FRAYED AT THE EDGES: The Hopeless Ramblings of an Insomniac on a Friday Evening.

It’s like being frayed in the edges like a child’s rag doll. In this cold dark room, where the blue light filter is useless, and all the childhood songs are playing to reassure like a blanket. An absolute fray and fraying, triggers upon triggers.

An old man in the manner of asking a question and in the obvious nature of interjecting and shunning and propounding,: “Why live in a patrichial society if you say it is not beneficial?”. Like we’re living at all, like chained tasteless existence was not the order till our foremothers and fathers fought back.

It is a little tear at another end, a comment section why are you covering her ass. A woman whose body got featured on tv, from all indications she did not want it to happen. But it’s entertainment yh? It has always been. This case of flesh we came in, our souls another alien thing.

It is a rip, a tweet that confirmed my fears, we are indeed losing ground, from Afghanistan to America, the land of the free, the existence as woman means to shrink shrink and shrink.

Another jagged tear, an headline proclaiming a man fallen from the graces of bro-dom, “a woman” – a substandard man.

It’s disheartening.. Heart in a literal distress, of such magnitude to fear collapse.

And writing is the only solace. But this feels like a pen in a sword fight, regardless of what that wise person said; it is not greater. It is hopeless and breakable. And lazy.

Rape By Deception a.k.a Things That men (not all men your highnesses) Think I shouldn’t call rape.

Sex is a pretty shrouded subject, wrapped tight like a Lazarus that should never wake from the dead. I wrote a blog post here on how we actually need to demystify sex so that people (especially toddlers and teenagers) would stop falling prey to sexual predators, I intend to expand on my reasons why in this post.

Personally I believed for a while, several myths about sex that I’d picked up from conversations from mates and bawdy strangers in car parks, and just anywhere sex can be talked about.

For instance, I honestly believed according to a male friend that men menstruate and it was the compilation that had to be ejaculated later (I was like 9 in this conversation), or they’ll experience intense pain at the base of their stomachs if they don’t have sex for a long time (and this is one of the most popular myth I’ve come across, from JSS class shit talks, to grown men teasing another who has stomach ache about the last time he got to “offload”.)

Another is that a woman’s monthly menstrual cramps would go away with just one thrust of the God given sceptre of Moses in that groin of a man.
Also was that the hymen grew back after years and so even if he did it once, (it would not happen again baby, I promise) the “packet” seal will grow back, in case we needed to show parents stained sheets on “our” wedding night. And most recently clarified myth(last year guys, last freaking year): blue balls do not actually mean his balls are about to rupture from intense pain.

And oh, there is the funny story of my lecturer who schooled in an all boys boarding house. His first time traveling home alone, a woman’s hands made contact with his, and he ran out screaming from the bus in fear, saying he has gotten her pregnant. That was what he was thought by his masters in secondary school: touch a woman and you get her pregnant.

There were certain points in my life I thought these things were true, and if I wasn’t defending my early blooming body with a scowl and caustic tongue for the best years of my teenage years, I might have fallen for one. And even as I was growing older if I didn’t educate myself, take special interest in sexual education or just be exposed to education, I might still have fallen prey. So when I see things like this…

I grow red in my head, because I understand how an informed person may approach sex. Just full of unconfirmed truths and reliance on the other person who is more often than not, more experienced, or just very confident in ignorance.

Now let’s talk about rape again? What do we define rape as? Simply sexual intercourse without consent. Now what is consent? a yes, a go ahead, a I-am-in-this-as-much-as-you-are. But is there really consent without information?
What is consent when it’s given on the premise of lies? Is that still willing, is that still a true unadulterated yes? And we can choose as a society to say: a person having sexual intercourse with another person who has expressed non-consent, have their decision bypassed by way of lies, or persistent pestering to obtain a yes is just scum behaviour, errr not really reprehensible…

But how come fraud is a crime. How come entering into a contract with misrepresentation vitiates that contract?
Is this a case of playing gamble with a particular population affected with this particular thing like we always do? Discouraging the sale of rape defense kits because they seem barbaric when we’re allowed to used barbed wires around the fences of properties for example? Anyways, I digress.

I will not be talking only from personal experience as a girl. Here’s some answer from other girls I asked this particular question:

“A man claimed he told a girl he’d have stomach pain if he didn’t have sex with her.” Now I want to know similar lies men have told girls (that you likely know, or you’ve heard about just to have sex with them.”

“He’d die”, bla bla. I am not really familiar with the lies they tell sha

Someone once told me that her boyfriend said that he doesn’t know how to show love and having sex is that only way he knows how to show that he truly loves her. I also heard the one about sex reduces menstrual cramps.

“Sex will help reduce body pains”


That he’ll just put the tip in. That it’s not sex

That If he holds his jizz for to too long he will not be okay.

Now these are downright ridiculous, and no sensible person should fall for that. But who was really actually sensible about sex in their early teens. I think we should thank integrated science, and biology teachers who couldn’t pronounce the word vagina without whispering. And that is even for the lucky ones that went to school; how about the people on the street without access to education. How about those whose sexual education was on the day of their first period, those whose mum told them “If you touch a penis, you will die”, and after a particularly enthusiastic volunteer allowed them a touch, they took their nth breath and continued life in sexual curiousity and naivety

Rape by deception is very much thing, see what section 357 of the Nigerian Criminal Code has to say:

Any person who has unlawful carnal knowledge of a woman or girl without her consent, or with her consent, if the consent is obtained by force or by means of threats or intimidation of any kind, or by fear of harm, *or by means of false and fraudulent representation as to the nature of the act*, or in the case of a married woman, by impersonating her husband, is guilty of an offence which is called rape.”

However, our culture is too weak to take sexual intercourse with flawed consent (in concise parlance RAPE) by the balls, and shove it on the shelves of crimes punishable by the law. You get to court and give that kinda testimony, watch out the court dissolves in laughter, the judge throwing out your case as a triviality.

One thing particularly baffles me, why do people want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you? Why? How does it sit well with you that this person I’m knocking boots would rather not be doing this, but thanks to my “sleekness” in ensuring my selfish desires are satisfied, we’re firing on? How? Beats me.
Understand something, if your partner has expressed by explicit words or actions that they are not down to having sex with you, or going on with sex with you ; just walk back, retreat, desist, don’t lie, don’t coerce, don’t pressure, just let it go and drink cold water.

For the girls, and ladies: when a guy tells you he has a medical situation that requires him finding solace in your vagina, please refer him to a doctor, regardless what Timi dakolo says, you are not a medicinal treatment for an asinine liar.

It’s understandable that rape by deception is going to be hard to prove especially in as the relations surrounding sex. And of course rape proceedings being more of a funnel for the criminal justice system rather than a system to protect the victims would likely not suffice. But it is necessary to appeal to morality of people.

Don’t have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you. Don’t repeatedly ask for what they’ve said they don’t want to do with you, and after several tries you go at least I got consent; you didn’t, you’re a coercive manipulator; you should be ashamed of your actions and change.

By the way, there is nothing like sex without consent, or with misinformed or coerced consent. The word you are looking for is rape.

Thanks for inspiring the post buddy.

END SARS PROTESTS: An Evidence of The Ever Increasing Generational Gap in Nigeria.


Some Nigerian claim is that life is too difficult back home, but they have made it difficult for Europeans and Americans to accept them because of the number of Nigerian in prison all over the world accused of drug trafficking or human trafficking.”
*Buhari in an interview with UK telegraph.

“More than 60 percent of the population is below, a lot of them haven’t been to school and are claiming that Nigeria is an oil-producing country, therefore they should sit and do nothing and get housing with care and education free.”
_Buhari, at a panel appearance with world leaders at commonwealth meeting.

An average Nigerian adult thinks the generation of youth generally lack in values; they are seen as less hardworking as they don’t have acres of farmland to weed or miles to work to school, but still complain about the littlest thing and want life easy on a platter of parents’ hard-earned money.

They think they lack morals because they are more challenging of traditions and hold culture in less esteem than their forefathers. It is no surprise that the endSARS protests, a movement majorly attributed to the youths, was met with frowns from a large number of the adult population. And it showed that while we all wanted a better country, there seems to be a disconnect with how we want it.

#Sorosoke was a hashtag that came from youths denying the culture of silence they refuse to inherit from parents. The Nigerian attitude of looking away when people in leadership go wrong or just making passing comments without really demanding accountability has been the bane of our followership and, by extension, leadership. The Nigerian leadership is mostly corrupt because followership does not demand accountability from leadership.

The culture of respect is another area of difference. While the older generations see respect as something to be given to anyone in a position of authority, youths feel respect should be earned. The older generation has been cultured to give respect (emphasis on culture, which the new generation seems to be shedding away). Come to think of it, we as a country have continued to refer to people who have robbed us of dividends of democracy, stolen from the coffers of our commonwealth, displayed flagrant disrespect to the constitution we all swear to protect, as “honourable, distinguished.”; This is another problem that needs overhauling of our attitude towards leadership. In real sense, political leaders are public servants, servants of the people. Since they are elected by the people who pay taxes to keep them in office if they want their employers/followers’ respect, they should earn it.

Faith: Nigerian oxygen and drinking water; Nigeria is deemed one of the most religious countries in the world. While religion in itself is not a bad thing, it seems the institution of religion (as opposed to religion as man’s connection to the spiritual) dishes out ignorance like opium to the people. Churches widely supported end SARS protesters, but on the other end were churches and religious bodies that took the stance of silence on the grounds of “it is wrong to rebel”; or that “if youths dressed well or looked ‘presentable’, they would not be attacked by operatives of SARS.” The hyper morality of religious people, the idea that a person in a country with an established judicial system deserved to be killed because they do not adhere to a particular rule of moral conduct without legal backing, is baffling.

So also is the idea that we should keep resorting to prayer without using our voices against the vices of the public servants. Even leaders in power encourage us to pray against corruption, mentioning something along the lines of witches and wizards. Who is the witch? Who are the wizards? The custodian of the night skies or those looting with their two eyes closed to the people’s plight.

As a Nigerian youth, you probably wonder why you need to explain things as glaring as these to your parents or older uncles and aunties, but imagine living through the dust of colonial wagons driving off the road of a wobbling country, and then, the military government with its iron ruling fist. Next time you want to have a conversation about change with your older ones that do not believe in the sweep of change, here’s a guide:

Be respectful: disrespect is an immediate turn off when speaking with adults or with anyone. Make your points concisely without insulting their intelligence. The truth is, they know where you are coming from; they need just a little more time prodding to admit, this is not the streets of Twitter.

Bring history, facts and figures. Be armed with your facts; they always trump opinion, giving an objective and better view of what you are about to preach. In other words, get educated, learn from news, books, make a special effort to know more about your country, government policies, etc. Knowledge is power, power is influence, and that is a major ingredient in our thirst for change as a people.

The fight for a new Nigeria is everybody’s; we owe it to the coming generation to wipe out the stain of bad governance. However, while both generations seem to differ in passion and approach, in the end, we all need each other. It is the wisdom of both old and young that built Ile-Ife, and if we want to develop our own Nigeria, we must understand our differences in all sections of society, address them, and use that understanding for our fight. God bless Nigeria.

The Slippery Slope of Intimate Partner Violence and its Fervent Trap


Every year according to statistics by United Nations 50,000 (fifty thousand) women suffer from Intimate Partners Violence (IPV). Similarly, in a cross-sectional study based on 120,802 partnered Nigeria women between the ages of 15-49, results showed that 1 in every four women have experienced IPV(Benebo, FO., et al. BMC Women’s Health 18). You probably know someone among this 25% currently in a relationship that keeps taking their lives little by little but without a clear resolve to leave.

With all the battering, you are forced to ask, “But why doesn’t she up and leave?”, “Why doesn’t she get a divorce”, “He’s just a boyfriend why is she not breaking up?”. Maybe you have even considered washing your hands off their case, leaving then with their coconut resolve to stay in their hell; before you do, take a pause and look at the larger picture.

Victims of IPV do not just suddenly start receiving doses of punches in a day, before the attack on the body, there have been several attacks on their mind, and whenever the mind is weakened, the body is barely a sack. The lives of victims can be compared to a pitcher jar where the abuser is the attractive plant sitting with promising nectar to their insects. They soon find themselves slipping into the toxic cavity and get dissolved. Here is a step by step breakdown of how this happens:

Affection: This is basically the love-in-Tokyo phase, where everything is roses and wine. Where the unknowing victim is drawn to the sweet-looking and smelling nectar of the pitcher plant and its inherent doom, the abuser is in “goals” mode, the victim is enveloped enviably in his arms with promises of beautiful territories ahead. The abuser also builds trust and confidence in the relationship here with a compilation of romantic gestures, thoughtful actions, etc.

The withdrawal: affection usually, but does not necessarily decline at this stage. The abuser starts by laying grounds for a massive attack on self-esteem and dehumanisation of the victim. It comes with a confusing show of love and at the same time hostility, bordering on dislike and hate. It manifests in the light of snide comments, grenades on their appearance or intelligence cushioned with I-love- you-despite- it. It is where the abuser bursts into fury for minimal issues and then apologises with as much ferocity and grand gestures.

The victim at this stage is convinced that the actions of the abuser are really a reflection of intense passion. Through gaslighting and playing down the effect of their misdoings on the victims emotional health, the abuser is able to convince the victims into believing that they are the ones at fault for whatever mistakes done or display of violent anger by the abuser. (You made me do it, you provoked me, if you had not switched off the light at night I wouldn’t have slept off and woke up so grumpy I hit you.)

The next thing is isolating the victim in the trap. The abuser does everything to keep away family and friends who could help the victim see sense. They make the victims alienate their friends, by bad-mouthing them, sowing seeds of discord etc.
Also, they pry the victim from any source of independence: career, job business that could make them free of their abuser. Essentially this is the Stockholm syndrome foundation; the effect is the victim is stuck with the abuser for survival. Without friends or family or financial independence, the victim depends on the abuser for living, and because insults and verbal missiles have destroyed self-esteem, and any belief in their ability to be anything without the abuser, they stay stuck.

With all this, do you still think it’s possible for women experiencing IPV to simply leave? Blindly sever ties with the abuser? Putting into consideration the extra pressure of society, that places the value of a woman on her ability to keep a man.

All these are the grounds on which a victim slips into a toxic environment, slowly degenerating by the constant violence and emotional abuse that they find it hard to leave. They need your help, continued support, and security. Understand that the highest rate of homicides in toxic relationships happen at the point of women leaving or after leaving. When talking of her exasperation with women staying in abusive relationships, Cynthia Hill, Director of HBO’s private violence admitted that: “The thing that I did not know that was so revealing to me was that anywhere between 50% and 75% of domestic violence homicides happen at the point of separation or after [the victim] has already left [her abuser].”

The best advice to give a woman in a relationship where she feels a modicum of disrespect, or fear is to leave. Run far, because if she remains in the toxicity and dehumanisation, she loses her strength; then leaving becomes a struggle as her self worth has been greatly diminished. Do not enable IPV, do not give advices tailored to help victims cope with their abusive relationship, call it out and let’s extract one woman after another from a culture of suffering.

#16daysofactivism #preventipv #genderbasedviolence.

Of Feminist discussions and the scarcity of empathy. Or WHY I WON’T TALK FEMINISM WITH MEN ANYMORE.

Last week was packed with having hour long chats about feminism and gender inequality. It ranged from trying to call out strains of “casual” pedophilia, and the regular “it’s not that deep”, to sexualisation of women, and having to defend myself for the philosophy of twitter extremists (I’m not even on twitter) which I don’t subscribe to, it was a tumble rumble ring round the roses and thorns kinda week.

And at this point, I guess the next song I’ll be singing is “why I don’t talk about feminism with men again.”I’ve come to realise something in my several discussion of gender issues that empathy is not something this generation of men (no matter how woke) can provide you as a woman. They can see your struggles, they may even give you a hug or sorry, but to put themselves in your shoes to truly try to feel what you face on a daily basis is not in the range of emotions for a huge number of them (at least that I relate to).

Another thing I understand is, they’re not to blame, a generation that was nutured by another who think you should arrest a rapist but tell your girls to package their Double D sized boobs in a way that doesn’t elicit erections is really just starting to learn. A generation that grew up with Barney Stenson being regarded a legend for sleeping with a lot of women and writing it down as a trophy, who now currently bond over the Marlian culture of regarding women in terms of ass, tits and pussy, that find no big deal in laughing at rape jokes of stand up and IG comedians, still has a lot to learn. But then, it is easier to bend fresh fish than straighten a smoked one. With the way they were brought up and things they grew up to see, their empathy is not something we should expect, and honesty they don’t owe us. (I think).

So while you volunteer for suicide prevention programs, an issue predominantly affecting men or, you stand up against the men are scum movement, or you reiterate time over time that men are not the problem, society is, don’t expect that same energy when it’s time to call out rape culture and apologists. They don’t owe you.

Here is what you owe yourself: Your energy. I spent a lot of emotional watts trying to make this discussions as clear as possible, trying to make the other side see things that were just too obvious, but it was a kinda merry-go-round task or better still, a dead end met with “that’s not correct”, “that’s doesn’t make sense,” “it’s not that deep” or “so I become the demon just because I’m a man.”(In other words I don’t experience your reality and thus, it’s not true). It felt like Trevor Noah arguing with Tomi Lauren, I couldn’t help feeling angry, and exhausted.

So here is the thing, no more round about arguements, no more defending twitter extremists. And as I read in an essay of Anaïs Nin no more unnecessary expending of energy on people who can’t and don’t want to try relate to your experience no matter how much you to explain. And also no resentment for it because they don’t owe you. You have to pay attention to that resentment, it consumes you, don’t have that resentment.What is on the menu now is to place focus on your dream as a Feminist, to make feminism redundant. To have a future where you walk into a room and say “I AM A FEMINIST”, and everyone there says with an eyeroll “Here comes another time traveller from 2020.”

It starts with you start building a strong future for yourself, so that you have choices to make, and you can help others women make choices too. A future where you can run for positions of leadership, where you can righteously shake the table (per AOC). This is the time to divert that energy into volunteering and initiatives that will change the course of the future, start investing your time into things that actually or will actually matter, not one sided arguments where only one person is listening, the other is hearing to reply and react.Most importantly, (in the spirit of Zikora by CNA) make sure that the prospective or possible father of your children unequivocally respects women and stands for their right. Not for saying sake, or to a certain threshold, but by unequivocal actions because those speak louder.

As the reproductive burden is on you as a woman (who wishes to preserve humankind with her body), the change in the generation to come also relies on you. Make sure you give them a father who doesn’t keep quiet when a bro disrespets a woman, or makes light of issues affecting women, but is out to quickly reinforce that men are not the scum, society is. Make sure it is someone who sees Feminist concerns not just as an argument of theory and the hypcritical circus of devil’s advocacy but something that affects women in reality. Make sure it’s someone who reads and educates himself about the dynamics of sexism, someone who wants to learn, an active speaker of women rights just as much as he speaks against demonisation of men. Make sure it’s not someone who regards a guy with several sexual partners as a legend, but refers to that girl with several sexual partners as a slut. Make sure you don’t give your daughters a father who points at a bad driver in traffic and says that must be a woman. Make sure it is not someone who feels it normal to advocate for the “poor rapist” (“dressing well would prevent rape like keeping flashy items will prevent robbery”, “girls sometimes mean yes when they say “no”, “girls like the pressure” etc.)

The future lies in your womb, and your choice of partner

Once again, do away with resentment, it’s always a readily available feeling to romance in situations like that, just refocus your energy and keep sharing love and change.(NB: This piece is what I feel, it has nothing to with if you as a girl wants to still have conversation with guys about feminism, I’m not saying it’s a futile effort. But from my end, I just think I’ve had it.

.Here is a link to “How to talk feminism with men without getting in a fight)

To Write or Nah

Days like this when I feel I’m the most cliché wannabe writer ever, I remember when my English teacher gave us an assignment in JSS2 and I delivered a flawless story. He called me up to his office to tell me I cheated, what book did I copy it from? Bro, that’s my head for you. I wrote that, all copyright in heaven, textbooks and internet belongs to me. I must have been that good, that was a compliment I am never forgetting, ever.

Then I remember how my classmates in junior secondary school wanted my story updates, I wrote a bunch and having my classmates ask to see the drama I wrote, the prose I’ve not completed and how they come back looking disappointed when they realised I’m not yet done. That’s another high.

Oh I remember the first day I did spoken words, I forgot my lyrics a lot. And till today I don’t know why I stopped, perhaps because I’m now a “realist” (Francis’ synonym for pessimist) you can’t do spoken words with my ever reducing level of faith in human beings and the world in general. A lot of people kept asking me, did you copy it from the internet? Where did you get it from, that’s really good, you wrote that? (all the while looking at me like I sprung horns). I felt insulted, but hey, they thought I did something so dope and internet Einstein wrote it, so yh, I’m really the Einstein.

Oh I remember the first essay for A’ levels class, I wrote it on a sheet of paper because the book I had with me wasn’t consecrated for school works, and devil be healed before I let a lecturer I just met read my thoughts in that book. He came back saying the best writing came in the worst package, heyyy diamonds come in mud duhh.

Where am I getting to, I’ve hit that spot again, yh that one where I feel like hibernating for 5 years till the muses miss me so much they torture me with a lot of inspiration. Then I become the girl that transitioned from coma to #1 bestseller.

I hope you have a great day


Photo credit: Africa is a country

Smile Bride, smile.
Have they not taught you how to,
Flex your face so wide they split
Split into half and spill over in twos.
Your mother never taught you how to be
Bubbly, no matter how deflated you are
She didn’t teach you pancake tech?
How to hide your bruises and patches
Will you slap that smile on your face?
Did you ever see your grandma frown in public?
Except when the curtains were drawn and lights are off?
What do you lock your teeth for?
Why else were you paid for in gold?
All the eru iyawo and osùn and òrí àmó
They were meant to make you Glow
So stop looking like you’re chocking on his johns.

#bride #weddings #happy #picture_perfect #wife #african_bride

In my head

This is the first installment of the MAY story series. It is about a girl that failed her Joint Admission Matriculation Examination (that’s a Nigerian exams final year secondary school students write to gain admission into universities in Nigeria). This story says something about mental health that this country is ignoring.

Please read, and have fun.

Please, proceed to Instagram for the rest of the story. Click on the link, https://www.instagram.com/p/CAZ_gdnDlb7/?igshid=d143zxwt1b57 and get *in my head*

Ajé is a Yoruba word for profit. Ironically, the bearer of the name feels like a all the big losses in the history of Wall Street combined.

This is a sneak peek.



You grew up on this world where the first question after congratulations on your birth was: Ako àbí Abo (male or female). It’s all fine, at least they let you live, only what’s the essence of life when you’re only half human with unclosed doors up your thighs.

You kept on growing, your name labelled you like a cloth on a manequinne. Your face was your power, your body, your downfall. Don’t play football, stay with mummy in the kitchen, leave the spanner, let your brother pick it. They put you everywhere your brother wasn’t… Till you slowly became simmering enemies. No fighting, no screaming, just a resentment that, what you both had to the exclusion of the other, was a the key to a better life.

You grew boobs, shed the first blood of your first child, and were told never to let boys touch you, so you ran farther, farther away from your brother, they must be evil. The movies told you so, the songs they sang dehumanised you more, reduced you to ass and tits, you were the hoe that came after the bro… So you closed your eyes to see them no more. But if you close your eyes for the wicked to pass, you’d lose sight of the good too.

Ha haaa!!!, There you go, the girl in excellence, succeeding and flying high beyond boundaries. You’ve set your feet on the moon and towered above stars, CEO, director, professor, billionaire, philanthropist… And everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
But that’s just the end of the story. In the middle of it all: you’ve been pushed to the wall and made to fight back, you’ve fallen on your flight up, getting up was a miracle, you’ve made the dumbest of decisions, you’ve been ridiculed for your great dreams, pfft, kitchen keeper. And with all these plaques, and scars to tell their story, you’re still not complete without a crown, a man. The one you now detest as he seemed to always pull you down, no matter how high you climb to flee from him.

No, no baby, he’s not the problem, he’s not the reason you can’t just be that eagle. He’s not even the one you should fly from. We all are, we who would after congratulating you for promotion will ask you, when are we receiving your aso ebí colours. This same we, that said but a Woman cannot be president, (at least not yet), this same us that tried to lock you up in the other room, that shun your opinion as mere women’s banta. We are your problem. It’s us who call you bitchy and bitter when you became our principled boss. It’s we who wanted you to stay in that abusive relationship with that adult in diapers, we that mocked you for your joyfully high gele in your 10th wedding attendance this year. It’s we who cringe at your cleavage. Slut! We hiss Into your headsetted ears. If you want to rave and rant at anybody at all, it is us, all on us. We are your enemies.

Take your anger away from him, you’re fighting something way bigger… Something he himself cannot seem to control. You are fighting a consensus that has existed since years of stones and bones. An agreement, a bond, to put you in a place called roles, in a room called “This is”.

Sheath your anti-man sword woman, you’re fighting something way bigger.

#feminism #prowoman #proman #fighting_something_way_bigger #genderequality #no_manhating

What did they tell you about sex.

Reading was something I could not do without growing up. As early as 9, I can remember reading Harlequin novels and that was my initiation to what sex was (at least penetrative sex as I understood it to mean then) . Then came Basic Science and friends who had multimedia phones and watched porn. I was very curious and I searched and asked questions.

So this day I asked my sister, what is the meaning of ejaculation. I had seen the word in the newspaper, a column that’s dealt with sex and sexuality (specified for adults and married couples, I sure didn’t know boundaries) and I also saw it in a book where ejaculate was used to mean exclamation. You should see the way she screamed at me “let daddy or mummy hear you.” I held my peace.

I also remember telling a friend of mine in junior secondary class about erection. I had consultant authorities such as Oxford dictionary, Harlequin romance, Harlequin blaze and my imagination. So I was very confident in my knowledge, that confidence didn’t last long. One of my male friends approached me, said word filtered out about how I was corrupting a friend, went on to call me a slut (howbeit jokingly).

With these experiences and several more that I had, sex became a dirty little secret we all hid between our legs, down there. And at every turn of erotica, every slight kissing scene, became that evil substance nobody should catch you with.

I don’t want this next generation to have that kind of orientation. I don’t want them to think the devil originated sex. For crying out loud God created Adam and gave him the knowledge of going in unto his wife, basically taught them how to fuck. So who are we to judge that. What do we slut Shame, why do we expel students who had their sex tape leaked? Why do we act like we all don’t have cravings ourselves?

It of course right to have our morals, discipline as regards sex, but then why do we in generality just make it look like the creation of the devil, hell’s burning secret?

I don’t know? But I can only hope we start seeing it differently, we start making it easy for people to engage in conversations about sex, and not leave it for pornhub and mainstream hip hop to define what sex is.

#sex #lets_talk #feminst.