Une Femme Libre

Blossom by Hippy Heidi While reading my PUNCH newspaper newsfeed a couple of days back, I came across an article about a hit and run truck accident in Lagos  that stated that as some students of Ojodu Grammar School were going home after closing from school, a truck ran over them. Additionally, it was confirmed that at least ten died and others were injured. Among other things, this incident brought to mind a conversation I had had with someone about how irresponsible it is to leave children by themselves or drop them off with just anyone or even well known neighbors, for that matter. At the time of that conversation, I had blatantly agreed that it was indeed irresponsible and thought no further of it. What I have now come to realize is how much of that viewpoint is shrouded in privilege, especially socio-economic privilege. While I may not be the daughter of Otedola or Dangote, I have access to good housing, clean water, basic hygiene products, three square meals a day and non-public

Image by Numero El 33 It can sometimes be hard to see subtle elements of hate for femininity in our society as they usually go unnoticed as we go about our everyday lives. Now I know 'hate' is a strong word, which is exactly why I am employing the word at this very moment. 'Hate', 'prejudice' and 'discrimination' are words that are very politically charged today especially when talking about the supposed outright forms of  racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. We know of political discrimination, work place discrimination, etc., against women but how about the more subtle ways that many patriarchal societies manifest hate towards women?   Now when I say 'patriarchal,' I do not speak of just men. I speak of men, women, and other sexes and genders alike because too many of us have internalized many of the precepts of misogyny without even realizing it.    Well, let's get this show on the road, shall we? Homophobia is Partly a Manifestation

I remember the day I came on my period. I was at a piano concert and felt a sharp jab in my tummy area and thought I just needed to use the restroom. I tried to wait the pain out but I was in such great discomfort that I eventually stood up from where I sat and then went to the bathroom. The pain was so novel that I wasn't sure how to react. I paced around the toilet for a bit and started getting scared that something was wrong with me and eventually seeing blood served to confirm my fears that something was wrong. I wasn't sure how to get help and when I got home I kept it to myself till my younger sister prodded and then went on to parrot the state of things to my mother in her room. My mom called me in and asked me what was wrong which was when I then hesitantly told her that I saw blood in between my legs. You're probably already cringing at the thought of this, especially if you're a boy. No hard feelings though, I was also conditioned to cringe for the first few y

Dear survivor , I am writing this letter to you to tell you all the things I should have told you earlier on but didn't have the right words for until now. I am writing to you because in some ways I am a survivor and I know how unsettling this tag of 'survivor' can sometimes be. I also write to you because I know that surviving something that shook the core of your existence even before you knew who you were is a very rocky process, yet does not—and should not, justify invalidating another person's abuse, pain and experiences, because you had it 'worse.' Dear survivor, I want you to imagine this scenario. Imagine you and I embark on a car journey from Lagos to Ibadan. During the course of the journey, our car hypothetically collides with a truck all of a sudden. In the span of a few seconds we think, 'This is it. This is the end.' But a few hours later, we open our eyes and find that alas, we are still in the land of the living after managing to survive

Disclaimer: The content of this post is not medical advice and is written from the viewpoint of the writer and solely influenced by her personal experiences.  It's safe to say that one very important treasure in my life at the moment is my support system (i.e. friends and family). Even though they might not always understand my outbursts, pain, or actions like I want them to, they  always come through for me. As much as I know that they are always there for me, it can sometimes get a bit difficult to explain what I'm feeling or going through at some certain points in my life. I don't always find the right words to express why I always need to use the restroom, or why I'm always so exhausted, or why I don't always look them in the eye when I talk to them. Nevertheless, I know that they love me for who I am and much relief comes from the fact that they embrace a lot of my qualities and make me channel my anxious energy for good.  Speaking of anxious energy, it's k