Convenience
Twelve-year-old Ella watched her mother standing in the middle of the street shouting at the top of her voice at Uncle Sunny.
That Pesky Thing Called Submission
I stared at his eyes as he made several sexist statements. He has been spilling unreasonable comments since we started our conversation
Once Green
Once upon a time, my village was green. My grandma said her mother lived in the village in the Hulla Plain in those days.
Upskill
Not everyone with a degree uses that degree to get a job or earn a living. Some develop skills and make a living out of it.
Since We Are All Mad Now
“This isn’t the first time this has happened”, I said. The room went quiet for what felt like an eternity. The deepening silence nearly broke my eardrums.
Silence
Growing up, I was taught not to speak unless spoken to and to maintain the image of the well brought up girl my parents raised me to be.
Better Days
I opened my eyes to see the spirogyra decorated white ceiling of my room. It was not intended to be that way. It was usually just white
The Women of Sunny Street
It is that time of the month again. My mum has already collected the donations from each person in our street. My mum and our next-door neighbor had gone to the market a day before to get food items, clothing, and other things to give back to the community. This usually made me happy.
Unclean
My eyes fly open courtesy of the sharp pain shooting through my lower abdomen and instant panic grips my heart. Please let it not be what I think it is. It is way too soon: I am not ready. “Do not be it. Do not be it. Do not be it.” I whisper to myself like the words can change anything. I look down to check my undercloth and instant relief floods my heart. It is not my menstrual period. Hopefully, this sharp pain in my stomach is just indigestion and not a sign that my period is about to start. Looking out of the window, I see it is getting bright outside. I should start getting ready for church. I love Sundays, not because of the going to church part but because I get to sleep in. Every other day, I have to wake up early to fetch water from the stream before the sun comes up, clean up the house, and go for lessons. Sundays are the exception because according to Mama, “it is the Lord’s day and we ought to rest just as God did”. I get up and stretch my hands as high as they can go, then roll up the sleeping mat and place it in the corner of the room where I usually keep it. Is that a new crack in the wall? Oh well, it is one more crack to go with the millions of cracks that make up this rickety house. As I walk out of my room, I notice how quiet everywhere is: Mama has already left for church. I would hear her moving about if she were home. I head to the kitchen so I can take out some water from the drum. The drum is big enough for a child to drown in if they get stuck in it. I know this from personal experience: I nearly drowned when I climbed into it when I was younger. I can still remember the sound beating Mama gave me after she rescued me. The beating had the desired effect because I did not go near the drum for years after that. I remember believing Mama hated me for the longest time after that. Those were the times I wished for my parents the most. My parents died in a ghastly car accident when I was an infant so I have lived with Mama, my father’s mother, all my life. I do not know anything about my parents or the accident that took their lives. Mama never talks about either no matter how many times I ask. She always says I do not need to know more because she is my mother and father now. Sometimes, I feel she is sweet for that. Other times, I feel she is selfish for hoarding information about my parents. I fill up the bucket beside the drum and take it to the back of the house where the toilet is located. The water is cool to the touch but I do not let that bother me as I quickly freshen up and head back to my room. Squatting in front of my small pile of clothes neatly folded at the corner beside my mat, I pick a dress at random to wear. Mama has mentioned a billion times that I should put more care into how I dress for service but I really do not care about impressing anyone with what I wear. I make quick work of dressing up, pick up my Bible, and head to church. I always take a leisurely stroll to church because I love the sight of nature – the slight wind blowing the tree leaves, the occasional scurry of small animals across the path, the sound of wildlife, and the view of the spectacular sunrise. I have watched it since I was a little girl, up until now that I am the full old age of sixteen. It is all so beautiful and it never gets old. I wish I could stay here forever. Unfortunately, there is church service. I do not like church. It is filled with the hateful and judgemental people of our community who gossip from the start of service till the end. I can never tell Mama this though… she will think I have been possessed by an evil spirit and take me to the pastor for special prayers. To be fair, it is not just the church I do not like. I do not like the entire community, their small-mindedness and nonsensical traditions make me so angry. I hear raised voices singing hymns from the church and sigh, I hate that too. The church is less than a five minutes walk from our house so I get there quickly. I take a moment to stare at the church building like I always do. I should be used to it by now but I am not. It amazes me that such a standard building exists in this community. It is tall enough to tower over every other building in its vicinity with its grey walls and ever-clean window panes. I wonder how much money was sunk into it, money that could have gone into improving the community. I snap out of staring, take a deep breath, and head to the church entrance with an ingenuine smile on my face. I am already dreading the long hours I will be stuck here for. I enter the church and walk to the back with my head down to avoid having to make eye contact with any of the gossips. Why are the doors at the side of the building and not at the back? I know I ask this question in my mind every Sunday because it annoys me every Sunday. I finally get to the back. I sit in the last row of seats and watch the spectacle that we call a Sunday service. It starts with Sunday school which is taken by one of
Flip The Switch
Image Credit: Men’s Health Edikan felt Ama turn in her sleep as she gained consciousness. He had listened to her troubled sleep – marked by her slight snoring – for the past hour; even though his back remained turned to her. Their fight last night had been the worst in the six months they had been dating. And for the first time since he moved into her apartment, they had slept on each end of the bed. Sleep? He barely had any. The gap between them as he pretended to sleep could have been a chasm for all he cared. How could she sleep after all that was said yesterday? The only sign that she was as hurt as he was were the sounds of her heavy breathing whilst she slept. Many times during the night, he wanted to turn to her and ask that they resolve their fight immediately. But he waited, knowing that morning would bring some form of clarity to her. And maybe, just maybe, all the things she hurled at him last night, all the… He stiffened as Ama turned into him, fitting her body into the curve of his spine and wrapping her leg around his. Her pointed nipples pressed into his back as her warm breath caressed his nape. He stiffened further when she began to trail her fingers down a path to his already throbbing penis. His breath caught in his throat when she wrapped her palm around him, tightening her grip a bit…enveloping him in an unspoken promise. She began to rub ever so gently from his tingling tip to its base, pausing to caress his balls before resuming the journey back up to his tip. ‘Babe…’ he began to utter whilst trying to remove her hand from him. He was surprised at the strength she used to turn him on his back. Her full breasts invited him to drink in their glorious beauty, just as they disappeared to show her spine arch all the way up to the mounds that were her butt cheeks. A moan escaped him when she replaced her palm with her mouth. ‘Babe…wait a minute…we need to t…’ he sucked in his breath as she took in most of his length all the way to her the back of her throat. If he didn’t stop her now, he wouldn’t be able to resist the yearning that was throbbing in his core right now. But he couldn’t continue to let her use sex to ignore their fights, or ‘apologize’ to him. They needed to talk. When she came up for air, Edikan put his palms over his penis and rolled away from her, mistakenly hitting her head on his way away from her. ‘What the fuck?!’ Ama exploded. He rushed back to her. ‘I am sorry. Are you hurt?’ he asked, holding her face and looking into her eyes. Her hands went back to his penis. ‘I will be fine when I have him in me.’ She responded, her voice husky with need. Edikan pulled away from her and got off the bed. ‘Babe, we have to talk.’ Ama followed him, running her hands slowly down her breast. ‘Yes. We need to talk…with your tongue speaking wonderfully thing to my clit as I respond in kind to your dick. Yes…we need to talk, with you taking me from behind, pounding…’ ‘Babe…’ ‘…hard into me, owning me. Yes, baby. Come talk to me.’ Edikan grabbed a pillow and put between them as she gained on him. ‘Babe, can we just talk about this? There were things said last night that…’ She tried to remove the pillow. He held on to it. She tried again. He remained adamant. Edikan watched the anger jump into her eyes as she took it all in. Her hands fell from the pillow and she took a step back. ‘Are. You. Rejecting. Me?’ The edge in her voice set him on edge. He took in a much-needed breath so he wouldn’t lash out. ‘Babe, I am not re-.’ ‘Because here I am…standing naked in front of you, basically throwing myself at you and begging you for sex and…what is this? You rejecting me? Goodness, are we there yet? Where you think…’ ‘I am not re-.’ ‘…you can reject me? I want to have sex a-.’ ‘And I don’t want to have sex, goddammit!’ Edikan watched her flinch at his raised voice. Again, he drew air into his heaving lungs. ‘I am sorry for raising my voice. But we cannot continue to do this dance where we have a fight and, rather than discuss the issue, you offer me sex.’ ‘I offer you sex? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!’ ‘Is it normal that the only time you initiate sex is when you know you have offended me? That we went through the whole of last week not being intimate because you rebuffed me every single time I so much as tried to kiss or cuddle you and now, you want to have sex? And right after we had the biggest fight in this relationship?’ ‘Oh, there I was thinking I was trying to solve the problem.’ She responded, increasing the space between them. Ama’s response irked Edikan. She knew exactly how much he hated sarcasm, especially when they were fighting. ‘You don’t solve a problem by having sex. You can’t say those hurtful words to me and think I would want to have sex. I am not someone you can just cower into submission because you suck me a little and ride me once in a while.’ ‘You didn’t seem to mind before.’ Ama muttered under her breath. ‘What was that?’ ‘Nothing!’ ‘Ama, are you deliberately trying to make this situation even worse than it already is?’, he asked, talking slowly as he struggled to control himself from another angry bust. ‘What do you expect me to think?!’ Ama plops onto the bed and pulls the duvet to cover herself.
