Nigerian women must approach the gates of Heaven with a penis in one hand!

Nigerian women must approach the gates of Heaven with a penis in one hand!

Frankly speaking, I don’t see anything bad in what the G.O of RCCG preached about. He spoke for the men, from the male angle. Now, what are ladies telling themselves on this issue?

I think single ladies should also up their game! I do not mean they should go add to their culinary skills, single ladies need to start demanding and setting standards for the type of person they’d settle for.

Would they?

Are they not more bothered on how to prove they are a “wife material” in order to grab a penis? While the men are “dishing” out criteria to them what are the ladies doing? They’re smiling and nodding their heads in jubilation that the days of their “sorrow” as Singles are going to be over.

No man is doing you any favour by asking for your hand in marriage. You can decide not to marry a man who can’t cook, you can decide not to marry a man who can’t do house chores, and you can decide not to marry a man who can’t pray for 24hrs abeg!

It is either he meets your criteria or he “waka front” with his penis.

Listen, even if you can cook for Africa, if you marry a man who can’t cook, you won’t find it funny at some point.

Go and ask women who their husbands can’t even boil water, go and ask women married to men who just cross their legs in the sitting room watching Arsenal and Chelsea play while their “virtuous wives” are running from pillar to post: from the kitchen to the bedroom, changing diapers, running around all alone. They will tell you how frustrating it is. Whether you are sick or not, you will enter the kitchen and cook, whether you are pregnant and unfit, God help you if your pregnancy is the way it does me whenever I “carry belle”, you’d so look like a skeleton that you won’t even see yourself, let alone see kitchen, but you will still cook because you must take care of your husband who must be “kept” so as not to become ‘husbandless and go to hell fire’.

That is double wahala!

You know it is only Nigerian women who must approach the gates of Heaven with a penis in one hand and pestle in the other!

Hian!

Please, that Bullshit that our mothers and great-grandmothers had 50 children and still did all the house chores doesn’t apply here at all. Some of our mothers who suffered and suffered to keep their Husbands still got “more wives” added to them after all the cooking, the daily pounding of yam and preparing “efo riro” didn’t make them the “superb” wife still.
This is 2016, there are Bankers, Doctors, Lawyers, Accountants, Engineers etc. among women.Some women augment the income of their husbands, some single handedly pay the bills, while their jobless or “Contractor husbands” stay home all day. They will sit down and cross leg at home till their wives return from work. You mean, it is fair if these set of women return from work at 10:pm and they’d still dash to the kitchen, grab mortar and pestle and start pounding yam?

Abeg, as they are giving you criteria before they can marry you, give them yours too. Whatever criteria they set for you, set it for them too. Nobody is doing you favor by toasting you or by asking you to marry them. Or are you languishing and waiting earnestly for a “Messiah” to come pick you from the gutter?

In pastor E. A Adeboye’s voice… “Ladies, don’t marry a man who can’t pray for one hour at a stretch, don’t marry a man who can’t cook. Don’t marry a lazy man. Ask the nigga to pack his penis in a polythene bag and go find somewhere to sit joor. You don’t need him.”

*Drops mic*

 

buki
Bukola Afolabi Ogunyeye

 

…You sometimes feel like a sea shell…

…You sometimes feel like a sea shell…

As a girl you sometimes feel like a sea shell – beautiful, intricate, thrown up from the underbelly of nature, but belonging to the world. Neighbours, friends, strangers, and family members. Unfortunately, in no way akin to beautiful sea shells, your breasts and vagina are sources of electric conversation and unintelligent analyses for people who have neither seen nor touched them.
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You almost want to apologize for having breasts and a vagina. Maybe your mother will stop being so angry with you over nothing – as she seems to have been since your menstrual cycle made an appearance. Perhaps your father will smile at you a little more and not get grumpy when you receive innocent phone calls on your mobile.

“Is it not ordinary breast and vagina? What is all this?”

It is not ‘ordinary breast and vagina’, my friend. Were you not told that your vagina is a burden you carry, a red gash – an inflammation you must be careful not to trigger? When your breasts start growing, you are in double trouble. They must never quiver, they must be caged by tight bras otherwise you are calling attention to yourself and “anything wey your eye see make you use your head carry am”.
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For many girl children, sex is not something you ‘own’. If you experiment at sixteen with a boy of sixteen, you are automatically the slut and he is the adventurer. Sex is just not something the world permits you to be associated with, AT ALL. If you want it, you are a ‘dog’. Your body’s biology becomes a problem. You cannot swing your hips, it means you want to be fucked. You cannot prettify your face, it means you want to be fucked. Your hormones are doing what Mother Nature requires them to do and your unconscious acquiescence means you want to be fucked, maybe by one man, maybe by two, or maybe gang-bangs are your thing?

And so what if you actually do want sex as a teenager? Teenagers want sex, dammit! It is a natural desire and it is not wrong, neither is it your fault. What you do with it is what counts and that’s where sex-education is supposed to come in. Unfortunately many parents fail at it, especially with their female children.

It is just really painful how being a girl, you as a sexual being are repressed. Your desires are required to be bound tightly with strong rope and carted into the bin of denial. In exchange you are bestowed with the burden of ducking sex. In other words, as a girl child one of the reasons you are alive is to prevent yourself from being fucked, literally and metaphorically. Never mind the perpetrators – it’s all on you.

If sex ‘happens to you’ without your permission, it is your fault. You wanted it, you Jezebel, and you made sure you got it, now you say you’ve been raped. Even toddlers have been blamed for their own rapes. You enticed your father. Your uncle could not resist your swinging hips that have only been weaned from diapers six months ago. Your neighbor’s penis got swollen and hard when he saw your lips sucking on your pacifier. Throw away your pacifier! You are seducing your uncle!

Nkiru Njoku

…A woman is guilty of everything

…A woman is guilty of everything

Let me tell you one small something that happened yesterday morning.

As I alighted from the bus that conveyed me to my work place, a young man was making cat calls. Me, I almost never respond to anyone making psst sounds at me. If you can’t politely call out ‘hello’ or ‘excuse me, please’, then forget the message. But this one was persistent and as though he read my thoughts, he switched to ‘Excuse me!’ So I grinned to myself and turned back to him. He moved closer and pointed at my chest, muttering some words.

Man. You should see the little rush of embarrassment that ran through me as I looked down at my shirt and noticed that all the buttons on my chest region flapped open! And there was no camisole! And I cannot wear full fleshed bras even to save my life! Ha. I thanked him, walked a distance and buttoned up.

But this is what I really want to say: there are many guys who notice such things like a girl stained from her period, a torn slit in a skirt, straying bra straps, panty lines, unzipped trouser, a woman’s wrapper almost falling off and many of such sights. But you know what they do? They ogle and laugh and make jests and point fingers and take pictures and put them up on Instagram and Facebook with captions like ‘bitches’ ‘hoe busted’ ‘o boy, see bobbi’ ‘if they rape this one now, she will start talking’ ‘doomed for hell, indecent bastard’ ‘look at her, no shame. Cannot buy ordinary pad, but can afford that ugly makeup. Winsh’ and many other silly comments that will follow.

We live in a world where a woman is guilty of everything, both what she knows and what she knows not.

©Jennifer Chinenye Emelife

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Fuckboys: Editorial

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Fuckboys: Editorial

Fuckboys are a special breed. These set of people have one mind, one hope, one future. They have truly transcended the barriers usually imposed by class, gender, race, sexuality, religion and marital status. And we at 9jafeminista have this to say – ‘fuckboys of the world unite!’

We have noticed, however, that some people are doing it all wrong, they have aspirations to join the Fuckboy Club but they are struggling, and people, the struggle is real.

Luckily for you, we at 9jafeminista have spent years observing and studying these special set of human beings and have been able to come up with seven simple habits that will take you into the Kingdom (yes it’s a male dominated thing) of fuckboyism.

  1. Group think: Fuckboys do not have one original idea in their heads, anybody who thinks outside of this rarefied group will have a lot of problems fitting in and might suffer from a social disorder called ‘relational aggression’ the result of which is ostracism and heaven forbid you be ostracized or have to stand out or be considered different. You have to monitor trending topics and contribute accordingly. Fitting in has never been so easy, all you need is a phone and internet connectivity then support the most popular opinions.
  2. Bling: It is important that you dress the part. Successful fuckboys worldwide are known to wear designer clothes and accessories. You need to let people know that these items are high end stuff. You need an Instagram account to post your many pictures of clothes, accessories and their labels MUST SHOW. Fortunately you don’t need to be too rich to wear all these things, Aba boys and the Chinese have made these things dirt cheap. The logo of your designer must be displayed in a very obvious position.
  3. Religion: To be a fuckboy you need to belong to one of the many religions, but if you’re a Nigerian, you need to be either a Christian or a Muslim. Do not join groups like the Hare Krishna or claim you’re a Buddhist. You don’t need to go deep into these religions or read their many books. The point is to be able to refer to a bible or Quran passage to back up some of the ignorant things you say.
  4. Sexism: Highly successful fuckboys are sexists and you need to get this shit right. You have to say a lot of shit like ‘women are the weaker vessel’, ‘men should provide for their families’, ‘unmarried single ladies of a certain age are sluts’, ‘feminists are men hating, bitter, forever single women who have failed at marriage’. Not only do you have to say these things you need to actually believe they are true. And they are Universal Truths, according to fuckboys. Everybody knows that women are the worst drivers in the world and real men don’t cry. Women are irrational creatures, real men don’t wear pink. Refer to point no 1 above if you’re in doubt, group think is the ish.
  5. Homophobia: Another important aspect of being a fuckboy is homophobia. You need to have an irrational hatred of all lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans people. You need to ignore the fact that your uncle, dad, mum, sister, brother, friend, cousin or even you belong to this group (although they try hard to hide it). You need to believe that all queer people wear baby pampers and are out to ‘recruit’ you. Whenever you’re out drinking with your friends or exchanging bants with them online, always make sure you drop words like, ‘pink is such a gay colour, I will never wear pink.’
  6. Trolling: Get your troll game on. You need to perfect this game. Anybody who disagrees with you or troll fuckboy cabal must feel the wrath of the gods. You can learn trolling by simply retweeting other fuckboy cabal members, then you up your game by responding to people you disagree with (mostly women and feminists – either male or female). And the final step is by starting a troll game ALL BY YOURSELF. While trolling you can cast doubt on the ‘masculinity’, ‘marriageability’ and ‘richness’ of your victim. Make references to the body parts of your victim eg ‘see your droopy breasts’, ‘your yansh is too flat for the big grammar you’re speaking’, ‘carry your pimply face off my tl’ etc. You must be vicious, no prisoners taken. Use sentences like ‘anti go and marry’, ‘you’re nothing but a hoe’, ‘your body count must be over a million by now’. When people talk about rape take it personal and call them liars, ask them what they were wearing when they got raped, talk about the time a girl or a boy came to your house at 9pm and refused to give you ‘show’.
  7. DM Sliding: Follow a lot of girls and women, especially the type you know can never give you the time of the day, slide into their DM’s or inboxes. Make your opening words very attractive, you can start with stuff like ‘Hey beautiful, who’s preeking you?’ or send dick pics, if the girl refuses to reply to your dm, kindly go and insult her very well so that she will know that you’re not to be trifled with. You can also do this in real life by catcalling ‘fine girls’ and when they ignore you yell insults at them, take particular care to talk about how they are dressed like ‘prostitutes’ and how they are ugly, also tell them that they will never find ‘husband’ because they will never find someone like you.

This list is in no way exhaustive, there’s the fact that fuckboys believe marriage is the only reason women were placed on earth, that women must have children because that’s the whole essence of their being. Support the ‘pro-life’ movement. Make stupid comments on how women should behave, dress, be…

We wish you luck in your bid to be the best fuckboy ever!

In which Rita Onwurah tries to defend Nollywood and why she’s not a feminist

9jafeminista: Why Nollywood?

Rita Onwurah: I’ve always been fascinated with film and wanted to be a screenwriter.

9jafeminista: How did you chase this dream down? It couldn’t have been easy.

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Rita C. Onwurah

Rita Onwurah: I had heard about Emem Isong from 2002/03 and had been a part of one of her productions then. So I’d always wanted to meet her, but then, she was out of the country so I couldn’t meet her. Fast-forward to 2004 and I finally got to meet her through my friend Uduak who happens to be her sister. So when I met her and told her I was interested in writing for film. She said she’ll call me up when something comes up. But then I had to travel for NYSC and then came back to work for Farafina, I was there for 4yrs. Then I quit and decided to face screenwriting fully. The opportunity came when Emem needed to shoot a movie and needed a story. I had a story Id been working on, I presented it to her and the rest, like they say, is history

9jafeminista: Would you say your gender has in any way affected your rise in the industry?

Rita: I don’t think it has. I’m good at what I do and I get referrals because I’m good at my job.

9jafeminista: We know that Nollywood has taken a lot of flak for badly written, badly acted movies, and I know you’re one of the few who have worked at writing world class films. In which ways have you tried to change things from the way they are?

Rita: I guess everyone tries in their own little way. The genesis of every film is a story/ script, the story telling is important and it falls on the screenwriter to make a good story happen.

9jafeminista: From what you said earlier women helped you gain traction in the movie industry so what do you think of this narrative that women are usually jealous of one another?

Rita: Well I wouldn’t term it as exclusive though. If there are women jealous of each other, there are women supporting each other, in my journey in Nollywood, women have been most helpful and supportive

9jafeminista: In what ways have you been instrumental in helping other women?

Rita: Well I give advice to upcoming female screenwriters who are starting out in the industry. Sometimes, I refer them to producers who are looking for scripts and my hands are full. I do recommendations for them as well. The sky is big enough one can’t feel threatened by the presence of another writer. There’ll always be demand for content and truth be told, no one person can meet them all.

9jafeminista: You’re young intelligent, hip and pushing frontiers in nollywood with your skills. Would you say you’re also a feminist?

Rita: I don’t like being typecast. I’m not struggling for a man’s position with him.

9jafeminista: What’s a man’s position?

Rita: I just want to be respected for who I am & what I can do.

9jafeminista: We know that … But what’s a man’s position?

Rita: Maybe I didn’t phrase it correctly. Let the men do them. And let us women do us.

9jafeminista: What do men do? what do women do?

Rita: All that ‘weaker’ sex thing is annoying. Let me be respected for what I can do. Not necessarily my gender

9jafeminista: You do understand gender stereotypes though … Men change tyres, can’t cook, don’t cry kind of thing…

Rita: That gender matter can be very restrictive sometimes and annoying. If a woman can do it, by all means let her. Don’t say she’s a woman therefore she can’t

9jafeminista: Do you in any way challenge these stereotypes in your writing or you’re letting things be?

Rita: I challenge them. But I do it wisely. There are ways one can pass the message across without awakening the ire of people

9jafeminista: Can you give me an example of how you negotiate gender norms in your writing?

Rita: In most male written scripts in Nigeria, there’s a certain stereotype thats given to a woman. She’s either dumb, a gold digger, indecisive, weak…I like to write my female characters as human but strong. She’s the strong mother, the hustling wife, the corporate exec calling shots in the office. Even if she’s in a position of weakness, she’s still strong. Not easily bossed around, can hold her own

9jafeminista: So in a quiet way you’ve been changing things and perspectives. What are your sentiments about mass produced videos that seem to follow the same pattern … Of justifying the abuse of women, women as witches and bitches, stigmatization of women who don’t have children… These are recurrent themes in Nollywood and from all indications it seems that things won’t change anytime soon

Rita: I’m not a fan of those things at all. These guys have no idea about the power of the media, and how they’re feeding a stereotype. For them, the average Nigerian woman is a witch, a bitch or a prostitute and that’s so wrong. Those mass production guys don’t care about the message they’re passing. For them, it’s all about the money. But I’ll take Achebe’s advice when he said “If you do not like the story that is told, write your own.” So I’ll continue to write and eventually produce scripts and stories that edify women and not vilify them.

Editorial: Why are you nakeding yourself about?

Editorial: Why are you nakeding yourself about?

A four year old boy once said ‘I’m nakeding about the house’ when asked why he did not wear some clothes after he got back from school. He used the word ‘nakeding’ as one would say ‘jumping’ or ‘singing’, something along the lines of ‘I’m nakeding because I’m happy’.

2One of the pleasures I had while growing up, was that of going about naked in my house. During the usually, hellishly hot, dry season, I could be found playing around the neighbourhood in either a pair of shorts or an underpant, rainy season found me and my friends running around buck naked anytime the rain started. The most cloth I ever wore, while growing up, if I remember correctly, was an undergarment we fondly called a ‘shimmy’ and a pair of shorts. Except it was terribly cold, wearing of clothes was not a prerogative.

I remember being told by my grandmother that she never got to wear clothes until she was about sixteen years old, it was one of her neighbours that actually drew my great-grandmother’s attention to the fact that her daughter now had a pair of breasts and needed to cover them up.

I was at the swimming pool the other day with my children, and was pleased to see a young, flat chested girl, of about eight frolicking in the shallow end with her brothers, in only a pair of shorts, the same type her brothers were wearing.

Shame was not a word I associated with the happy little girl, but in the name of protecting our children, it appears we are teaching them how to be ashamed of their bodies.

A couple of weeks ago, in Kenya, a young lady was stripped naked by a mob of men, because her skirt was deemed too short. This led to a protest hashtagged #mydressmychoice, a simple call for the society to stop what Abimbola Adelakun, in her article titled “How to treat a Naked Woman”, called “legislating the sartorial choices of women.”

Although the stripping and protests took place in ‘faraway’ Kenya, stripping women naked for their choice of dressing, is nothing new to Nigeria.

In the old Yaba, before Raji Fashola brought some modicum of sanity to the place, the traders were known for booing and stripping girls they consider ‘skimpily’ or ‘outrageously’ dressed ,naked, in a lot of cases sexual harassment also takes place while these ‘judges of our morals’ are ‘punishing’ these women.

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culled

In a book titled “Nigerian Dress: The Body Honoured”, Dani Lyndersay traced the costume arts of traditional Nigerian dress from Early History to Independence… and I’m sad to say this to the puritans, our ancestors (from the North to the South), except for the very rich, went about stark naked! And I mean men, women and children. They adorned their bodies, beautifully, with tattoos and other things like feathers, cowry shells and even leaves, but the adornment was simply that, not a means of ‘covering up’.

I dare say wearing clothes and shoes, became popular in Nigeria, more of a statement of fashion, of how rich you are, than to cover up in shame.

A few days ago, a young lady took to Facebook and complained bitterly about how an eight year old child, was ‘all over’ some ‘uncles’ thighs all the while wearing ‘only a pant’. She expressed disappointment at how ‘parents’ are no longer ‘raising their children right’ how this child is courting abuse, because a flat chested eight year old should be an object of desire.

3When called out on why she would choose to shame an innocent little girl, who was obviously enjoying the relief of not having to wear clothes in the hot afternoon sun, she claimed that the girl was making herself ‘vulnerable’ to abuse.

How in the world does a child go around making his/herself vulnerable to abuse?

Isn’t this the same line of argument proffered by rapists and would-be-rapists, ‘why was she wearing that gown?’, ‘what was she doing in his house?’

News flash – paedophiles(men or women who have sex with children), just like rapists and abusers, do not need provocation, they just are – in most cases – very sick individuals that need to be locked up or psychoanalysed or both.

Your child is at risk in your home, more than in the streets, and their state of dress or undress has absolutely nothing to do with this. Paedophiles are known to rape babies of 6months – can we say it’s because they are sagging their diapers?

Most people who abuse your children are often relatives or close family friends and even people who help out in the house. People in authority such as Imams, pastors and teachers, who have access to your child can also be sexual predators – (a sexual predator hunts down his/her potential victims the same way a frog hunts a fly). Abuse is about power and control.

A lion does not care how a gazelle is dressed, all it cares about is hunting it down and killing it! The same way a sexual predator does not care how his or her victim is dressed and is more concerned about assaulting the child or adult, sexually, expressing his/her power over the victim.

We need to stop body shaming, we need to teach our children the correct terms for their body parts and not using euphemisms to describe the penis, the vulva, the breasts, we need to show and teach our child4ren about respecting other people, their space, their choices, their lives!

We need to free ourselves from the mental shackles that have held us down for over a century.

Somebody said sex crimes are on the increase and surmised that it’s because more women are dressing more outrageously now, but I put it to you that sexual crimes are not on the increase, the reportage of sexual crimes has.

A few years ago, women would be afraid to point at rapists and call them out, because of the taboos our society has placed on it, because we shame the victim instead of the abuser, but now, more and more women … and children, are coming out and making their voices heard, they have found out that the people who need to be shamed are the men and women telling them to keep quiet about their abuse, the ones that need locking away are the rapists.

Far and Away – a story by Ifelanwa Osundolire

Far and Away – a story by Ifelanwa Osundolire
Miracle-Ndubisi-still-nursing-the-injuries-inflicted-on-her-face
Sourced from pyeworld.wordpress.com

From the Editor: The housemaid, in Nigeria, encompasses all that is wrong with the way our country is presently structured. She is the avatar of what the patriarch wants a woman to be, cleaner, washer, primary caregiver for the children, often abused sexually and assaulted by family members, the housemaid is the poster child for suffering that the West has embraced as ‘the African Child’. Not that there are no male servants, but the majority of people serving in our homes are girls between the ages of 9 and 16, most people prefer it so because they are easier to ‘control’ and it is not likely that they’ll ‘sexually abuse’ our precious children.

The story you’re about to read is actually more anecdotal than imagined, it is something that was experienced as a child by the author, who was sad that he had not spoken up when as a child he had gone to ‘piss’ inside his aunt’s bath, but the woman had taken out her rage on the housemaid, who of course knew nothing about it. His point was ‘why do we keep quiet in the face of unfairness?’

We leave you to enjoy and maybe reflect on the story of ‘Patience’…

Two slaps landed in quick succession on the younger woman’s face before she could cover it with  both arms to deflect a third.

Somewhere in a corner, a fan whirred noisily, periodically flicking the leaves of a stack of papers on a table and raising dusty minions that swam about the small living room around the arms of a madam who was beating her maid with reckless abandon. The others looked on without saying a word.

There were three cushion chairs, two side tables, a television and a fan –witnesses, mute consorts with the people in the 9jafeministaroom. The madam’s husband, who occupied a sagging chair by the desk that bore the table fan and two little children – the man’s nephews – who had their arms gathered in neats folds on their laps switching between watching the lone bulb hanging above their uncle’s head and the raining blows that threatened to tear the maid to shreds. The oldest of the children – about seven and the younger about four, wore matching pleated white shorts with lilac trimming at the edges that conversed in purples with the permanganate hued ankara skirt the maid wore.

“Why did you piss in the baff? I say why did you piss in the baff?”

The madam in her mid-forties, had a yellowing complexion that bore a sharp contrast to the fading black hue that was the colour around her ears, her knuckles and the back of her ankles. Her small haloed eyes sparkling with rage, lent her narrow bony face more depth. Her braids flew in the face of fury and wrapped around the beaded neckline of the green kaftan she wore. She wasn’t asking the questions expecting answers but the maid persevered all the same.

“Madam I say it is not me!”

“You say it is not you …  Is it me you are talking to like that? Is it me you are talking to?” Her questions were accentuated by further slaps that sounded like thuds against a shield of arms.

“It is not you, it is not you then who is it? How many of us are in this house you useless girl. Is the baff where to piss? Ehn…Is the baff where to piss? And you,” she turned towards where the children sat “… what are you children just sitting and looking at like mumu. Oya get inside!”

The children scurried towards a bare door.

9jafeministaThe maid called Patience – in her early teens, by now was negotiating her way slowly towards the nearest the door, away from her domestic assailant. The blows hurt but what hurt more were the words of her mother – words she still remembered before leaving their little hut in Otupko in Benue State. Words that gave her hope that she would ‘only’ be travelling to ‘help’ these people. A hope that died when her mother paused to count the money the agent had paid in return for her service as maid for one year. Patience smarted at the sting of the madam’s ring as it caught her right knuckle in searing pain that ran up her forearm.

She couldn’t hold up much longer. She made a dash for the entrance door which was open wide but barred by the net shutter that prevented mosquitoes from entering, she tore away from the arms of her madam, as the older woman tried to pull her back by the neckline of her tee shirt. The black tee shirt gave way too easily as Patience hauled herself against the net shutter. It wasn’t bolted and yeilded to her weight, she stumbled her way to freedom on the two steps that led to the bare earth of the outside and the wide boughs of the almond tree that shaded the front of the unpainted bungalow she called home.

“Where are you going?” The woman screamed from inside. “Don’t come back into this house today. If I see you in this house I will kill you.”

Patience ran a couple of metres away from the house – out of earshot, turning to face the receding house before she finally stopped. She then folded her arms in defiance and began breathing hard as the pent up streams of tears she had held back for so long began to flow easily now that their dam was broken. She hadn’t done it. She hadn’t urinated in the bath. She didn’t know who did it.

She couldn’t help but wonder whether her two elder sisters – Ene and Florence, who had also ‘travelled’ the year before her 9jafeministawere facing the same things. She wondered if they ate dinner before going to bed. She wondered if they slept on the bare floor beside an empty bed no one ever slept in. Maybe they had more caring madams.

She missed their mischievous trio and battles with their other brothers. Even in lack, the company of all seven of the kids was all the home that mattered to her and the brief moments with her father, in the little time she got to know him before he left home and never came back. Patience looked around the alien surrounding she had lived in for almost 6 months now, the trees, the grass, the idling livestock, the people and their strange language.

She looked up at the wide skies and imagined she was a bird. She would fly away and see blues and greens in its splendour, the wind beneath her wings.

She imagined herself in far away lands where she was queen and had numerous servants and vasals tending to her every wish. She would not be a wicked woman like her madam. She would be kinder, more considerate, more human.

She ran her gnarled fingers through her matted hair down the nape of her neck. It was thick with sweat and hurt badly. She couldn’t see the scratches and the little welts that had begun to form just below her hairline. She couldn’t see the blood either.

OIO

We leave you to enjoy and maybe reflect on the story of ‘Patience’.