and hours turned into months. Forgive me.

The semester is almost over, I can almost taste it. Actually, it’s the bitter taste of having two major finals on one day. I am back, and I will try and find things to piss me off so I can write but for now, we chill.

Actually, I am having an argument with two college students about the existence of mermaids. Join the club and tell the world that they don’t exist. Or present your proof for their existence. Both ways, it’s nice to type again.

Till the next rant, I am not very responsible. Much love.


Been A While, Where Have Yall Been?

I’m not going to give you the “I have been busy” rhetoric this time. Even though I have been. I have also managed to churn out a couple of impassioned, well-meaning but ill timed posts. There were not posted because something in the back of my head wouldn’t let me. The last few months have been intense. I turned nineteen. I’m old. I started a new semester with a whole new course load. I am taking honors classes and ended up on the honor roll. Woot Woot! I am actively trying to gain weight, I work, I take time out to curse the New England weather. I can’t make it sound like I am complaining, I love it. My last post was about how I had become a waste of space, well I did something about it. Somehow I still find time to be bored and binge watch Netflix. All in all. I’m back for the umpteenth time. I found a new part of my life to explore and talk about.

Till the next rant (its a few hours away)

The Africanist

Stop Talking, Gaby

My mama always used to tell me that if Africa pulled itself together – dropped all the tribal bickering, allowed both genders to realise their potential, stopped with the corruption etc. – it’d be a force that could dominate the globe. Think about it: even after colonialism there are enough natural resources to flood the markets.. The pure human capital.. The raw entrepreneurship that comes with living in a developing country – I’m so sure that your average hustler in Koumassi market would put Lord Sugar’s apprentices to shame, if he had the same means and opportunities. The problems facing the continent are diverse, numerous and challenging, yes, we all know that; but the potential. Is. Phenomenal.

For this reason, it saddens me to hear Africans (both at home and in the diaspora) admit that they’ve “given up” on their respective nations. The modern era has infected human beings with a…

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That title is a lie. I did run away. I spent the last few months, moving and starting school which played a  part in my absence. My laptop was acting like it had lost all sense, so we had to break up, and I got another one. But the bigger reason, was my insecurity, reading other peoples’ words and feeling like I could never reach that level. Or words that sounded like those that I wrote when I was thirteen and realizing that I couldn’t summon up words from that place anymore. But, I have decided to power through. Hence I am writing this on a whim in the library when I should be learning about the many ways that fats are going to kill us.

So like I already said, I moved to school, and the harrows that have caused is unmentionable. I can go on for hours about how cold my school is but my dorm is sauna because someone keeps messing with the heat, trying to get us to die from heatstroke. When it gets unbearably hot, I sleep on the cold tile floor, and I’m glad to say I have started a movement. The bathroom is a pig sty because two girls don’t seem to understand hygiene causing my roommate to attack with bleach every day which is all still in futility. The cafeteria food is a mess; the only edible things are pizza and french fries which put me on the path of the freshman fifteen, heading straight towards the thirty. I’m having trouble fitting into my jeans. Why am I playing with obesity?

All is not bad, my skin is clearing up, I have stuck to my principles and vows and did I mention I am having trouble fitting into my jeans? Which means, I am on my way to slim thick!!

So far, so good. I change my mind, there is a bee hovering near me in this library giving me hives. I gotta go before I lose my mind. Truthfully, I am glad to be back.

Till the next rant! Much love.



I had told myself that I wasn’t going to talk about this and I had already read a post by The Afro Attorney. I was all good, this was one of the things that were I was going to swallow and forget. BUT! I got annoyed yesterday and told the wrong person off which I rarely do, I always make sure I insult the right person. And I, at this point don’t care if people come for me.

I am livid. Over the last few days, a few boys have had the audacity to ask me if I can cook because Pastor Adeboye said you shouldn’t marry a girl if she can’t cook, among a few other ridiculous and superficial reasons. When did sanctity of marriage become so tarnished by a list of things to check off? Can she cook? Check. Does he have a good paying job? Check. Is she willing to shut up and obey your every command? Check. Utter nonsense.

Yes, he is a pastor and I am just an unfiltered eighteen-year-old but it doesn’t stop me from calling it out. Don’t come to me swimming in your tears, talking about “it’s just his opinion”. I can spout my opinion because this is MY blog, but when you have a church, GODS’ church- your opinion has no seat in the congregation. I can’t find any biblical backings to such statements. I find it insulting and disturbing that this is the propaganda people are being fed and nobody is taking the time to open their Bibles.

I have always been in awe of people who can pray for over thirty minutes, I just can’t so I have another way. I don’t know how y’all pray, but I can give you a rundown of my day in which I say my 5-10 morning prayer and spend the rest of the day complaining/asking/talking to God like I would a friend (cause he is). I talk to Him about several things and at night I finish up my day by thanking him for my life and everyone else’s’. I wasn’t brought up to think prayer was a long and serious lecture, my relationship with God is an ongoing conversation, not some long story. #QualityoverQuantity. Oh and News Flash: I hate cooking. Is it cause I’m lazy? Nope. Can I cook? Your food has nothing on mine. I just don’t like it. It is not my job as a female to cook, clean, wash. Nope nope. They are basic human skills, learn em or don’t. I think, if I was to ever get married I would be a kick-ass wife. Being a wife isn’t about all the physical things you can do. To limit your “wifeness” to the physical activities you perform and spirituality that should never be measured is insulting so many different levels.

There comes a point where you are going to have to pick between your tradition or religion.Both can’t be so tightly woven or interchanged when necessary to win a particular argument. One has to take precedence, a massive head start. I have chosen religion (Yoruba and Edo won’t take me heaven) in which the same basic morals ,respect, love, humility e.t.c are taught. If you choose your tradition, don’t support #ChildNotBride, feel free to give your children tribal marks and let your husband marry several wives and be ready to cook till your blood mixes with the rice. And if you choose your religion, don’t be moaning about your wife not being chained to the stove and deciding to have a career.

Next time you want to ask a girl if she can cook, look down at your hands, you got em? Head to the kitchen. It’s not that serious. Girls, you want to cook for your man, I will support you but never feel like it’s something you have to do.

I was always taught that you don’t follow pastor, you follow God. If you aren’t sure about what the pastor said, for the love of the God you went to church to meet, open your Bible.


Lost Ones. 

This is by my amazing friend Fumbi Ajumobi. Who evidently, is a better writer than I am. So, out of pure jealousy and intimidation I had to steal it. Enjoy! 

I return to my grave to get inspired.

There lies my creativity.

Murdered my own loving parents in an effort to raise me “properly”.

I was killed for my own sake
There are several others at the graveyard

each with a story to tell about their gruesome murder.

Some died in an effort to Grow Up to face their harsh reality.

Others died,having discovered the evils of this world, unable to cope with it.

We that visit the grave are the lucky ones.

There are those whose souls are buried unmarked in the depths of their hearts.

You recognise them by the emptiness of their eyes,a mirror image of their lives

At least,I have a place to seek solace

At least I had loving parents

At least I died for my own sake.

If you look close enough,you just might see the twinkle in my eye…  

I’m back, for realsies. I promise 

Hello people! I am terribly sorry. I basically told u I wasn’t going to run away , then I disappeared. I’m back now. For reals. School and school prep has been riding up my butt. If you got a graphic image of a wedgie, you are welcome ☺️. Now I am somewhat settled so, I can actually write like i care. 

So that being said, see ya 🤓