out to answer an obvious question that was not related to the topic or probably was. My memory of that day is quite vague save for the fact that I played dumb and refused to answer much as he knew I know the answer I was to give. He then went after my closest friend in class who sat next to me. My friend in solidarity played dumb as well and the lecturer of course could not lose in his sole orchestrated power play. He probably made a humiliating comment about the two of us or kicked us out of class but in that moment and to date, I swell with pride knowing that my friend, my ride or die chose me.
I am never a last-minute student in fact if I have not grasped a concept during the delivery of the course material, that ship has sailed. I once tried burning the midnight oil the night before an exam and on the day of, I slept as soon as the exam paper landed on my desk. Much as I was full of knowledge, my hands and brain could not coordinate to put the ideas on paper. From then, I decided that my eight hours of sleep remain a constant come what may. Moreover, I think better and faster when I have had my full night’s rest and if my memory serves me right, I can come up with a convincing answer for the examiner.
Dosing off in class, church or meetings is top-tier sleep and I cannot be convinced otherwise
Mashkiz courtesy of LAC
I thrive in the classroom environment. I like listening and thus having someone explain something new with the interruptions of others contributing to the discussion is my cup of tea. I recently enrolled in a professional course in the evenings after work and when I am not as exhausted, I enjoy it. I thought online classes are it until I had the opportunity to attend a one-week professional training course. I got in before the class started eager to network and know who my classmates for the week would be. I was disappointed when the lecture room I entered had 2 other students who were seated far apart in pin-drop silence. The room began filling up but each person would take their seat and immediately take out their phone. I began wondering why the session was not online then at least I would attend from the comfort of my house.
The line between being strangers and friends is clearly thin. I cannot tell when the shift happened. I think it was during tea break and we bonded over the biting cold while imbibing the hot cup of tea or maybe it was soon after the lecturer made us introduce ourselves and we heard everyone’s expectations about the course with a few mentions of networking. Each day I looked forward to showing up, persevering through the cold mornings, sharing stories, and bonding during the 3 breaks we had.
Human beings really crave connection. It was evident when the session came to an end today and no one could bring themselves to leave. We were in small groups chatting and as we left the lecture room we found ourselves gathered again at the parking lot constantly saying goodbye, wishing each other well but mostly hoping that we had one more day to enjoy each other’s company before resuming our day-to-day routine.
Early today morning as we were waiting for the quorum to start the session, I joined an ongoing conversation about different books and authors with each person expressing their likes or dislikes and notable mentions. From the conversation, I have two book recommendations; the light we carry, and in every mirror she is black. We even decided to form a book club and the latter was agreed to be the starter book. This one-week experience made me realize how much online classes rob us of interaction. It has been two months of evening classes in my professional class, I am yet to make a friend. Luckily, the lady seated next to me in this one-week training is also taking the evening professional class, and this revelation came out during today’s morning tea break.
This is so far the best use of my company’s money. I am more knowledgeable, I am happy, I am challenged intellectually, I have heard about various employers, and my faith in mine is at an all-time high. I have interacted with a pool of professionals in various capacities and the knowledge exchanged during the 30-minute tea break would have cost me an insurmountable figure.
Last weekend while having lunch with my former University Lecturer and a classmate friend of mine, the lecturer was expressing his discontentment over teaching methods employed. We all agreed that classes where one simply reads the PowerPoint presentation are unbearable and that concentration span in online classes is barely existent. Packed classes where information is given at a faster rate than one can digest are also problematic. The right balance is a mixture of guiding PowerPoint presentation with room for class discussions that eventually lead to breaking into groups and having further discussions with assignments to confirm understanding of the concepts rather than for grading purposes.
It has been hard for me to attend classes both day and night. There is only so much attention one can pay. Dosing in class, church, and meetings is top-tier sleep and I cannot be convinced otherwise. In fact, people should pay to have such environments created for them to have the deep quality sleep they deserve. All in all adult education is demanding and I give a round of applause to all adults who are learning, multi-tasking, learning while working, learning when bringing up families, learning with all the various ands; You are the modern day superhero.
I have always wanted to address the challenges faced by females here but never knew how that would play out with my male audience. I would have preferred the confines of a woman’s magazine but having not been contacted for the junior writer position I applied for I have to work with what I have. The women’s magazine would be a safe space where women’s issues are the topic of the day and sharing our fears is inevitable. I just binged the real daytime and the need to address women’s issues was evoked. That coupled with reading blogs and books and finally hearing a story from a friend and I just had to take part in this conversation. I hope the male counterparts have not been turned off by this paragraph.
In a discussion in my living room with my male friends about sexual harassment, one of them suggested that if women took extra caution i.e just dress appropriately in a manner not to suggest anything, walk in places that are safe and at the appropriate time they would not have half of these sexual harassment cases. Maybe… I don’t know the probability of that but what I do know is that it is not about the dressing or the time and definitely not the place.
I have a friend who since I met had a rather unique way of dressing. Always long skirts or dresses, circular in shape with minimal barely existent skin contact. She would pair these with an equally chest-covering top but being well endowed on the upper body, there was little the tops could hide. I thought she had embraced the hippie culture or probably just wanted to be the unique person in the room because truth be told girls her age do not dress like that.
The me too movement enabled her to come out and share her shuttering life experience. What she went through growing up as a girl, a vagina owner. She did not deserve that and I know you already have a wild guess and yes.. unfortunately, she was a victim of being a vagina owner with male relatives. There is literally no excuse or she could have done this at the age of seven. My male friend in the discussion we had tabled this category as an outlier. He did not know that for most women indecent acts, sexual harassment starts from a young age and just continues in other forms that are considered harmless such as catcalling or groping.
I have heard of women who cannot use public transport if the passengers in the particular vehicle are only males. Other women like my friend have resolved to wear only long dresses and skirts and keep off any makeup whatsoever just so to reduce the chances. A case in the newspapers reported a girl, a university student who while doing laundry in her house, a bedsitter and left the door open as she took pegs to hang her laundry had her room locked by 3 men in that span of a moment and raped by all three of them, another outlier?
So many cases are unreported. Very few people are made accountable. Unfortunately without proper evidence, there is not much that can be done; indecent acts go unpunished. Lisa Taddeo in her book Three Women tells the story of a girl, Maggie whose teacher committed indecent acts on her. The case was reported years later and determined by a Court in North Dakota in the United States. The teacher continues to teach, and obtains teacher of the Year award while the girl whose allegations were deemed false continues to live a damaged life.
It sickens me that these things happen to anyone anywhere for just being a vagina owner. It does not matter what you do, or not do vagina owners are just not safe. We have beseeched the other species to think of their sisters, their mothers, and their female friends because if they do not check a brother who does this to another, the next person will be that female you care about. As if it is not enough that the perpetrator himself came from a vagina owner.
I had this written in July 2020 but lacked the courage to post it. Since then I have handled a case where I had to defend a man accused of defiling his stepchild and it really tore my heart apart. I remember reading the witness statement of the victim and her sister and I cried the entire afternoon mourning the loss that the children were occasioned at such a young age. Come morning I wiped my tears and was ready to represent the accused to the best of my ability even casting doubt on the victim’s statement if need be. Luckily, the accused did not show up in Court and I only presented an argument that his bail should not be revoked and that the Court should set another hearing date. I knew I would not be able to go through the same ordeal again so I told my boss I was not comfortable handling the matter.
I remember previously I happened to side with a victim too soon and it turned out the incident was made up and the accused who was found guilty by the Court based on the evidence presented was actually framed. There was a documentary on TV about a girl who came clean 24 years later after the youthfulness of the detained man could not be returned to him much less his lost reputation. My girlfriends and I tried debating on whether when in this catch 22 it is better to have believed the victim and have to apologize to the accused than to cast doubt on someone’s truth and let them live the rest of their lives knowing their voice was not heard when they cried for help and that the society turned its back on them.
Today I had a similar debate on what it means when a man spends their money on ladies. My male friend argues that there is no free thing and what the lady considers gifts are but an investment by the man in lowering the girl’s guard. My male friend went ahead to say that girls should stop playing oblivious when the same men want to cash on their return on investment. I strongly advocate for men being forward with their intention and ensuring all parties are on the same page as to the nature and the intention of ‘acts of kindness’. We rested our case concluding that kudos to the men who come forward with their intentions, and for those who play this long baiting game, there will be victims and unfortunately, it can be either party. the man losing the girl he has been ‘baiting’ to a more forthcoming adversary or the ‘oblivious’ lady having to pay a price she did not know was set on her.
I hope there is a world where vagina owners are safe. I hope I get to see this world in my lifetime. I hope there is a world where men are forthcoming with their intentions. I wish everything was not transactional more so when it comes to the opposite gender. I hope that we can do more than just wish.
My book club is back. It had been a long hiatus and as usual, they point me to books that would have taken me a while to pick up myself. In February when it made its return, we rekindled the flame with Home is not a Country by Safia Elhillo. It was a short easy read that took me a long while. I tend to think it is the writing style, poetry. Maybe it was the mention of the twin Aisha saw and how that made little sense to me until I was more than 100 pages in ( as is the custom with YA books). I thought it was light enough for us to have a discussion on the heavy topics addressed as well as have enough time to catch up after the separation.
A spell of good things was March’s read but I have just managed to finish. I read it slowly because it is Young Adult and I struggle with this genre. I liked that it was very much Nigerian. The phrases and songs referenced, the names, It reminded me of the Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives especially the calling of characters as Iya … which loosely translates to mama… albeit with lots of accents on the names. Additionally, the characters are well brought out. I feel like I can pick out Yèyé in a crowded Market. I am sure I pronounced Wúràolá’s name wrong the entire book much as they tried to guide us in its pronunciation in one of the pages. The families were very relatable and their stories nuanced. The endearing name golden babe stuck with me and Kingsley’s character as the friend zone perfect guy.
The poverty in Eniolá’s family was heartbreaking. I can imagine how he and Bùsólá felt being dragged to beg in the streets. Poverty strips off dignity. Eniolá could not even play with other children because he had to hide from the landlord lest he remembered the rent they were late in paying. Their mum was hardworking through and through and her hardwork did not bear the fruits we were promised it does. I saw education in a different lense when Eniolá talks about how going to a private school gave him better chances to succeed in life despite him being a poor learner. I would feel his pain when they got caned for not paying school fees. I disliked being caned for the flimsy reasons such as failing an exam or noise making and the thought of being canned for something beyond your control is a bit much.
The book does pay homage to the saying bad company ruins good morals but the character was literally pushed to the limit. Politics seems to be same in African Countries with some leaders using every means to get votes in their favour. The ending was sad, I felt bad but also could not lay blame because from the cards the character was dealt, the result could not have been anticipated and through and through we saw the character’s good will. I would not have been able to live with myself afterwards and I would not want my family to have to live with me.
Ayòbámi Adèbáyò delivers like she did with Stay with me only that I did not see the spell of good things in this book. I really waited for tables to turn, I kept reading and hoping maybe, just maybe. She addresses depression in a way that it creeps into an African home. For a long time people have associated depression as a Western disease and Africans are spared because they are hardened moreso the male figures who carry the financial weight of the family and keep everything to themselves. It is humbling seeing your father unable to provide and still having respect for him. It is sad seeing him reduced to a shell of himself and the nudge to do something just to provoke a reaction which will show that somewhere in the shell of the man, is the father you grew to admire.
Ayòbámi shows us how fate changes and life is no longer the same. We see Kids like Sàámú who are forced to be adults at a very young age and fend for themselves. She addresses domestic violence in a way that reminded me of Colleen Hoover’s It ends with us. The man you love hits you, then hits you again and you love him because the hitting stems out from the love you know he has for you and he never gives you a reason to doubt the love he has for you. You believe you are doing the right thing covering up the bruises and not burdening your loved ones who know he is a gentleman. You want to relieve them from worrying about you and you hope he will change because that is what he says each time as he holds you and nurses your bruises.
I did not write the phrases that caught my eye from the book because I had not planned to review it then. I hope the snippet I have given is enough for you to decide to read the book.
She had this fairytale written to her future self before she stumbled on untamed and learned more about envisioning the truest, most beautiful life you want for yourself and ensuring you get nothing short of it. Dear love, she wrote… On this day, the person you are with does not celebrate valentine’s day. You thought you will finally get to do those couple dinners because for once valentine’s has found you partnered. Well, accept nothing short of being wined and dined heck you are a dime!
Wined and dined she was.. a knight in shining armour just scooped her and it was surreal. Manifesting, the universe conspiring to get her heart’s desires she affirmed. Well, it was rosy and colorful, she got something more than she envisioned and it kept true day by day. Yes, she was swept off her feet but only to be dropped a few miles ahead. A stepping stone it still was.
The morning after… It is a sad lonely walk. Some call it a walk of shame. She is laughing at the absurdity of it all. The universe does not leave things halfway, she meets one of those familiar faces that you greet each day because you share a routine. Of course, he comments… have you been around, it’s been a month since I last saw you in the morning? That is literally the duration of the fairy tale, it wasn’t lost even to him. How does one answer that? Well, I had a guy…
It is the hour, and he still has not called. She was silently hoping it was a bluff. How does one go back to life after you? As she is settling to read the book that she kept off because who reads when it’s just the two of you, cruising, she picks it up, once upon a time there was you, that’s the title; touché.
I picked this book under protest. Why would I care if someone had seven Husbands especially since they were not concurrent. I hated the blurb, I hated the first 100 pages but I continued to read maybe to spread the hate or see whether I would have a change of heart. I hated that this book came highly recommended by not 1 or 2 but 3 of my friends. I hated that I spent an hour updating my reads for the past 3 years on Goodreads so that I could get a recommendation based on books I have read and liked and goodreads’ first suggestion was this.
For once I felt ashamed to publicly declare my current read and would much rather say I was not currently reading anything. I had already judged myself and the book too harshly and I passed over the judgment to everyone else even before they could do it. What’s to write about a woman’s 7 husbands… of course it cannot be your everyday woman, it had to be based on somebody extraordinary whose life we would want a sneak peek of. I really cared less about Evelyn’s Husbands but for some reason I kept going.
The book is an easy read. The author, editor or publisher thought fit to give it a twist. For me it was just meeh because I was just reading the words and that they tell a story was a bonus. It is the first book that I hated with every part of my being but still flipped through the pages. My hatred for Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secret of the Universe developed as I was reading the book but this one was pre-meditated. I decided I was not interested in the book, I did not like the story, and the blurb further confirmed this but I still read.
Evelyn Hugo was a go-getter. She knew she lacked what it takes to be an actress but she put in the work. I liked that the book brought out a concept I believe in that it just takes one person taking a chance on you and from there you have to capitalize on it. The author says no one throws caution to the wind unless the wind is blowing their way. The other concept that I believe in that the book brought out was that if you are looking for a reason to do something you will always find it. I believe we make up our minds and then find reasons to support our decision but disguise the process and make the reason seem to be what pushed us to make the decision. An example would be my dislike for the book because hate is such a strong word that was unfounded but after reading the blurb I decided even that supports my decision.
I know this book review is not what you were expecting and has veered off my style and even so, it is exactly what I will put up not because I hate the book or the author but to maintain my projection of thoughts and feelings like I always have. Given that you have read this far, my continuous use of the word hate has not put you off. I normally put down books I dislike or read them as a mockery as I am currently doing with Our Chemical Hearts by Krystal Sutherland. I do not remember any other book that evoked hatred from me but there has to be a reason why I kept flipping the pages. Do read the book and judge yourself.
Dimples Migraines and Aahs 