By Abe Onche Innocence sits on the threshold He sits, at home in the vacant vastness Decadent, twisted into silence By the ravages of a destitute lifetime He cannot raise his eyes for fear Fear of rising to the cold stars of love Fear of rising to the harsh words of safety Fear of rising to fall that much lower Far from the light and the face of God Angels with tattered wings are his company It is they that prompt, they that prod They are the demons in his flesh Scouring trails across his nerves He cannot rise to reach the stars, The lights he once delicately counted Now replaced by the glint of metal Littered across the ground around him. Evidence of heights he tried to soar On chemical wings There is an irony to the needles Desperately threaded with dreams and hallucinations To sew up a naked existence Leaving nothing but a score of wounds To mark their vain efforts
Maria Ufua Shaming the Fat Shamers
Maria UfuaCEO, Pure Hand Crafts by Marie Maria Ufua is an amazing woman. She is a 28 year old lady from Okhuesan, Esan Southeast local government area, Edo state. She is a fashion designer and the owner of Pure Hand Crafts by Marie, an entrepreneur and a youth and body image advocate. The last of five children, Maria grew up protected and loved by her parents and siblings. Her balance was almost shattered when her father died in 1997; she was 9 years old then. The family didn’t think they would survive but Maria’s mum stepped up to the plate. ‘I had a very hard working mum who studied Library science but was a fashion designer and a caterer at that time. She ensured I and my siblings all had the best of education, food, clothes, morals and skills before she left this world in the year 2004.’ Another death, and this time of her mum and support system, shook them really bad. Maria and her siblings knew they had each other and could go as far as they wanted if they emulated their mother. ‘When my mum passed on, I realized it was time to use every single thing I learnt from her. Hence, I was able to achieve everything I have achieved today.’ But it wasn’t always easy. You see, Maria is a plus sized lady and had been for a while. She was not always plus sized though. In her words, she used to be very skinny but she always knew she was predisposed to being big because of genetics. And as with most plus sized ladies (and men), Maria was teased mercilessly. ‘Some people love my size. But a lot of people always throw insults when I pass by them. Also, when people get to know about things I do, they are always shocked and ask “how can a fat girl do all these?” I just always ignore negative comments and focus on what I want to achieve.’ Ignoring deliberate meanness can get hard but Maria’s recipe worked to get her mind off the shamers; good natured and otherwise. Her recipe? Picking up causes and working at achieving them. Maria and a participant at one of her trainings ‘I have a fashion business called Pure Hand outfit where I make clothes, shoes and accessories for both males and females of all ages. I have worked with a lot of Non-Governmental Organizations in training youths and women in skills acquisition. I am currently the secretary general of Karkara Development Initiative and I am the youngest in the organization. I am also the President of Karkara Youth Ambassadors for Peace. I am also with Fabsisters Corner, a size advocacy and women empowerment group. I have a passion for youth empowerment hence I am always organizing free skills acquisition trainings. I also partner with the Kaduna Ministry of Commerce and Industry in promoting handcrafts made in Kaduna State.’ In spite all these, all some people still see is ‘a fat girl’. This was one of the reasons Maria joined the Fabsisters. Maria and other members of Fabsisters in African attire ‘Fabsisters corner is a size advocacy and empowerment group. It was formed by two lovely friends; Ijeoma Chinelo Obasi and Kenechi Adunni Okafor in Lagos state. Fabsisters was officially launched October, 2016, though it has been in existence for over five years. The organization has different chapters in different states and also in Ghana. The Kaduna chapter started October, 2016. In Fabsisters, we ensure that no sister (plus sized woman) feels less confident in herself because of her size. Also articles on major problems faced by plus sized women and their solutions are passed across to members to enable them conquer their fears. We are also planning a skill acquisition training to empower less privileged women and youths in our community. We ensure that no member is denied a job opportunity because of size or bullied in any way. We also ensure we are there whenever any sister needs help of any sort. ’ How about that?! Maria does so much for women and young people that we should celebrate her! But better than that, Maria would still do what she doing if no one saw her as anything other than a big girl. Her self confidence level is worth emulating. And even though there will still be people who will read this and scoff, Maria is confident about this; ‘My self-confidence is because I believe in myself and I believe that whatever I set out to do, with God by my side, I will achieve my goals regardless of what people think about me, my size or my gender. I believe in me, and when you believe in yourself you will conquer the world.’ And we love Maria for that! She is a beautiful, awesome, brilliant and talented woman. We are honored to know her and share in her work. Maria Ufua, you are a black girl and you rock! To participate in any of her trainings, order your clothes made or know more about Fabsisters, contact Maria via; Address: Dokaji Street, Ungwan Pama, Sabon Tasha, Kaduna State. WhatsApp: +2348087940145 Twitter: @ufua_maria Facebook: Ufua Maria Uwa Instagram: Purehandcraftsbymarie Maria training young people
Making Itoro a Woman
Female Genital Mutilation or in simpler terms, violence against women and girls. Ekong Itoro clenched her hands in the anticipation of the pain that would jolt through her in a few minutes. She breathed in quickly…and then slowly, making sure to count to five before letting each breath out. Her back was already drenched in sweat from lying on the pile of clothes in the very hot and fetid room. She could taste the blood at the back of her throat from pressing down on her teeth to keep them from clattering. She could also feel the warmth dripping from between her thighs; thighs she held together tightly as a final act of defiance before she was forced to spread them wide open. Her mother and aunties all told her it would only hurt for a minute. She desperately wanted to believe them but the screams of all the girls who had passed through this room revealed their bare faced lie. Those long, sad and broken screams sang a song of sorrow night after night until Itoro could barely sleep. When she finally managed to get some shut eye, she was jolted awake from nightmares of the girls walking out of THE room. She had watched girl after girl enter the room and come out wailing in pain. She had heard the screams of those classified as ‘not strong enough’ as they waddled in anguish. She wished her family didn’t live so close to Nne-ekami, the old gnarled woman who ensured all girls a certain age went through the traditional rites. She wished her window wasn’t directly opposite Nne-ekami’s small, worn out hut. She wished she didn’t notice Nne-ekami checking her out, waiting patiently like a vulture at the site of a dying child. But Itoro knew that she could wish all she wanted and nothing would change what was about to happen. As per the customs of her people, she must be circumcised after her first expulsion of blood. The other vulture-like old women began to enter the room. There were four of them. They were there to ensure no girl ran away from what their culture demanded. They were a people of upright character and they would not allow any girl ‘bring shame to her family and their people’. Itoro would have scuttled away if there was room to. Instead, she closed her eyes and dug her nails deeper into her palms. She swore she wouldn’t cry but the tears started falling by themselves. She unclenched her hands to wipe them away only to be hit with the smell of blood and death that she associated with Nne-ekami. Itoro didn’t know when a gasp escaped from her lips. She opened her eyes and standing right in front of her was Nne-ekami holding a dull, jagged razor blade. Itoro had never seen anything more menacing in her life. The razor refused to glint, somehow mirroring the dire circumstances of what was about to happen. She wished she could die rather than go through this moment. For some reason, the things the other girls had told her started coming back. ‘It is the worst feeling I have ever felt in my life….’ ‘I begged God to take my life…’ ‘After the circumcision, my nyash swelled up and was smelling for days. They had to use leaves to get the swelling down…’ ‘When I went to urinate, it was like someone put burning charcoal in my nyash…’ ‘When my husband sleeps with me, I don’t feel anything…’ ‘Nwaha died after they cut her. What a lucky girl…’ And Itoro started to scream. She was not just screaming for herself. She was screaming for all the other girls who had been a visitor in this room. She screamed for mothers who went through this and still demanded their daughters suffer the same. She screamed because there was no one who was going to speak up for the women of their community; not their king, not the men and not the women either. ‘I see this girl wants to bring disgrace to our people. I have not even touched her and she is shouting like a pig.’ Nne-ekami looked at the other women. They knew what to do; even though no word was said. On either side of Itoro, a woman held an appendage. Two of the women knelt on Itoro’s hands, sending a shot of pain right through her arms and all the way through her spine. Like a well-planned routine, they clamped their hands over Itoro’s mouth as she trashed even more. The other two women pried her legs wide open at awkward angles until Itoro thought she would die. Nne-ekami patted Itoro’s thighs and smiled. She pinched her clitoris and held it firmly in place. Itoro could sense all her nerve endings on edge. Then came the grating voice. ‘From today, you shall be a proper woman. Don’t worry, we have all gone through this and this will make sure that you don’t become a prostitute. Don’t worry ehn.’ And then she cut. Itoro thought her hands nearly pulled out of its socket was painful. She begged God to kill her when her leg was pulled painfully apart. She thought suffocating under the sweaty, smelly hands of these women was horrifying. But nothing – absolutely nothing – prepared her for the pain that shot through her entire being when the razor sliced through her super sensitive clitoris and labia. Nothing prepared her for the white hot fire that was sent to her body from the hands of Nne-ekami. When her eyes rolled back into her head, she was glad to welcome the nothingness that numbed her excruciating suffering. Ekong Itoro was only eleven years old when she saw her first period. It seemed fitting that one so young should only live for eleven years.
‘Certified Homosexual’ for Being Different
Pointing at a black manImage Credit: The Sacramento Observer I met a lady on my way home and complimented her hair. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was engulfed in a memory I shelved a while back. It was early 2016 and I had just moved to Lagos. To welcome me to town, my friend – and her friends – took me out for ice cream and pizza. When we got to the spot and it was packed full, we had to wait on this really long queue. I offered to stay on the ice cream queue while they got the pizza. A lady was behind me and something made her bump into me. I turned and saw she was a beautiful, classy looking girl. Yes, in the two seconds I looked at her, I digested all of that. What was most interesting however was her attitude; she was very polite and apologetic. I smiled back and told her it was okay. In no time, we struck a conversation about the ice cream flavors as we waited to get to the front of the line. Just as we got to our turn, my friends returned and we ordered. Because we were ordering for four, the girl behind me was done with her order before ours was ready. As she turned to leave, we waved at me and walked away. I was so impressed at her charming behavior that I didn’t notice my friend giving me a look. She scuttled closer to me and asked if the girl was my friend. I said I had just met her and described the situation of our ‘meeting’. My friend looked at me long and hard and said, ‘you need to be careful oh. This is Lagos. Look at how friendly she was. I thought you guys were old friends. You better be careful because girls like that are certified lesbians.’ I was shocked to my bones. I looked at my friend in the hope that she was joking but her expression told me all I needed to know. I asked her why she would say that and she insisted she knew what she was talking about. I let it go but the memory stayed with me for a while. Soon enough, I started asking myself if the girl had truly been hitting on me. Apart from the friendliness, there was nothing untoward about our exchange. We basically just talked ice creams and the service of the people at the creamery. All these happened in less than five minutes. If she was flirting, wouldn’t she at least have asked for my number? Before shelving the thought into my memory, I concluded my friend was jaded and it really wasn’t her fault. She had lived in Lagos longer than I did and had heard stories. But even more than that, she has grown to accept certain stereotypes about women. If, at first glance, these women didn’t fit into the accepted norm, they needed to be boxed and labelled in the ‘do not touch or associate with’ category. It was not the first time I had been told to be wary of overly friendly girls. Even I had been told to stop being overly friendly. Reminds me of when I was younger and a super friendly ‘tomboy’. I really hate that word because it seems to say we are abnormal when all we just do what comes naturally to us. Anyway, EVERYONE was my friend! People liked me and I liked them in turn. It was very normal for people to come visiting or for me to go to their homes. My parents tried to make me conform to their definition of me but when their backs were turned, I always went back to the real me. One day, an older lady called me to her house and told me that I needed to stop dressing like a boy and being so friendly because that was how lesbians behaved. She preached for long and when I left her room, I felt so dirty and ashamed that I went out in search of my first girlie clothes. Like my friend, the woman had been conditioned to think in boxes. Girls had to be a certain way or be labelled bad. So I asked myself, what if the lady at the restaurant was a lesbian? Does that make her less human? Is she unworthy of my conversation? Is she carrying a communicable ‘disease’ of lesbianomania? Plus, telling me to be wary felt like I couldn’t be trusted to make my own decisions about my sexuality, like a simple conversation was going to convert me into the grand dame of lesbians in Africa. I must admit that this isn’t just a female matter; it affects guys too. When a man does things that are not like the rest of his gender, he has to be gay. God forbid that a man is a makeup artist, a fashion designer, a model, an interior decorator, a chef or one who just likes to look good. Woe betides that man whose fashion sense is amazing or who dares to wear pink. In fact, a man who knows the difference between beige and plum should be thrown into homosexual jail. Be openly romantic and face the wrath of the gods. Hate sports and be stoned. Cross-dress and have people refuse to be on a panel with you. Want to be certified homosexual? Be different from the norm! I think this has to stop and soon! We cannot continue to label people homosexuals just because they are different from our accepted form of behavior. Everyone is different. Everyone has their own view of life and it is unfair – and quite frankly mean – to try to make people conform to yours. When you put people in a box, you close yourself to the possibilities they have. One of the greatest things I heard Aries Spears say is that ‘everyone
Why Women Should Carry Their Own Condoms
Woman with CondomPicture Credit: Zenito Haven So I watched this show a while back on Ebony Life Television (ELTV). There was a voices-on-the-streets segment and the question asked was if it is okay for women to carry condoms. Many people gave varying responses but one stuck with me for days. The respondent, a very confident (albeit uneducated) man, couldn’t hide his disdain at the question. He was completely against the concept. His closing statement was what got me riled up. He went, ‘Man wey get two woman na still man but woman wey get two man na olosho.’ The first thing I thought after the red haze passed was what the correlation was between carrying a condom in one’s purse and sex work. The second thing was whether I should blame his sexism and chauvinism on his poor education. I was still thinking of this when the male anchor went in and buttressed his point. He said if he found a condom in a woman’s purse, he would assume the worst about her; that he may be the lucky guy today and another guy would be lucky tomorrow. This ‘educated’ guy couldn’t understand that finding condoms in a woman’s purse didn’t necessarily equate to having sex with her. He naturally assumed that the discovery was an invitation to sex; and it says a lot about him. I was glad when the female anchor asked him a simple question; ‘what do you thing WE think of YOU when we see condoms in YOUR wallet?’ Of course he mumbled about it being different but no one can say that wasn’t expected. Since that day, I have been thinking about the incident and mulling over it in my head. What is so wrong with a woman carrying a condom? The answer is, nothing! But before I get to that, let us think about the point of view these guys held. The expectation is that a man can be randy but a woman should not. A man can have sex with as many women as he wants but a woman who does the same has to be wanton, a whore, a slapper, easy, loose or a prostitute. Women are not supposed to be in touch with their sexuality and be sexually active. To dare to be so sexually open to carry condoms is perceived as the height of sexual depravity in a woman. The same is however not expected of a man. When a condom is found in a man’s wallet, the only worry these people have is what size he is carrying. In essence, men are expected to sexually protect themselves but women shouldn’t. Or better put, women should protect themselves only through abstinence or sticking to one partner; preferably, their husbands. This ideology is not in itself wrong as long as it is the woman’s choice but to demand that a sexually active woman not protect herself is just too much. I believe that sexually active women should carry their own condoms. Let me explain using two scenarios. 1. The one-man woman; This woman is sexually active but has only one partner. There are situations which should allow her carry her own condoms; a) She is horny, goes to see the man she is dating, they make out, he is about to slide in and bam! She notices he is isn’t wearing a coat. She asks why he isn’t and he says he has none. If she doesn’t have a condom, she is at a crossroad between going ahead, doing something else that doesn’t require penetration, getting into a fight of frustration or stopping altogether. You see how her condom can solve these problems? b) She is faithful to her partner but he is anything but. Her darling one-in-a-million man is randy for days. His excuse is that his sex drive is super crazy and to help the world, he needs to be a man-whore. Typical entitled male behavior. Thing is, without protection, he is bringing a bit of something from all the ladies he has been with to this woman who loves him. And in cases where the woman is his wife, going skinny is expected; so are her chances of contracting an infection. If this woman doesn’t protect herself, she may end up with a myriad of sexually transmitted infections. Yes, I know some of you are already asking why she stays with a Casanova but some women amaze me so… 2. The many-men woman; It is especially expedient that women who have multiple sexual partners carry their own condoms. They shouldn’t have to expect the men they have sex with decide their protection. This is where sex workers have it right. I have been told that ‘prostitutes’ – as some would call them – insist on having sex with a condom. They know they are already at risk and further putting themselves out there is not something they want to deal with. Again, before you crucify me, there will always be women who profit off sex and no matter what you say and do, they will do EXACTLY what they want. AND…where it is their choice, how e take concern you? The least of the reasons why sexually active women should carry their own condoms is unplanned pregnancies. There are so many things way worse than pregnancy; HIV, AIDS, Chlamydia, HPV, Gonorrhea, Herpes, Hepatitis, genital Warts and so many more. The risks of contracting some of these diseases can be greatly reduced by using a condom; especially for those which are transmitted via genital fluids. And with the hookup culture in many cities, it is important that we do not spread these infections. And on the flip side, the reason why women who aren’t sexually active should carry condoms is to help other women make safer sexual choices. How does this affect the woman who is chaste and is keeping herself for her husband? First off, you don’t know where your husband may have been. He could have been with that woman you branded a
Glass, Brillo, Flame & Rock.
Image: Pexels By Kabir Babiotos Glass, Brillo, Flame & Rock. The shortcut to eternal doom they say; the worst of all evil. The fast killer, the baddest bitch; crack! A dance with the devil himself, in a ballroom made of thin glass floors, best to watch your step for you might fall or better yet dare not even get in to begin with. An opulent orchestra with the most majestic tune, it’s like a sweet poison or forbidden fruit, one dares not to taste, because like Adam and Eve in that garden long before you and me, things will never be the same again; probably. In a single moment that didn’t coincidentally occur, I find myself in a parking lot. But I state for reference long before this parking lot I once found myself in a bathroom sitting on a toilet seat with the devil in my hands. All by myself I looked straight into the glass stick and at the time it looked like a long road and at the end of it was a mystic story as white as snow, small but very powerful I knew. And in my other hand was a lighter, the key that would unlock the door and lead me to this story. But this wasn’t just any story, we’ve all heard of fairy tales, fables, fantasy, myths and sagas. This one story seemed to be different, it was cryptic in nature, apart from the murkiness which was more of a cliché and being my own master of seeking pleasure in dark and twisted spaces all in the quest of my never ending savvy for the search of beauty and pleasure in all things both ravishing and grotesque, this story here seemed to be in allied balance of both; Bitter but sweet, Grand but with an abundant sprinkle of a certain kind of grim, but Angelic and Ungodly all at the same time. Adamantly Gemini, being both two sides of the coin, the Twins; zodiacal constellation between Taurus and Cancer containing the bright stars Castor and Pollux, certainly this to me would be a lush treat. And like Hansel and Gretel and the old ugly witch every treat comes with a price; give or take. I ask myself more than once if that price is worth it, trying to find a centre point to hold myself before I slip over the edge down the waterfall or jump up past the clouds above straight to the stars. Waterfall or stars each has an enticing amount of splendour but I certainly know either which way I go as long as I take this road, inevitably I will always fall right back down to the ground where I was before. It’s fast and powerful to break the barrier of time and space; that thrill! For we thrill-seekers that is. But no matter how fast the roller coaster ride is it shall definitely come to a halt, everything ends even life itself. I ask myself if to live is just enough, we’re all selfish in very many different ways, I just wanted to feel alive if only for one moment, to be anything but ordinary, this thirst is my fuel I need it to have a meaning to life, to understand it. At this point I’m beginning my first dance with the devil. To stay alive we must survive and to survive we have to cross all sorts of bridges all in our paths. Some of these plights are probably illusions created in our already messed up heads but we live in our heads most of the time, so to ignore this would take deep inner strength but for the odd ones like us who would rather take the frame of its hinges and look at the wall behind it when told to look beyond the picture, where we know there is either a puzzle, wonder or misfortune, the unknown mystery. At certain points in my life I feel like a David and Goliath comes to me at different points in different forms and proportions. To succeed David had to take Goliath head on with only a slingshot in hand and all he wanted to do was succeed; he had to but what if he didn’t? Little or nothing about him would have gone down in history. DISCLAIMER! I do not intend to go down or up in history like David or Goliath but my life is my story and I have the right to make choices good or bad, but at the end I hope it leads me to a good place. And getting there isn’t necessarily a smooth or easy ride but if the price is worth it everyone just wants to be happy. “Happy” the thought of the word gives me a slight tingle up my spine & my fingers stop trembling. I stare at this devil in my hand straight in the eye, put its lips on mine, my fingers bracing it tight in a stylish embrace that sort of looks like that of a classic waltz, I lift my glass stick upwards towards the sky (or bathroom ceiling) and with a single spark of blue and yellow flame I embark on my journey, my very first dance with this very much harshly talked about devil. At point of ignition my eyes are halfway shot as if an unexpected wind were about to gush on my face not knowing whether to keep them open or closed for this first deadly kiss. Slowly I suck this kiss into me and almost instantly in can see that splendour. It’s vague, fast and I can’t completely comprehend which one it is, the waterfall or the clouds. I can hear my heartbeat like the drums, the sizzle and crackling noise from the rock is like a variance of string instruments, this dance has officially begun and I can’t turn back now. My eyes are fixed on the flame that is burning at the opposite tip of the glass stick
Chrysalis
Image: Discover Magazine By Abe Onche Think of me again as a new creation As the time of rebirth heralds itself And as I contemplate the vast potentials Of a new year, a new life With each new day we are born again As much as the sun’s face Differs from one hour to the next And perhaps we do not feel it But the shadows of change Are seen best at dawn and dusk Rebirth is as real as we choose We reason, recount, repent, resolve To surpass our heroes, our ideals The student who seeks mastery To be a master of oneself It is because we choose to see our fate That we are able to make our destiny So do not take lightly these moments of rebirth Weigh well the life in your years, recount them While it may seem we merely add numbers To a journey toward the inevitable That number is also a birth: moulded, tainted Like the smoothest pottery or the stained glass
The Rising Cost of Sanitary Pads
Sanitary Pad Image: Live Strong When you are a team of mainly women, you have to deal with many issues that generally affect you. One of such issues is our menstrual cycle. This affects us at least once every month. Yes, we used the word ‘affects’ because it does and because our cycle is a 28-day cycle, there is always the chance that we ‘see’ our periods twice in one more month. Anyway, we are not here to lecture. We are here to rant. So first question; how many people have had to buy sanitary pads at ₦400 since December, 2016? We can see your hands in the air. Are you as pissed the hell off as we are? Because we are mad! (Okay! Breathe. This post can’t be laced with expletives when you have only begun. So calm the hell down and write). Okay. We are calm now. Let us do this properly. So the price of sanitary pads recently went up by over a hundred percent. We will use Always Sanitary Pad for our example. The premium pads come in packs of seven or eight for small packs and sixteen for big or super packs. The small packs used to be sold for ₦170. It went up to ₦220 and later, a ₦30 increase. Now, it is sold at ₦400. The super packs now go for ₦800 and it is pegged to get to ₦1000. In one sentence, the end is near! For people who do not get it, let us explain a bit. A woman who has light flow can afford to use one small pack during her period if she has a four day flow and uses one pad in the morning and another at night. The ideal is one pad every eight hours but we are assuming that since her flow is light, she may not need to change as much. A lady with normal flow may have to change her pad every six – eight hours, meaning that if she has a four-day flow, she needs to use the super pack for her monthlies. While most women fall into this category, a vast number of women fall into the heavy flow category. These women have to change their pads as often as once every three hours; translating to one small Always Pad per day. Collating that gives four packs if she has a four-day flow. So using the example above, we can infer that women spend the following for their monthly menstrual cycle. TYPE OF FLOW NUMBER OF DAYS DURATION OF PAD USE (HOURS) NUMBER OF PADS/DAY TOTAL NUMBER OF PADS TYPE OF PAD COST (₦) LIGHT 4 12 2 8 ONE 8-IN-1 PACK 400 NORMAL 4 6 4 16 TWO 8-IN-1 PACK 800 HEAVY 4 3 8 32 FOUR 8-IN-1 PACK 1600 Of course these are all estimates as there are women who bleed for more than four days. Why is this an issue? Well simple. Women menstruate every month and for most part, it isn’t a choice. We have to deal with pain or discomfort or the stress of having our hormones go haywire and then between three to seven days, our uterus makes us feel like we were bad for not giving it a baby. The only way out is getting pregnant (which is only a nine month reprieve), using drugs or menopause. You can see that our periods are not a luxury; they are a necessity! Why then should the price of sanitary pads be so expensive? Is our menstruation a thing of luxury now? Is it necessary that the law of demand and supply apply here? And in a country where many girls don’t have access to sanitary pads, is it wise to alienate even more girls and women? We want to know because this rankles. To make matters worse, some men have told us to go back to using rags or clothe pads. Some have even suggested we use banana leaves (we kid you not). While we want to pull our collective shoes and beat the brakes off these men, we will try not to. The general belief is that our mothers did it so why shouldn’t we? First off, our mothers used pads, not clothes. We learned the use of pads from them. However, even if they did, it is no reason to continue to do that now just because. Some of our parents drank camel urine for certain ailments. Do YOU do that now? Some people even went as far as saying it is not a national problem but a women’s problem. My question to such people is this; if something affects half the population of a country, doesn’t that qualify as a national problem? Oh! We forgot. We are Africans. Women don’t matter, right? Anyway, our hygiene during and after our menstrual cycle is very important to us and, it shouldn’t cost us so much to keep ourselves clean when we bleed. We hope that Procter and Gamble, producers of Always Sanitary Pads (Nigeria) can lead the pack and bring the price back down. They are already making a lot of money as it is and it is almost unfair to have to ask for more. We know that almost everything now can be blamed on the recession but we hope that this phase passes quickly. And if they refuse to reduce the price, we should begin to think of an alternative. We heard of reusable cloth pads for the first time yesterday and though the idea sounds yucky, we will be forced to switch if we are forced to. The customer is always king. If we band together to hold Procter and Gamble and other pad producers accountable, they will have to do the right thing. A woman’s sanitary needs are not a luxury. They shouldn’t be treated as such. Reusable and Re-washable pads.Image: AliExpress
5 Things You Probably Didn’t Know Were Invented by Black People
Credit: All Events Black people are awesome and many times, we don’t get the credit we deserve. All through history, we have always created or contributed to the creation of ingenious inventions for the advancement of human kind. In this podcast, we look at 5 things you probably didn’t know were invented by black people. Find out more in the clip below and share with us other inventions you know were invented by black people. If we don’t celebrate ourselves, who will? If you cannot see the audio controls, your browser does not support the audio element
Uduak-Obong Jackson: Writing Against Suicide
Uduak-obong JacksonImage: Uduak’s Facebook Profile We are amazed by the awesomeness that is Uduak-obong Jackson. Uduak-obong is from Akwa Ibom state, Nigeria. She is a creative Writer and spoken word Poet. She is a graduate of Nassarawa State University where she studied Sociology. As the first child (and only girl) in a family of six, Uduak learned responsibility and empathy for the struggles that mired the lives of many people. Though her experiences – from family, friends and school – were simple and for the most part, fun, Uduak knew there was more to life than what she was experiencing. As if to reinforce her thoughts, someone in her neighborhood committed suicide. ‘I used to think suicide was something that never happened in this part of the world but to my surprise, sometimes last year, a young guy killed himself in my area. It was really shocking because no one would expect that from an average Nigerian.’ Uduak began to do some research and realized that ‘there has been numerous cases of suicides in the country and most times no one says a thing about it.’ That was when she made up her mind to talk about it. Uduak started the #iWriteAgainst campaign where she discussed varying issues. She has been campaigning about the issues that predispose young people to suicide, with focus on the need to discuss mental health and suicide prevention. She knew that it was a huge task and doing it alone was almost impossible. Uduak then asked friends to support the campaign. The response was massive! People from everywhere – family, friends, acquaintances and even people she didn’t know – quickly joined the campaign and sent out pieces using the hashtags, #iWriteAgainst and #iWriteAgainstSuicide. Her biggest hope was that the campaign would be effective in reaching people who had suicidal thoughts. She hoped someone would read the posts and be inspired not to take their lives. And it did. ‘I’ve gotten messages from people telling me how their close friends who were having suicidal thoughts have been bold enough to open up after coming across some of the write-ups from the campaign. I’ve also had the chance to talk with some who actually attempted suicide.’ Uduak plans to grow the platform into something bigger and more capable of helping people with suicidal thoughts in more ways that writing. Known by her friends as Slimzy Jackson, she maintains her drive by being simply caring. We admire Uduak-obong Jackson for her work. She is a black girl and she rocks! Uduak-obong JacksonImage: Uduak’s Facebook Profile
