Let’s start with a disclaimer. This is not a piece designed to throw shade at your mother, your father, your auntie that raised you, or the grandfather who believed that emotions were Western propaganda. This is not a rebellion against…
The first time it truly slapped me was during a lockdown family Zoom call. Not a tap. Not a gentle nudge. A full-on spiritual backhand. Uncles were speaking into the camera like they were trying to inhale it. Aunties were…
This one is for you. Not the version of you they talk about at family meetings. Not the booming-voice, belt-wielding, respect-commanding figure. No. This is for the quiet one who sometimes wants to hug his child but hesitates. The one…
The midwife asked me what name we were giving him. I hesitated for a second. Not because we hadn’t picked one. But because I could already hear the awkward pause coming. “Kàmsíyọchùkwú,” I said. She blinked. “Kàmsí,” I added quickly,…
Let’s be honest. If many of our boys had cried in front of our parents growing up, they might not be here to tell the story. You scraped your knee? “You’re a boy, stop crying.” Someone upset you? “Why are…
It started in the kitchen. Of course, it did. That’s where most of our wars are fought , next to the pot of ogbono, slippers on, hair bonnet barely holding on, one eye on the pounded yam and the other…
There’s a certain silence that enters the room when a child hears their parent’s footsteps. Not the silence of reverence, but the kind that tightens the chest. The kind that makes a child hide their mistake instead of own it.…
Let’s be honest, if African childhoods had a soundtrack, it would be the soft-but-deadly slap of a slipper hitting tile. A classic. Grammy-worthy, really. Whether it was the belt, the wooden cooking spoon, a broom, or (God help us all)…
Let’s be honest. This kind of exhaustion isn’t about needing a nap. It’s the weight of carrying a nation on your back, a child on your hip, a pot of rice on the fire, and everyone’s expectations in your handbag.…
Most of us were raised on a steady diet of rice, stew, and guilt. Served hot with a side of “after everything I’ve done for you,” and washed down with a tall glass of “you’ve embarrassed me.” We survived it.…
