Une Femme Libre

Photo cred:PrintableBubble Some of the links in this post are affiliate links and if you go through them to make a purchase I will earn a commission. Keep in mind that I link these companies and their products because of their quality and not because of the commission I receive from your purchases. The decision is yours, and whether or not you decide to buy something is completely up to you. Read here for my full disclosure policy. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a very resourceful person when it comes to stationery and sanitary products. Back in secondary school, I was the go-to person for well...almost every item under the sun (Yes, ask around 😌). I liked to have my own personal items because it spared me from the stress of having to borrow all the time. Well, thankfully, I have a big heart (at least from my own perspective) and was quite willing to share my items with others. So if you're like me and would rather just have your own personal items, then you've come to

         As Sickle Cell Day is celebrated today, I think of all the Sickle Cell patients,  including my younger sister, around the world. But one theme in particular hovers restlessly in my mind : Rethinking women's healthcare in relation to Sickle Cell Disorder (SCD) in Nigeria and by  extension, Africa and the world at large.                 Even though I do not have any medical expertise, I won't be so negligent as to not tell you what SCD actually means or implies for those who suffer from the disorder. According to the official website of the U.S department of Health and Human Services, " Sickle cell disease is a group of red blood cell disorders that are passed down from your parents. People with sickle cell disease have some red blood cells that are shaped like a 'sickle' or crescent, instead of round. Normal, round red blood cells are flexible enough to move through blood vessels to carry oxygen to the body. Sickle-shaped red blood cells can stick to each

By the time I turned sixteen, I decided that I did not really want marriage for myself. This decision did not stem from the blues or bad experiences with members of the opposite sex, but stemmed from the fear that I will perpetually remain trapped in a cycle of sacrificing myself so much for my husband and children that my dreams will all come crashing down and finally go ablaze. From the experiences of women around me and even my childhood, I had already gotten a taste of what it feels like to bury your deepest desires underground for the sake of other people. Some women often claim that the act of burying their dreams to sustain their families gave them the ultimate sense of fulfillment in life. Maybe for them, that is true. But for me, knowing that I am only a shadow of what I could really be sounds like a death sentence. Of course, the bitter taste of the word ‘marriage’ in my mouth may one day become sweet, but that is for the future to tell. For now, my decision to place my dream

       In the summer of 2017, I met a boy-man that I will refer to as ‘Zebra’ in this post. I was about fourteen and he was twenty at the time. We happened to meet each other at a time when my mother and I’s relationship was a bit estranged and he was just trying to gather up the pieces of his heart from a heartbreak. The very first time Zebra and I had a conversation, we clicked. It was very easy to talk to him and we became good friends from then on. Although I really liked the fact that Zebra always listened to me when I talked, I don’t remember strongly feeling that things could ever evolve past me talking and him listening (as self absorbed as that sounds). Well, as history would have it, a day came where all that would change. We were in the kitchen together and after we were done washing the dishes, I sat down on a stool to catch my breath. As he stood by the sink, he turned towards me and professed apparent love. Of course, I was dumb-founded. Did I like him in that way? What w

  I spend a lot of time thinking, talking and writing about my experiences and perceptions of what it is to live as a woman in the twenty-first century. On several occasions, I have mentioned that women need to support women more, and that at times, we ourselves, contribute to slowing down the progress of women at large, especially when it comes to pushing for more female representation in the political arena. There have even been times that I complained bitterly about how far too many women develop cold feet when it comes to running for electoral offices or even coming out to vote on election day.  In my last year of secondary school, an opportunity came for me, as well as other girls, to put down our names to be voted as the valedictorian or to vote for a fellow girl to become the valedictorian. On a normal day, I would have gladly and enthusiastically gone to put down my name or at least considered it, but at that point, most things seemed to have lost their meaning to me.  I was ti

First and foremost, girls want to have fun. We want to be able to go to parties in our shortest and skimpiest dresses or in our flowing dresses without being called whorish or prudish. We want to eat to our hearts content. We definitely want a lot of money (and should be willing to work for it ). We want to be able to have a drink without worrying if someone might have drugged our drink while we went to use the restroom. We want to be able to leave parties late at night without needing to have male friends escort us back home. We don’t want to have to say ‘I have a boyfriend,’ before that boy finally releases his grip. Isn’t it ridiculous that that boy respects somebody else who he is not even a hundred percent sure exists and not someone who is standing right in front of him and clearly looks and sounds uncomfortable?  For goodness’ sake, girls want to be comfortable in their own skin. We do not care if you prefer us with or without our makeup on. We do not want to feel like we have

  A lot of people that know me know that I don’t like math and so it comes as no surprise to anyone when I'm not enthusiastic in class when the topic of the day is 'Statistics' and for some reason, we are finding the probability that a red ball is picked first and not a blue one all in the name of mathematics. However, there is a particular kind of 'Statistics' I have been concerned about for a while and that is the statistics of people that experience sexual assault during their lifetime, on the average. To you, this topic may be getting old but this is the reality of so many people around the world before they even turn eighteen. It seems as though these sort of experiences have become a ‘rite of passage’ for many women and instead of digging for the roots of why and how this has come to be the reality of far too many women, society focuses its energy on trying to 'protect' us by giving us night time curfews, uploading self-defense videos on YouTube, and r