I’ve long been taught that the appearance of a good marriage, not a good marriage necessarily, is the ultimate goal.
We were all looking for the exceptions; all of us. Our conversations about white people had by now become banal.
I wasn’t alone in this experience that had made me feel so isolated, so removed from everyone.
“Juice” had the type of lyrics that forced me out of my solitude, whether I wanted to be out of it or not.
Sharing clothes feels like sharing a secret, the same way being someone’s child does.
It goes like this: sit with the thought, don’t move your fingers, arms, legs, let it enter you, let it stay, let it leave.
Navigating the burdens of expectation as a married woman in Nigeria
Natural disasters have a terrible way of reminding us of our capacity for kindness, acting like a yardstick for our collective empathy or apathy.
“The reality is that training wheels aren’t meant to last. They exist to be discarded after use.”
Beyond love and compatibility, you have to commit to getting through all the joys and struggles that happen . . . enema-rriage.