“Nature”

If gender were truly as natural and self-evident as we often claim, why would we spend so much of our lives teaching children how to be boys and girls? Why must masculinity and femininity be rehearsed, rewarded, and relentlessly enforced if they arise effortlessly from biology? Perhaps the conversation surrounding transgender rights reveals less about trans people than it does about our own investment in preserving categories we have mistaken for immutable truths.

One reason many cisgender, heterosexual people struggle to accept trans identities may be that most of us are socialized from early childhood into learning how to “do” gender. We are taught not only that we are boys or girls, but how boys and girls are expected to behave. Girls are encouraged to like pink rather than blue, boys are expected to wear trousers rather than dresses, and countless other norms are reinforced through family, school, religion, and culture. Because these expectations become so deeply ingrained, many people come to see the performance of gender as inseparable from gender itself. The very fact that society teaches us to repeatedly enact masculinity and femininity suggests that gender, at least in its social expression, is performative. If being a “real woman” or a “real man” requires adherence to a set of learned behaviors, appearances, and roles, then those identities are already being constituted through performance rather than emerging naturally in their social form.

For some cisgender people, trans identities disrupt this framework. If someone assigned male at birth can live authentically as a woman, or vice versa, it exposes the possibility that many of the rules we have long considered natural are, in fact, socially constructed. Accepting trans people therefore requires more than accepting an individual—it often requires questioning assumptions about gender that have been reinforced since childhood.

This does not mean that gender identity itself is merely a performance. Rather, it suggests that the ways societies expect people to express and be recognized as particular genders are shaped by social conditioning. The distinction between one’s internal sense of self (gender identity) and the social norms attached to gender (gender roles and expression) is an important one, but many people conflate the two, making trans identities more difficult for them to understand.

Although controversial, gender abolition offers one possible response to structural inequality. If the social expectations attached to “man” and “woman” were dismantled, many of the hierarchies that privilege masculinity over femininity would lose the categories through which they operate. Whether gender abolition is desirable or feasible remains debated, but it forces us to ask whether inequality is sustained by the existence of rigid gender categories themselves or by the unequal value society assigns to them.

Perhaps the most persistent question in debates surrounding trans identity is: what, precisely, prevents a trans woman from being a woman? Attempts to answer this often rely on biology, reproduction, chromosomes, or socialization, yet each criterion quickly encounters exceptions. Not all cisgender women can conceive, not all have XX chromosomes, and no single biological characteristic is shared by every woman while excluding every man. The difficulty of producing a universally consistent definition reveals that our categories of “man” and “woman” are more complex than they are often assumed to be.

Equally interesting is the asymmetry in public anxiety surrounding trans women and trans men. Trans women are far more frequently portrayed as threatening women’s spaces, women’s sports, or womanhood itself, whereas trans men rarely provoke comparable fears about masculinity or men’s spaces. This disparity is revealing.

Part of the explanation lies in the way patriarchal societies construct femininity and masculinity. Masculinity is often imagined as the default position of authority and status, while femininity is treated as something that must be protected, regulated, or scrutinized. As a result, a person assigned male at birth who identifies as a woman is often viewed with suspicion: critics may assume deception, predation, or illegitimate access to female spaces. By contrast, a person assigned female at birth who identifies as a man is more often rendered socially invisible or dismissed as “confused” rather than portrayed as a public danger.

The asymmetry also reflects longstanding cultural assumptions about men. Society has historically associated men with violence, dominance, and sexual threat. Those stereotypes are then projected onto trans women, despite there being no logical reason to assume that identifying as a woman preserves those traits. In effect, some critics continue to see trans women primarily through the lens of the sex they were assigned at birth rather than the gender in which they live.

There is another layer to this. Patriarchal cultures frequently treat masculinity as something to aspire to and femininity as something to escape. A person moving toward masculinity may therefore appear more intelligible than someone moving toward femininity. The former can be interpreted as seeking power or status; the latter is often perceived as abandoning it. This helps explain why trans women are subjected to disproportionate public scrutiny while trans men are comparatively overlooked.

Whether one agrees with these interpretations or not, the imbalance itself deserves examination. It suggests that public debates about trans people are not solely about gender identity; they are also about cultural beliefs regarding masculinity, femininity, power, and who is permitted to cross the boundaries between them.

The challenge for critics is not merely asserting that trans women are not women, but articulating a definition of ‘woman’ that is both internally consistent and capable of accounting for the diversity among cisgender women themselves.

Dare I say that much of transphobia is rooted in patriarchal and misogynistic standards.

Patriarchy is not simply a system in which men hold more power than women. It is also a system that depends upon the strict policing of gender. It prescribes what men ought to be and what women ought to be, rewarding conformity and punishing deviation. Masculinity is expected to be dominant, stoic, and assertive; femininity is expected to be nurturing, passive, and aesthetically pleasing. These expectations are not incidental to patriarchy—they are the machinery through which it reproduces itself.

Trans people expose the instability of these rules. Their existence demonstrates that the categories society has treated as fixed may be more contingent than previously assumed. For those invested in preserving rigid gender hierarchies, this can feel threatening because it destabilizes the assumptions upon which those hierarchies rest.

The disproportionate hostility directed toward trans women is particularly revealing. If transphobia were simply about preserving biological categories, one would expect similar levels of outrage toward trans men. Yet public discourse overwhelmingly fixates on trans women: their bodies, their access to women’s spaces, their participation in sports, and even their right to call themselves women.

Why?

Because patriarchy has long treated femininity as something inferior to masculinity. A person assigned male at birth embracing femininity is therefore often perceived as abandoning power, rejecting masculine ideals, or violating the social order. The hostility directed at trans women frequently reflects the same misogynistic belief that femininity is lesser, suspect, or in need of regulation.

At the same time, patriarchal societies have historically portrayed men as inherently dangerous and women as inherently vulnerable. These stereotypes are then projected onto trans women, who are often viewed through the lens of the sex they were assigned at birth rather than the gender they identify with. Consequently, they are cast as threats to womanhood rather than women themselves.

Trans men, by contrast, are frequently erased, infantilized, or dismissed as confused rather than framed as existential threats to masculinity. This disparity suggests that public anxieties surrounding transgender people are not distributed evenly; they are filtered through patriarchal ideas about power, femininity, and masculinity. This is not to say that every instance of transphobia originates in misogyny. Religious beliefs, essentialist understandings of sex, political ideology, and fear of social change all contribute. Yet these explanations often intersect with patriarchal assumptions about who is permitted to embody masculinity, who is permitted to embody femininity, and who has the authority to define either.

The question, then, is not merely why some people oppose trans identities. It is why crossing gender boundaries provokes such different reactions depending on the direction of that crossing. The answer may reveal as much about our attitudes toward women and femininity as it does about our attitudes toward transgender people.

I would argue that much of contemporary transphobia is less about trans people themselves than about the patriarchal insistence that sex, gender, and social roles remain fixed, binary, and hierarchical.

Every child enters the world with the same fundamental human needs: to be loved, protected, understood, and allowed to flourish. It is only after birth that society begins assigning expectations based on perceived sex. Girls are taught what is “ladylike,” boys what is “manly.” Colours become gendered, clothing becomes gendered, toys become gendered, emotions become gendered, and eventually even ambition, vulnerability, and relationships are filtered through these categories. Long before children can critically evaluate these expectations, they have already learned how to perform them.

The existence of intersex people further complicates the assumption that humanity can be neatly divided into two rigid biological categories. Intersex variations demonstrate that nature itself does not always conform to the binaries humans insist upon. Yet intersex people are frequently erased from public discourse or treated as curiosities rather than acknowledged as part of the natural diversity of human biology. Their existence reminds us that biology is often more nuanced than the categories societies construct around it.

Human history is, in many respects, the history of expanding our understanding of what it means to be human. We have revised our views on race, disability, sexuality, mental health, and countless other aspects of human identity as scientific knowledge has grown and moral reflection has deepened. What once seemed self-evident has often later been recognized as prejudice disguised as common sense. The conversation around trans rights belongs within this broader pattern of human development. It asks whether our inherited categories are descriptive enough to account for the diversity of human experience or whether they require revision. Acknowledging transgender people does not alter the biological reality that sex exists; rather, it recognizes that the relationship between biological sex, gender identity, and gender expression is more complex than earlier societies understood. If humanity has consistently evolved not only biologically but intellectually, culturally, and ethically—then it should not surprise us that our understanding of gender also evolves. Progress has rarely meant denying reality; more often, it has meant recognizing that reality is richer and more complex than our previous frameworks allowed.

Perhaps the question was never whether transgender people fit into our understanding of gender. Perhaps the more important question is whether our understanding of gender has ever been broad enough to encompass the diversity of human experience. Every generation inherits categories it mistakes for natural until those categories begin to crack under the weight of reality. Progress has never required us to abandon truth; it has required us to recognize that truth is often more expansive than our traditions allow. Whether one ultimately agrees or disagrees with transgender identities, the conversation demands intellectual humility, philosophical consistency, and the courage to ask whether the boundaries we defend are discoveries of nature or inventions of culture.

The convergence of capitalism and patriarchy fundamentally alters the terms of this discourse. Under patriarchy, women are positioned as subordinate; under capitalism, they are rendered commodities. These systems do not merely coexist, they reinforce one another. The female body becomes both symbol and site of exchange: desired, priced, circulated. In neither system do women exercise full autonomy over their bodies or labour. Demand is structured, gendered, and overwhelmingly oriented toward the satisfaction of male desire. This is precisely why the flattening claim that “all labour is exploitative under capitalism” fails to capture the specificity of prostitution. Not all exploitation is identical; some forms are more intimate, more embodied, and more socially stigmatized than others. And just like every other system, questioning the sex work industry should not be met with automatic hostility or treated as morally illegitimate in itself. In any serious social analysis, disagreement about structure, harm, agency, and labour conditions is expected; it is part of how institutions are evaluated and reformed. Yet in this space, even raising concerns about power, coercion, or social meaning is often read not as critique but as moral condemnation.

Part of this tension comes from how closely debates about sex work are tied to broader disagreements about how women should exercise autonomy. In the same way that societies debate marriage—its economic dimensions, its emotional labour, its historical ties to dependency and protection—sex work also sits within a contested field of female autonomy. But unlike marriage, where critique is more easily framed as sociological or feminist without personal attack, dissenting views on prostitution are often quickly labelled with terms like “SWERF,” collapsing a structural critique into an assumed personal hostility toward sex workers themselves. This framing can shut down nuanced discussion by implying that any concern about the system is inherently a rejection of the women within it.

At the same time, this reaction often extends beyond “purity culture” accusations. It signals a broader disagreement with analytical approaches that do not fully separate choice from constraint, or autonomy from the conditions that shape it. When critique points to uneven power, economic pressure, or gendered vulnerability, it is sometimes interpreted as judgment rather than analysis. This can produce a defensive reflex where disagreement is not engaged with substantively, but instead morally categorised and dismissed.

The result is that the space for genuine feminist disagreement becomes narrowed. Instead of allowing multiple frameworks for understanding women’s labour and autonomy to coexist and be debated, the conversation can become polarized between affirmation and perceived betrayal. A more rigorous approach would allow for disagreement without assuming bad faith, and would recognize that examining structure is not the same as negating the people living within it.

There is, of course, a complicated conversation to be had about the ways women have, at times, converted male desire into economic opportunity. Historically, however, prostitution has been rationalized in deeply troubling ways framed as a “necessary outlet” to protect “respectable” women and even young girls from sexual violence, or as one of the few avenues through which women, particularly those in poverty, could access relatively higher income. These narratives do not legitimize the system; they expose it. They reveal a social order in which male sexuality is treated as inevitable and uncontrollable, and women’s bodies as the mechanism through which it must be managed. male sexuality is not typically treated as needing deep moral scrutiny or structural constraint; instead, it is normalized as a constant force that society must simply accommodate.

Within the same order, women’s bodies become positioned differently. Rather than being understood as autonomous sites of desire and agency, they are often constructed as regulatory spaces—used to absorb, redirect, or manage male sexuality. This can appear in various social arrangements: expectations around modesty, moral responsibility placed disproportionately on women for controlling sexual access, and institutions that implicitly or explicitly channel male desire into certain “acceptable” outlets.

The key point is not that this is a conscious or explicit design, but that it emerges as a pattern within patriarchal structures. Over time, these patterns create a social logic in which responsibility for sexual regulation becomes unevenly distributed: men are granted the status of subjects whose desire is assumed, while women are positioned as the objects through which that desire is organized and contained.

So the argument is less about individual intent and more about structure—how repeated cultural assumptions about sexuality and gender accumulate into a system where one group’s desire is naturalized, and the other group is made responsible for managing its social consequences.

Within this framework, the idea that prostitution represents empowerment becomes difficult to sustain without qualification. The conditions under which many women enter and remain in the industry are shaped by economic coercion, limited alternatives, and structural inequality. Even where choice exists, it is constrained choice. The broader social reality remains: women’s worth continues to be tethered, explicitly or implicitly, to men’s willingness to pay. Contractarian defense of prostitution often obscure this by appealing to abstract notions of consent and exchange, while ignoring the unequal terrain on which such “contracts” are made.

A contractarian defense of prostitution typically argues that the exchange is morally legitimate because it is voluntary: two consenting adults enter an agreement, services are exchanged, and therefore no wrongdoing occurs. On the surface, this framing relies on familiar liberal principles—autonomy, freedom of choice, and contractual equality—treating sex work as simply another market transaction.

However, this framework becomes misleading when it abstracts consent away from context. “Consent” in theory assumes equal bargaining power, but in reality, the conditions under which many people enter prostitution are shaped by constraint rather than genuine equivalence. Poverty, gendered economic inequality, lack of educational access, migration status, childhood trauma, and limited employment opportunities all shape what choices are available in the first place. So while a contract may exist formally, the social terrain on which it is made is uneven.

This is what the phrase “unequal terrain” is getting at: the idea that contracts do not float above society as neutral agreements. They are embedded in structures of power. When survival needs are pressing, or when alternative livelihoods are inaccessible, “choice” becomes heavily narrowed. In that sense, the contractarian defense risks mistaking necessity for preference.

The deeper critique, then, is not simply that consent is absent, but that it is often structurally produced under conditions of constraint. By focusing narrowly on the moment of agreement, contractarian reasoning can obscure the broader system that generates that “agreement” in the first place. It treats the transaction as isolated and self-contained, rather than as part of a wider economic and gendered order that channels certain groups—especially women in poverty—toward limited and often exploitative options.

So the argument is not that agency disappears entirely, but that agency is unevenly formed. And ignoring that unevenness is what makes the contractarian defense incomplete as a moral explanation of prostitution.

Moreover, the reduction of women to their sexual availability reinforces a binary that is both ancient and persistent: the “whore” versus the “virgin.” This dichotomy disciplines women’s behaviour while leaving men largely unmarked and unjudged. Men remain subjects; women become categories. The normalization of prostitution as just another form of labour risks entrenching this reduction, rather than dismantling it.

What makes this binary powerful is that it is asymmetrical. Men are not typically sorted into comparable moral categories based on sexual behavior in the same way. Instead, male sexuality is often treated as default, natural, or socially neutral. As a result, men remain positioned as subjects who act and desire, while women are positioned as objects who are evaluated, categorized, and morally coded. The “virgin/whore” divide therefore does not merely describe women; it organizes them into socially legible types that shape their mobility, respectability, and worth.

Prostitution can also be read as part of a wider system of sexual categorization that, paradoxically, is often sustained by the very groups it appears to serve. One way to understand its social acceptance in certain male-centered frameworks is through how it helps stabilize a simplified mapping of women’s sexuality into two legible categories: the “respectable” woman whose sexuality is contained within sanctioned relationships, and the “available” woman whose sexuality is rendered purchasable, transactional, and explicitly detached from moral legitimacy.

regardless of the category, women’s sexual expression is not generally allowed to exist as something autonomous or self-defined. Instead, it is socially recognized only when it is anchored to a male reference point—either exchanged within marriage as duty, or externalized into a market form where it becomes explicitly commodified. In both cases, sexuality is not framed as something women freely inhabit for themselves, but as something that is meaningful only in relation to male access, approval, or demand.

From this perspective, prostitution does not sit outside the system but can function as a pressure-release mechanism that helps preserve it. By separating women into “acceptable” versus “commercial” sexual categories, it reduces the need to engage with more complex possibilities of female sexual autonomy that fall outside male-defined roles. Women who express sexuality outside these structures risk being socially misread or morally coded, because the framework leaves little conceptual space for sexual freedom that is not either domesticated (through marriage) or commodified (through exchange).

The result is a constrained sexual economy in which women’s sexuality is continuously interpreted through male relational frameworks. Whether within marriage/romantic relationships with men or outside it, sexual expression is rarely treated as self-originating. Instead, it is filtered through systems that define legitimacy by proximity to male approval, access, or transaction—leaving limited room for sexuality that is not organized around those poles.

The claim that the sex industry is empowering must be evaluated against its material and structural conditions rather than treated as an abstract assertion of individual agency. In many contexts, the industry does not reliably secure even basic protections—physical safety, legal protection, or long-term economic stability—leaving those within it disproportionately exposed to harm while simultaneously relying on their continued participation. This produces a paradoxical social position in which women in prostitution are both economically instrumentalized and morally stigmatized: publicly condemned, yet privately consumed. Importantly, this stigma does not disappear upon exit from the industry; it often persists, shaping future employment prospects, social recognition, and relational possibilities. Any serious analysis must therefore account for this enduring social penalty rather than limiting itself to the moment of entry or consent.

This tension raises a broader question about how sexual liberty is conceptualized in contexts where sexual activity is not treated as symmetrically participatory. When sexuality is socially constructed as something women “provide” and men “consume,” the possibility of sexual autonomy becomes constrained by pre existing asymmetries of desire, expectation, and interpretation. Within such a framework, the commodification of sex risks reinforcing rather than dissolving the notion that sexual access is something one party grants and another receives, rather than a mutually agentic encounter between equals. This sits uneasily alongside feminist efforts to expand women’s sexual expression beyond repression, shame, and moral surveillance. The persistence of mechanisms such as sexual stigma, slut-shaming, and gendered sexual violence—including forms like non-consensual image distribution—illustrates that female sexuality continues to be regulated through both overt coercion and subtler forms of social discipline.

At the level of demand, men constitute the primary consumers of commercial sex, which introduces an additional structural contradiction: the same social group that often enforces strict moral expectations regarding female sexuality is also the dominant driver of its commodified consumption. While exact ratios vary by context, available research in several settings—including studies in the United Kingdom—indicates a highly gendered demand structure, with disproportionately male consumption of sex work relative to female participation. This asymmetry complicates narratives that frame the industry purely in terms of individual choice, because it situates “choice” within a patterned and predictable demand environment rather than a neutral market.

Further complexity arises from the circulation of narratives that present sex work as aspirational or empowering, particularly when communicated by individuals who emphasize its financial benefits or lifestyle outcomes. While such accounts are part of the public discourse, they do not always represent the full range of experiences within the industry, particularly regarding precarity, exposure to violence, and economic volatility. As with any labor system characterized by high risk and uneven outcomes, selective visibility can obscure structural vulnerabilities, especially for younger or economically disadvantaged entrants.

Finally, the contradiction at the center of the debate is not simply about whether sex work exists, but about what it reveals regarding sexual power. In many patriarchal contexts, men may simultaneously benefit from and resist women’s capacity to control sexual access, particularly when that control is formalized through market exchange rather than relational obligation. This produces an uneasy tension in which women’s sexual autonomy is rhetorically affirmed while materially constrained, and in which the boundaries between consent, coercion, and economic necessity remain difficult to disentangle. A rigorous analysis of the sex industry under patriarchy must therefore move beyond individualistic framings of choice and instead engage with the broader structures of power, demand, stigma, and gendered sexual meaning in which those choices are made.

Knowledge today is constantly being condensed, summarized, animated, and repackaged to make learning feel effortless. The process of learning, once slow and sometimes demanding, is now designed to be incredibly convenient. You want to understand slavery but feel too tired to read? There’s a six-minute, 25 seconds video on youtube that explains it while you wash dishes. Curious about capitalism but unwilling to sit with dense material? There’s a four-minute article that promises to break it down for you.

Knowledge seems to be everywhere( love this btw) This accessibility comes at a cost. When knowledge is always within reach, stripped of friction, it becomes easy to consume but hard to appreciate. Few seem to understand the true value of curiosity. While the devaluation of learning is one consequence, the aspect I find most fascinating is how quickly opinions are formed in this environment. When information is simplified and quickly digested, it creates the illusion of understanding. Yet the depth required to truly grasp a concept is often missing. That six-minute crash course is exactly why someone can confidently say something like, “Capitalism is natural.” we have people forming full fleshed opinions from bite sized information.

An embarrassing contradiction is how the same generation that shows declining interest in deeply engaging with information remains highly active in circulating it.

We may not always take the time to learn, but we rarely hesitate to speak. So much writing, barely enough thorough reading. You watch a whole video essay and still don’t know shit. but the scary part? The person making that essay probably doesn’t know shit either. It’s a cycle: bite-sized knowledge is churned out by people who barely understand it, and then consumed and shared by those who barely try. Misinformation spreads, and everyone acts like they’re experts.

The lovely part about all of this is that it doesn’t have to be this way. Access to information doesn’t have to mean shallow understanding. We can have all the knowledge at our fingertips and still be confident that what we’re consuming is reliable. You can read all the “The Art of…” or “The …ification of…” pieces, watch the videos, listen to the podcasts, and still know you’re engaging with the right information. thoughtfully, critically, and on your own terms.

how?

To form meaningful opinions, you have to decenter the need to acquire knowledge merely to appear intellectually superior. Consuming information should not be about flexing or proving yourself; it should be about understanding, questioning, and connecting ideas to your own life. When engaging with opinion-forming content, you must consider your lived reality, your personal desires, and the potential impact of the beliefs you adopt. That intellectual growth you’re looking for does not come from accumulating facts to impress others, but from thoughtfully reflecting on what those facts mean for you and how they shape the way you act and interact with the world.

To form your own opinions, you also need to be open to reading and consuming different perspectives until you arrive at the most accurate or at least morally grounded one.

Your brain is neuroplastic, which means it’s fully capable of handling the effort required to research, think critically, and integrate new information (don’t just take my word for it read about it 😛). It’s crucial to remember that most people form their opinions based on what they consume, so it’s foolish to adopt someone else’s opinion as your own. Doing so creates a dead end: your principles become shaped by random voices rather than something you’ve consciously grasped for yourself.

The danger of taking the easy route is how unstable it makes your perspective on life. Today, you read that a certain action is performative, and you silently accept that judgment. Tomorrow, you watch a YouTube video claiming that we are all performers 😂. Constantly absorbing other people’s views without critical engagement leaves you confused and disconnected from your own understanding of the world. and eventually yourself.

You’re now an adult calling yourself a Marxist with barely any understanding of capitalism or its counterparts, rolling your eyes at Coach bags (you’re in a third-world country, by the way), and thinking every single choice is inherently feminist. And yet somehow, you still sound like an authority on all three. This illustrates how reliance on second-hand perspectives can lead to firmly held beliefs that lack a solid foundation in the underlying knowledge or context.

This isn’t about policing how anyone learns or saying that every bit of knowledge has to come from hours of grinding. I’m not here to tell you that learning has to be rigorous or “serious” all the time. What I am saying is simple: if you’re going to publish an article, make a thread, or write a post about your opinion, at least make sure you’re well-read. Don’t just throw words into the void. you owe it to yourself and your audience to actually understand what you’re talking about.

Ultimately, forming opinions without engaging deeply with the ideas themselves undermines both understanding and credibility. True intellectual progress comes not from repeating what others say, but from critically examining information, connecting it to your own context, and developing positions that are informed.

It’s also important to remember that not knowing something is not a failure, and it shouldn’t be a source of shame. Everyone starts somewhere, and acknowledging gaps in your understanding is the first step toward truly learning. Being honest about what you don’t know allows you to approach information with curiosity rather than defensiveness, and that curiosity is far more valuable than any superficial display of knowledge.

stay woke, stay curious. 💗

For a long time, I didn’t care much about its politics. I could afford not to because at the time, life felt insulated and almost comfortable. But times have drastically changed bro. Drastically!

I started paying close attention to how damaged the system was, when i started digging into this unpleasant rabbit hole of the Malta Gate theory. And like almost every Nigerian, I fell into that familiar pit of hopelessness and helplessness. Now, I can’t even afford to look away. Nobody can be indifferent anymore. This is a country full of potential, but it’s neck deep in chaos and neglect. We’re stuck in a cycle that seems impossible to break.

So let’s talk about this damn country, bro.

The entire world is a witness to our greatness. The whole world has seen our greatness. And yet, despite all the resources, despite all the potential both in this country and in its people, we’re stuck at the very bottom.

Explain to me, like I’m five: how is Nigeria, a country with oil, a nation rich in so much untapped resources known as the poverty capital of the world??????? And while we’re at it, how does a country blessed with such a young, energetic workforce also end up with one of the lowest life expectancies on the planet???

Think about that for a second.

It means that simply because you were unfortunate enough to be born here, your chances of living a normal, healthy, long life are drastically lower than your peers in other countries. Do you see how absurd, how tragic, how completely unfair that is?

Days ago, we watched the Special Adviser to the President disgrace us internationally and if we’re being honest, that’s not a new setting for us. What’s truly disturbing, however, is the complete lack of consequences for such recklessness. Everybody can just do what they like Abi?

12 trillion naira, missing, unaccounted for and no serious investigation is underway. Everybody just throway face, we are spat on constantly and somehow expected to turn the same spit into a shower.

A young woman DIED because there was no anti-venom in any hospital she went to. Can you imagine? The very places meant to save lives were empty of the most basic, life-saving resources. This country keeps inventing new ways for its people to die dawg.

It’s like death has become ordinary, like it barely moves us anymore. People die waiting for care, people die because hospitals can’t function, people die because the system refuses to prioritize human life. We scroll past stories like this, sigh, shake our heads, and move on, as if it’s just another headline. Na life be this? we continue to lose lives to preventable circumstances not because the people are incapable, but because the system refuses to work!

What exactly works in this country?

Electricity is a luxury. Clean water, consistent infrastructure, basic public services things other nations solved decades ago remain a daily struggle for Nigeria. And yet, the government keeps us in a cycle of gratitude for the bare minimum. We celebrate basic amenities as if they are blessings, as if they were gifts rather than rights. We are trained to be thankful for what we deserve, to find joy in survival.

When we leave the country, the contrast slaps us even harder. We’re fascinated by the barest minimum! efficient airports, orderly streets, functioning services can make the average Nigerian jump for joy.

A streamer comes to Nigeria, and all we can do is beg. While we are wracked with secondhand embarrassment for everyone involved, the system has already reduced all of us to beggars. It doesn’t matter your financial situation you are still at the mercy of the state’s incompetence.

You beg to get a job you are fully qualified for because the country’s reputation has been systematically ruined. You must be excessively polite to airport staff just to avoid a strenuous check-in process. And all of thisevery struggle, every indignity boils down to what? you know the answer.

Our leaders have rewired our minds. People are starving. People are dying. People are being killed. Nothing is working. Nothing!

And it doesn’t stop with the government. The citizens themselves have been turned against each other. The littlest opportunity to take advantage of someone, to extort, to exploit they do it mercilessly. Slowly, subtly, we’ve all been stripped of our basic humanity. Hunger, poverty, and the constant struggle for the bare minimum have turned neighbors into competitors, peers into predators. People up there, the ones in power, have carefully divided us, eroded trust, and ensured we fight each other instead of uniting against the true source of our misery.

The term “average Nigerian” is almost a slur. Why? Because it describes someone who has normalized cruelty. The “average Nigerian” has been molded to take pride in arrogance, in manipulation, in petty acts that hurt others all as a means of survival.

And yet, this cruelty is not inherent, it is manufactured. It is the inevitable outcome of a society designed to pit its people against each other. Every act of greed, every small betrayal, every selfish maneuver is a reflection of the failure above.

We are all frustrated, exhausted, outraged, and done. And the bastards up there? They don’t even think we’re worthy of hopeful lies. We are left in the dark, losing our lives, while our “leaders” cannot manufacture one single fuck to give us.

Nigeria, which way??????????

Fortunately, the title of this article is not clickbait, rage bait, or any other form of bait. It is a question I ask myself every single day. Nigerian men continue to unlock astonishing levels of ignorance, and it is exhausting to witness.

Where do I even begin?????

Last October, a tragic story resurfaced. the case of Ochanya, a young girl who lost her life after enduring horrific abuse at the hands of her uncle and his son. Her name echoed across social media once again. Feminists on TikTok were heartbroken. United in grief and outrage, we demanded justice. Years after her death, Ochanya still had not received justice. Her perpetrators had yet to be fully held accountable. #JusticeForOchanya was not just a hashtag; it was a plea.

But as always, wahala entered the room with us. Motives were questioned. Intentions were dissected. When a popular TikTok “feminist” created a GoFundMe to support the pursuit of justice, Nigerian men suddenly found their voices. Individuals who had never posted about Ochanya, never amplified her story, never expressed outrage at her abuse, were now passionately invested not in justice, but in speculating whether the fundraiser was a scheme to “cash out.” The shift in focus was remarkable! The energy was misplaced. And through it all, Ochanya still did not receive justice.

It is important to state, plainly: Ochanya still hasn’t gotten justice.

Fast forward to this year. A young woman known as Fems on TikTok shared a heartbreaking account of what she and her friend experienced at the hands of another Nigerian man. For once, help began to mobilize quickly. Support was offered. Resources were shared. It was one of the rare instances where a victim was met with care instead of immediate scorn.

And then it happened again.

Another young woman (Mirabel) came onto Obasanjo’s internet to narrate a deeply disturbing ordeal she may have endured. Nigerian men responded predictably not with concern, not with empathy, but with AGGRESSIVE skepticism. Disbelief just full everywhere. And while doubt itself is not new, the scale of the reaction was striking. Overnight, many appointed themselves investigative journalists. Threads were created. Videos were uploaded. Timelines were analyzed. Digital forensics became a national sport. (god eradicate every single one of you that participated in this degeneracy)

For a brief moment, I found myself wondering where this level of civic enthusiasm disappears to when policies affecting millions like Tinubu’s tax reforms, are introduced. But I digress.

The priority, once again, became ensuring that “no false accusations” slip through the cracks, rather than acknowledging the longstanding and well documented reality of violence against women. The energy was not directed at addressing a systemic issue; it was channeled into disproving a woman’s account.

Meanwhile, feminists remained consistent: protect the presumed victim first. Advocate for due process, yes, but not at the expense of basic human compassion.

Then Simi, an acclaimed and widely respected artist, expressed her frustration publicly: “IM SICKK OF THIS. STOP RAPING WOMEN. They need to castrate rapists and burn them.” That was her statement, verbatim.

The backlash was swift. Simi? The “good woman”? The admired wife and mother? Raising her voice in anger about rape? For NIGERIAN GOATS, that was intolerable. Her outrage was policed more intensely than the violence that provoked it.

And in the midst of collective grief and anger, someone decided it was the perfect time to ask SIMI whether false rape accusers should also face castration. I ask again, ARE NIGERIAN MEN MAD???????

Simi made her position unmistakably clear. She said what she said and stood on it. There was no room for misinterpretation.

While Nigerian men were busy flaming Simi, Mirabel remained under intense scrutiny. Then, as though summoned by instinct, yet another Nigerian man inserted himself into the situation to conduct his own “investigation.” He asked questions that were not his to ask, made declarations he had no authority to make, and eventually concluded confidently that the case was fabricated.

Goal.

Nigerian men had successfully scored into a goalpost in a match where they were the only players. They began aggressively pushing for “penalties for false rape accusers,” conveniently ignoring the fact that while this woman was narrating her ordeal, the alleged perpetrator’s identity had not even been publicly revealed. Who exactly had been falsely accused?

Men have been clamoring, shouting, ranting and demanding equal punishment for false accusers as though this was the crisis at hand. If not for the sheer absurdity of it all, it would almost be fascinating icl. Pure dedication to their craft

They are now in the comment sections of women recounting their experiences, preemptively declaring them liars. Every story is treated as fiction. Every woman is treated as suspect. It has become a coordinated campaign of discrediting.

And yet, these same voices argue that “false rape accusations distract from real victims.” Since when has that concern genuinely driven Nigerian men? When have we not seen an exhausting pattern of victim-blaming instead?

“What was she wearing?”

“Where was she?”

“What did she go and look for in his house?”

“It’s a mental illness.”

“Men get raped too.”

These are not isolated remarks. They are reflexes. They are the default responses women receive when they speak up.

Meanwhile, Simi is being dragged across Twitter. Women’s testimonies are being dissected and dismissed. The hostility is not just directed at individuals, it is systemic. It spills beyond borders.

Look at the country. Nigeria is in disarray, and leadership remains overwhelmingly male. Femicide is not decreasing. Shey na life be this??????

In my conversations with women from other countries, one theme repeats itself: women are cautious around men everywhere, yes, but there is a particular wariness when it comes to Nigerian men. That reputation did not materialize out of thin air.

Something is deeply wrong. This is not normal. This is not healthy. Nigerian men are becoming a problem not just for Nigerian women, but for women globally and the refusal to confront that reality only deepens the damage.

this behavior is madness. And it is widespread. Across all 36 states, Nigerian men don kolo! Nigerian women are not safe.

This is a confrontation with a pattern, a pattern that has become so normalized that many of you no longer even recognize it as violence.

When women speak, you interrogate.

When women grieve, you fact check.

When women demand safety, you demand proof.

And somehow, the burden is always on us to be calm, rational, measured, polite while navigating a reality that is anything but safe.

If your first instinct, every single time, is to defend a hypothetical false accusation rather than confront a culture that enables harm, then you are not neutral. You are participating. Silence is participation. Deflection is participation. Mockery is participation.

This country is already bleeding. Economically. Politically. Socially. And yet, instead of confronting the systems that are failing everyone, some of you have chosen to dedicate your loudest energy to discrediting women who speak.

That is not logic. (You all have been using this word stupidly. Logic is not the absence of emotions but that’s a convo for another day)

Nigerian women are tired. Tired of negotiating their humanity. Tired of explaining why safety is not a privilege. Tired of being treated as suspects in their own trauma. Abeg naaa?

If this makes you uncomfortable, sit with that discomfort. Ask yourself why accountability feels like persecution. Ask yourself why empathy feels optional.

Because until Nigerian men decide to confront themselves with the same intensity they use to interrogate women, nothing will change. And we deserve change.

May God punish y’all (m*n) 🦌.

It’s my father’s 60th birthday, and I’ll admit my emotions are all over the place. But one thing is certain: I’m overjoyed. I’m grateful I get to see him live this long. I’m grateful he gets to see me grow too.

My dad is the funniest person I’ve ever met. His humour is effortless, sharp, and unforgettable. But beyond the jokes, he is also one of the smartest people I have ever encountered in my entire life. Mr. Ndagi, my father is a deeply interesting man.

I’ll share with y’all a few of my memories with him just so you can get a glimpse of what it’s like to grow up with an absolute star as a father.

One story I grew up hearing is how, as a child, I used to refuse other meals just to sit with my dad and eat whatever he was eating. Most times that meant a day-old soup and semo mixed in the same pot, reheated until parts of it were slightly burnt but still scrapeable. Just the way he liked it.

I don’t remember that version of myself. But I remember becoming her again later in life.

I’d wait until my dad came home late, when everyone else had gone to bed, and eat his dinner with him. We’d talk about my future. My academics. My dreams. What my dad doesn’t know is how deeply those late-night conversations shaped me.

I remember Sundays too. My brothers and i didn’t like heavy breakfasts. Rice and stew felt wrong when we were used to lighter meals the rest of the week. So every Sunday, my dad fed my brothers and I by himself.

He’d count the spoons: “Fidora, you have just four spoons left and you’ll be done.”

That method worked every Sunday until we learned to eat on our own.

I remember Wednesdays as well. Sports day. My dad tying our shoelaces every single time. And I remember the day I finally tied mine myself and the way he emphasized how proud he was of me.

Before dropping us off at school, he’d look straight into our eyes to make sure we had no “eyeballs”. a moment that still makes me 😂 . I love the musician Asa because of him too. Her music played on repeat to and from school.

Once, he stopped the car and asked me to try driving. I didn’t, but that moment taught me something about courage that stayed with me. And now, because of a random moment I had with my dad on the way to school, I’m able to confront my fears easily.

My dad spent on us. Freely. Generously. Maybe that’s why frivolous things don’t easily impress me now.

Every two weeks or so, after school, he’d take us to a restaurant called 9 Stars. My dad usually dropped our neighbors’ children who went to the same school as us at their home. But sometimes, he brought them along instead. At 9 Stars, he bought them exactly what he bought us: farm-fresh yoghurt, meat pie and whatever we impulsively wanted.

One day her dad told my dad they had said “I wish my dad was Fidora’s dad.”Crazy. But I understand them.

If my dad weren’t mine, I’d wish he was too.

He helped me with my English assignments after school which is the true source of my vocabulary.

He made sure my brothers and I knew everything in the book called “Mastering English” Random pop quizzes were normal in our house and i absolutely loved them!

He’d randomly ask; “What’s the meaning of antonym?”

I know my synonyms, antonyms, and every other English concept because of my dad. I learned English from him… not school. 🤣

Another five-star moment I forgot to mention was when I changed schools late into the term. By the end of the academic year, I still came out second overall, despite how late I’d joined. I called my dad the moment he got home, and I can never forget how happy he sounded. Oh my goodness.

My father is spectacular. And no word in the English language can fully do justice to how amazing he is.

Recently, my dad has taken up a small habit. He goes to the riverside close to my home, and every time he’s there, he calls me. I’ve made it a point of duty to clear my schedule in anticipation of that call. Nothing else matters in those moments.

Last year, I confronted one of my biggest fears: losing my dad.

When he was sick, truly sick and I saw how fragile he was, I almost spiralled into insanity. I was terrified. But I was also grounded. It forced me to confront how easily I could lose him. And in that realization, I made a vow: to create as many memories with him as I can, no matter how small they seem.

I love my dad deeply. And today, he turns 60. But he was once 30. He was also once a year old. That alone reminds me that life is indeed a full cycle.

As he grows older, beyond long life and good health, my biggest prayer is that he lives long enough for me to make him the proudest father.

He calls me his doctor. He never misses a chance to tell me how proud he is. And on the days when it would have been easier to give up, I remember my dad.

And I keep going.

Happy 60th birthday, Daddy.

And happy retirement. ❤️

Jeffrey Edward Epstein was born in Brooklyn, New York City, on January 20, 1953, barely a year after his parents’ marriage. His mother, Paula, worked as a school aide, while his father, Seymour, was a groundskeeper for the NYC Department of Parks and Recreation.

Young Jeffrey Or “Bear,” as his parents affectionately called him (and yes, even that nickname feels ominous in hindsight) was the older brother to Mark Epstein. Both boys attended public schools, where Jeffrey was described by classmates as nerdy, sharp in math, and slightly overweight. He was “nice” to some, unremarkable to others a kid whose childhood seemed fairly ordinary, peaceful even. It makes you wonder what twisted path led him to ruin the childhoods of thousands of others.

Jeffrey graduated high school at just 16, having skipped two grades. He went on to study mathematical physics at NYU, though he never completed his degree. From there, life became a little… unstable.

Fast forward to 1974. Jeffrey is 21, out of school, and stepping into the world that would eventually reveal the dark, manipulative, and criminal side of the man who once seemed just like any other math-loving Brooklyn kid.

HOW HE STARTED..

In 1974, Donald Barr then headmaster of the elite Dalton School in New York made a series of unconventional hiring decisions. One of them would later prove consequential. It is unclear if Barr directly hired Jeffrey Epstein but he worked there. A young man with no college degree and no formal teaching credentials, employed to teach mathematics.

From the start, Epstein’s behavior at Dalton raised concerns. Former students later recalled that he paid disproportionate attention to female students, behaved flirtatiously, and was seen at social gatherings involving intoxicated teenagers. Though nothing was formally pursued at the time, his conduct did not go unnoticed.

While teaching at Dalton, Epstein was introduced by two students to their father, Alan “Ace” Greenberg, the powerful CEO of Bear Stearns, a major Wall Street investment bank specializing in investment banking, trading, hedge funds, and mortgage-backed securities. essentially a firm that packaged debt into financial products, sold them, bet on them, and borrowed aggressively to do so.

In 1976, Epstein was dismissed from Dalton, officially for “poor performance.” Almost immediately, he resurfaced at Bear Stearns, hired as a low-level junior assistant to a floor trader. How he moved so quickly from a disgraced schoolteacher to Wall Street remains unclear, but he did.

At Bear Stearns, Epstein climbed rapidly. He became an options trader, worked in the special products division, and eventually transitioned into advising the bank’s wealthiest clients on tax mitigation strategies (legal methods used by high-net-worth individuals to minimize tax liability.) Among those clients was Edgar Bronfman, billionaire head of Seagram and one of the most powerful figures in global finance at the time.

Epstein’s ability to manage ultra-rich clients impressed senior leadership. James Cayne, later CEO of Bear Stearns, praised Epstein’s handling of complex products and elite clientele. Within four years, Epstein became a limited partner at the firm an extraordinary rise for someone with his background.

That rise ended abruptly. In 1981, Epstein was asked to leave Bear Stearns after violating Regulation D, a rule governing private investment offerings. While the details remain sealed, the violation involved improper handling of private securities transactions. Despite his forced exit, Epstein remained a client and social associate of Cayne and Greenberg for years until Bear Stearns itself collapsed during the 2008 financial crisis.

Reinventing Himself.

After leaving Bear Stearns, Epstein founded his own consulting firm. He described his role as a “high-level bounty hunter,” claiming to help wealthy clients recover money lost to fraudulent brokers and corrupt lawyers. In practice, this kept him deeply embedded in elite financial circles serving both those who had been robbed and those who had something to hide.

One notable case involved Ana Obregón, a Spanish actress, whom Epstein helped recover millions lost from her father’s investments. Through such work, Epstein built a reputation and more importantly, connections.

By the 1980s and 1990s, Epstein was extraordinarily well connected, moving easily among billionaires, politicians, financiers, and royalty. He also possessed things that raised serious red flags. At one point, he held an Austrian passport under a false name, listing Saudi Arabia as his residence. How he obtained it remains unexplained.

In 2017, a former White House official reported that a U.S. Attorney involved in Epstein’s earlier criminal case told colleagues that he had been instructed to “leave it alone” because Epstein allegedly “belonged to intelligence” and was “above his pay grade.” No official agency has confirmed this but the statement added to the mystery surrounding Epstein’s protection.

Epstein’s business dealings were often opaque. He worked with Towers Financial Corporation, later exposed as one of the largest Ponzi schemes in U.S. history, defrauding investors of roughly $450 million (over $1 billion in today’s value). He also managed the finances of Leslie Wexner, founder of L Brands and owner of Victoria’s Secret, effectively controlling vast portions of Wexner’s wealth.

Control Through Compromise

By multiple accounts, Epstein’s real power came not from finance, but from compromise. His homes, particularly his New York mansion and his private island in the U.S. Virgin Islands were extensively wired with surveillance cameras. In 1996, artist Maria Farmer, who worked for Epstein, reported that he showed her a hidden media room accessed through a concealed door. The feeds included bedrooms, bathrooms, and private spaces clearly designed to record intimate moments.

Multiple witnesses later alleged that Epstein used underage girls to butter up himself with powerful men, collecting compromising material for blackmail. Evidence recovered after his arrest included labeled CDs and hard drives, suggesting systematic documentation.

Victims came forward over the years. Maria Farmer reported being raped by Epstein, but her complaint was not meaningfully investigated. Model Ava Cordero also accused Epstein of abuse; her claims were dismissed, and she was instead subjected to scrutiny of her gender identity and mental health.

Exposure and Leniency

In 2004, Palm Beach police were tipped off about young girls frequently visiting Epstein’s Florida mansion. In 2005, a woman reported that her 14-year-old stepdaughter had been taken there, paid $300, and sexually abused.

Police investigations uncovered a pattern: Epstein allegedly abused dozens of girls, many under 16. A former employee stated that Epstein received “massages” up to three times a day. The FBI later compiled reports involving at least 34 confirmed minors, though the true number is believed to be far higher.

Despite the scale of the evidence, the response was staggeringly lenient. In 2006, Palm Beach police recommended felony charges for unlawful sex with minors. Instead, Epstein was arrested in July 2006 on lesser charges related to prostitution, released on a $3,000 bond, and ultimately received a controversial plea deal that allowed him to avoid federal prosecution.

NETWORK..

Central to Epstein’s operation was Ghislaine Maxwell, his partner and accomplice. She actively recruited underage girls, managed logistics, and shielded Epstein from scrutiny. He even named a company after her.

Several victims later claimed they bore children as a result of Epstein’s abuse. One woman stated her new born was taken from her minutes after birth allegedly by Maxwell herself. These claims remain under investigation, but they underscore the scale of alleged exploitation.

When asked how he rose so quickly, Epstein offered a chillingly simple explanation: success had little to do with hard work or merit. According to him, power came from proximity from knowing the right people, gaining their trust, and making himself indispensable.

PART 1

A lot has been going on, but something even more stress-inducing has also been happening: I stopped journaling. I stopped opening my notes app to write the random thoughts I usually have AND guess what? I no longer have those random thoughts. That troubles me, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. RELAXXXX

How are you doing though? Because for me, I’ve been so stressed, and I feel like my days are slipping away. I’m stuck in a very rigid routine, and I don’t like that. I also feel like I’ve been complaining a lot. Good things have happened to me. Actually, I’m at peace and you knowww that means a lot.

I’ve been dealing with children and pregnant mothers in the hospital, and I’m a bit weirded out by the concept of childbirth. who is this stranger you’ve brought into this torturous world??? Anyways, that’s their business. What I’m more concerned about is the partners they’ve decided to raise these strangers with. Why are there so many useless men? What’s actually going on? Again, this is ethically none of my business but like omg?

There’s a very interesting conversation on Twitter. I love a good eat-the-rich campaign. I hope it lasts, because we’ve romanticized and almost normalized the covetous and greedy nature of these people. This has been occupying my thoughts and my bathroom thinking sessions. Why do some people just want it all? Why are they never satisfied? Why do they not care that it’s at the expense of the wellbeing of millions? And at what point does someone lose their humanity to that extent? How much money does it take to harden a heart like that?

People on Twitter are split in half. Wait. Do you call it Twitter or “X”? Changing the name was such a stupid move but again, billionaires like the owner of the app rarely make smart moves, just selfish ones. The muscle memory of the masses is the least of their concern. Pfft. Our health isn’t even their concern.

I hope this is a safe space, but like… why is cannabis illegal? I genuinely don’t get it. Alcohol is legal. Cigarettes are legal. Both have been proven to mess citizens up terribly so why is cannabis particularly so dangerous? Why are you sighing? Okay fine, let’s change the conversation. But when I’m done researching this, I hope you’re ready to listen to my theories. Okay? Okay.

I’ve also been really, really broke, and I don’t quite get it. The exchange rate is in the pits, and that’s why the outrage on Twitter feels so justified. It came at the right time, fr.

There’s a blur around some of the things that have been happening, but I feel a bit lighter right now and I don’t want to scare myself with thoughts of probable amnesia creeping in. That’s a fight for another ring.

I’ve also tried sooo many new things that I can’t even share with you. Not cause I don’t trust you omg. We’re besties okkkk?? Ok.

How are you doing though? I feel like I’ve been yapping and you’ve barely had time to chip in. I’m sorry. I’m here now.

Our sense of happiness has become tethered almost entirely to events, purchases, and milestones that are inseparable from capitalism’s machinery. Scroll through any social media platform in January and you will already find Valentine’s packages being marketed aggressively. gifts for him, gifts for her, curated romance sold in advance. It is not even February bro. This is not accidental. It reflects a deeper collective condition: the need to always have something ahead of us to look forward to, something that promises relief from a present that feels increasingly unbearable.

This pattern mirrors a familiar logic. You endure a miserable shift on Friday because you have plans to drink with friends that evening. The suffering becomes tolerable not because the conditions have improved, but because escape has been scheduled. Capitalism thrives on this exact structure. Survival now, pleasure later. This coping thing we have going on has shifted from a temporary strategy to a permanent condition, displacing the pursuit of change.

We are told this is healthy. That it is normal to “push through.” But what this mode of living actually does is far more insidious: it suppresses the desire for structural change. While trapped in a job that drains you, you are not encouraged to imagine leaving it. Instead, you are encouraged to fantasize about how you will spend the money it gives you. Consumption becomes the reward for endurance. The present is sacrificed for a future that is always framed as temporary relief, never as genuine freedom.

This is what I mean by the deferral of human flourishing. A good life, one that includes rest, dignity, joy, and self determination is never permitted in the present. It is postponed. Always contingent. Always conditional.

The calendar becomes a tool of control. January exists only to prepare you for Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day exists only to usher in anticipation for summer. Summer exists only as a brief interruption before the cycle resets. Capitalism does not merely exploit labor; it reorganizes time itself. Happiness is scheduled. Desire is rationed. Rest is earned, not deserved.

And increasingly, even the future no longer offers genuine relief. The promised joy is now accompanied by anxiety. Will I afford it? Will my body look acceptable? Will I be thin enough, attractive enough, fluent enough in the right language, mannerisms, and aesthetics to belong? The future is no longer imagined as freedom it is imagined as performance.

Social media intensifies this condition. You are constantly reminded that you are insufficient. Your hair is not good enough? here are raw hair bundles. Your body is not good enough? here are procedures to sculpt you into something more acceptable. Your voice is not good enough? here are books and courses to teach you how to speak like those who already dominate public space. You are told, subtly and relentlessly, that access to opportunity requires assimilation.

This is not self improvement. It is compliance.

Even language itself is colonized. To be taken seriously, you must speak as the colonizer speaks. To succeed, you must embody the image that capital has already decided is respectable. The “ideal worker,” the “marketable woman,” the “professional voice” all carefully manufactured archetypes that sustain hierarchy while pretending to reward merit.

What we are experiencing is not individual failure or collective laziness. It is temporal extraction. Our present energy, creativity, and emotional capacity are mined relentlessly, while fulfillment is framed as something that exists later after the promotion, after the holiday, after the body transformation, after the next purchase. By the time later arrives, we are too depleted to enjoy it.

Capitalism does not want fulfilled people. It wants functional ones.

And so we live in a state of perpetual anticipation, borrowing joy from the future to survive the present. But a life structured entirely around escape is not a life it is endurance. A planet cannot be sustained by people who only feel alive during breaks. A society cannot flourish when its members are taught to tolerate misery rather than demand change.

The crisis, then, is not that we need more holidays, more trends, or more things to look forward to. The crisis is that life itself has been made unlivable without them.

Until we stop scheduling happiness and start questioning why it needs to be scheduled at all, this cycle will continue. efficient, profitable, and devastating.

What is going on ?

I don’t usually write about experiences like this. They’re easy to misunderstand and even easier to cheapen with the wrong language. But this one keeps returning, and at some point repetition asks to be acknowledged.

I was dancing, and at some point the movement began to happen without me. Somewhere between breath and movement, my body stopped asking permission. I closed my eyes hard, almost reflexively, and realized I was moving in ways I’d never learned. Not rehearsed. Not remembered consciously. As if my body had its own archive.

Then the room disappeared.

I was suspended in a black space. no walls, no ground, no direction. Just stillness. Just the sensation of levitating inside myself. I didn’t stay long. Fear arrived before understanding could. I opened my eyes and came back.

I’ve been there before.

Another time, that same blankness, but it wasn’t empty. There were unfamiliar presences. Not human. Not shaped the way things here are shaped. They felt conscious. Observant. Alive in a way that didn’t need bodies or language. I remember the certainty of being noticed.

I don’t know what that was. I don’t trust quick metaphysics. I know how the mind fills silence. I know what dissociation can do. But I also know when something feels repeatable. When it has texture. When it doesn’t behave like fantasy.

I don’t think I crossed into anything. I don’t think I’m meant to. What I felt was more like brushing against something thin.. a suggestion rather than a passage. A veil, maybe, but not one that asked to be torn.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s an invitation. Not to leave reality, but to recognize how porous it can feel when the body loosens its grip. Still, I’m careful. Curiosity doesn’t require obedience. And not every door needs to be opened the moment it appears.

Maybe one day I’ll look longer.

For now, I’m content knowing where the edge is.

If you’re wondering where I landed after all this, it’s online.. reading about astral projection and physics with equal skepticism.

But here we are again, another year ending, and I no longer believe. Not dramatically. Not philosophically. Not in a “science is real, God isn’t” way. Simply from exhaustion.

The way a child grows tired of reminding their parents to show up to school events.. When expectation becomes pointless. The kind of disbelief that arrives the same way you stop waiting for Santa Claus. quietly, without ceremony. I no even get that time.

This wasn’t rebellion, or bitterness, or anything people like to project onto disbelief. It was a necessity.

I hope this fact alone expresses a glimpse of the shege I saw.

I want to say this year was about character development, about learning the skills required for the life I intend to toil toward. But Omo no o! It’s been so fucking hard.

It felt as though the universe flinched at me the moment the clock struck midnight and declared me an adult. As though growing up came with a storm I was never warned about. Whatever happened to weather forecasters ????

This has been the hardest year of my life. I lived through things I would never have imagined possible months ago, experiences that still feel unreal as I write them into existence. Sexual assault. Almost being homeless (I don’t mean this in a cute way. I was literally almost on the streets). Suicide attempts.

I refuse to dress these truths up or soften them with the comfort of “there were good moments too” because even in those moments fear was lurking around and that feeling is not a pleasant one. At all.

This year ruined me. It rearranged my nervous system. It taught me to anticipate disaster even in calm rooms. I don’t think I will ever feel entirely at ease with the idea that everything is simply okay or that safety is permanent.

I also cannot begin to explain to you the lonliness I felt. I do not expect you to understand and I hope that you don’t. It is even lonelier when the people around you cannot locate the origin of your pain, who don’t quite understand what you’re carrying or why it weighs the way it does.

I’ll share my experiences when I’ve made it but rn I’m just here to cry ( the screen is lowk blurry rn)

There were nights I reached for my phone just to hear my parents’ voices, hoping the sound alone might steady me. But distance is cruel not just in miles, but in what it makes impossible. I could not hug them. I could not place my pain in their hands and ask them to hold it for me. And somewhere in that ache, I understood that some battles must be faced alone. I will not always have the words. They will not always understand. And someday, they may not always be there to answer.

I also couldn’t bring myself to continuously express my pain because I can only imagine the helplessness they must feel, knowing their little girl carries so much with so little to lean on.

As the year ends, I do not carry hope in the way people expect. I have no grand expectations for what comes next, no promises to the universe. But if I am allowed one quiet wish, it is this: that I never have to become this version of strong again. That I am never asked to survive at this scale. That whatever the new year brings, it does not demand the same kind of breaking.

I do not hope boldly. I hope cautiously, almost apologetically(I’m on my knees) hoping only for less harm, fewer nights of endurance, and a life that does not require me to prove how much I can withstand.

This was said by Nancy Fraser while reflecting on sheryl sandbergs book; lean in.

That being established, let’s talk about Maraji’s commentary and the Social Construction of Extremism in Nigerian feminism.

I once came across a line that said, “women are the only oppressed group required to be nice to their oppressors.” A Black man can walk through the world with a silent oath never to engage a white man unless necessary, and this refusal would be understood and even applauded. Racism and misogyny are deeply intertwined, but this article isn’t about comparing the two; it’s about examining how normalized it is for every oppressed group to dislike, distrust, or express disdain toward their oppressors, except women. The moment feminism enters the room, the boundaries shift.

We often talk about the four waves of feminism, and the fourth wave,, the one we’re currently in– is rooted in inclusivity. It interrogates hierarchies, domination, and the broad spectrum of harm patriarchy produces, harm that affects everyone and everything. yes, even animals.

When resisting any system of oppression, an oppressed group is well within its emotional rights to express frustration, fear, anger, or distaste, so long as that expression isn’t aimed at causing intentional harm. Every day, across every platform, you’ll find women narrating experiences, offering advice, or simply sharing cautionary wisdom about navigating harm. It’s a beautiful thing to see. knowledge is circulating, awareness is heightening.

What goes unnoticed, however, is what happens beneath those posts: men flock to the comments to invalidate, mock, or derail. Their behaviour is rarely interrogated. Instead, it’s framed as a natural reaction to the alleged “hate” women spread. Men are triggered by the words women use to describe harm—which is telling. And while it is completely understandable for a woman who has lived through certain realities to blurt out, “I hate men,” what remains baffling is why a man who is not implicated in the story feels personally attacked.

My favorite analogy is the one about the snake. When you see one, your instinct is immediate. you run or you strike. You don’t pause to inspect its fangs or confirm whether it’s venomous. You don’t wait to be bitten. The parasympathetic nervous system chooses for you: fight or flight.

Apply that same logic to women’s responses to men. They have no reliable way of assessing whether a man, belonging to a group statistically more likely to cause them harm—is safe or dangerous. Like the snake, the risk precedes the evaluation. Their reaction isn’t irrational. It’s survival.

There’s no such thing as “extreme feminism.” If a belief or practice strays from the foundational principles of feminism (principles I’d like to assume we’re all conversant with) then it simply isn’t feminism. The tragedy is that this powerful term has been reduced to something so small within the Nigerian context; at this point, “feminist” is almost treated like a slur.

In the first half of Maraji’s video, she acknowledges that the opinions voiced by “TikTok feminists” are not baseless. She recognizes that these women’s anger and grief are justified, not exaggerated. In my humble opinion, the video could have ended there, but of course, everyone online feels entitled to an opinion.

What stood out, however, was her definition of being “in touch with reality.” She cites pastors preaching and widows being forced to drink the bath water of their deceased husbands, both horrific, yes—but she completely omits the escalating realities that fuel young women’s fear and rage: the staggering rates of femicide, rampant rape cases, girl-child marriage, FGM, domestic violence, and countless other atrocities that women repeatedly come online to speak about.

She then contradicts herself rather painfully by suggesting that it is rather extreme to believe that these women are “fighting for feminism.” Yet the foundation of their so-called “fight” is built on an archive of lived experiences marked by harm, danger, and systemic devaluation. How is it extreme to resist what is killing you????

Like I said, everyone today has a mobile device, WiFi, and at least one social media account. We can’t control what people post under the banner of feminism, which is why picking up a book and reading is so important! If you can’t pick up a book, watch a YouTube video or listen to a podcast on the history of feminism, its founding principles, core values, and other aspects. From all this, you can then adopt the ideology that resonates with you and truly works toward the liberation of women and the dismantling of patriarchy.

But no! relying on the fake dopamine you get from listening to charismatic strangers will never let you learn for yourself. Feminism fought for your right to read, to educate yourself, and to know your rights not to blindly follow someone online who may not even have verified knowledge, or worse, may not be mentally stable enough to be influencing others on social media.

I’ve also realized that a lot of women simply enjoy having someone justify their silly actions under the guise of morality or logic like feminism, and that’s fine. Keep being stupid. Keep thinking a man is the solution to your financial problems.

What’s sad is expecting someone like Maraji, a figure with influence, to fully understand what feminism is, only to see her categorize an expression of anger as “insanity.”

Now, on her point about women “not being able to stand men”—isn’t it valid???? Isn’t it understandable if you struggle to have a conversation with a man who constantly slips in phrases asserting his superiority or your supposed inferiority, regardless of your achievements? Isn’t that justified?

However, was she right about some women fighting other women to prove that they “hate men”? Partially. There are indeed calm approaches to calling out male-centered behavior, but the scorn and bullying are far more prevalent and normalized. The term originally meant to gently chastise such behavior (“pick me women”), but now it’s diluted and used whenever someone disagrees. That’s disappointing.

Side note: taking a video of this young woman in a seemingly vulnerable moment just to disregard her message was low. Moving forward, I hope we focus on the message itself, critically analyze its flaws, and break down mistakes constructively without resorting to bullying another woman.

She made other silly statements but I’d rather not concern myself with those statements as they are glaringly stupid.

Anyway, was her entire take silly and devoid of logic? Yes.

Note: If you are a daughter and you recognize your own struggles in this article, know that you do not have to rationalize anything. You are entitled to every ounce of anger you feel, and it is perfectly okay if you do not want to make sense of it. What happened matters, and that alone is enough.

In the course of unintentionally studying the people around me, I have become increasingly aware of how prevalent maternal-relational wounds are, and how they subtly shape personal behavior. Across my circle of female friends, acquaintances, and former friendships, a consistent similarity emerges between us, despite our diverse backgrounds, preferences, and temperaments and that similarity is the presence of unresolved or strained maternal dynamics. Patterns that surface subtly in our behavior, coping mechanisms, and emotional responses.

Sometimes it feels as if our mothers harbor deep resentment toward us. Yet it is hard to believe anyone could truly hate what they created; such strong feelings toward one’s own child are almost impossible to sustain.

The perception of the “wicked” African mother often arises from two interrelated factors; The first is the pressure of social structures designed to uphold certain “values” and ensure their transmission to the next generation whether the daughters understand them or not, and whether it harms them mentally or emotionally. The second factor is most evident in daughters who resist these expectations: mothers may exhibit subtle resentment toward daughters who do not conform to roles of unquestioning obedience and deference.

This harmful gender socialization begins at tender ages and often results in the loss of girlhood. A formative stage critical for shaping “womanhood”. Even our play, our games, is expected to carry some trace of “nurturing” or moral training. Yet it is important to remember that our mothers did not create this system; had they the power, many would likely dismantle it. Perhaps it is this very ability to resist, to defy, to refuse the system that mothers silently resent in their daughters.

Narratives that excuse maternal behavior with the claim that “she was a girl too” risk oversimplifying these dynamics. While individuals can theoretically reshape patterns of behavior, many mothers actively uphold these norms, whether consciously or unconsciously. For those raised in African households, this is familiar: the constant reminder to “yield as a woman” from the age of 12, and the frequent accusations of laziness, even when exhaustion is justified, because countless years of unrecognized labor are framed as one’s “responsibility.”

Can we actually catch a break?

Gender socialization:

It doesn’t matter whether you’re the only girl among boys, the only girl among other girls, or literally the only girl anywhere. A rite of passage in many households is learning that your vagina comes with “superpowers”: cooking, cleaning, and mastering domestic chores. At the same time, it also comes with strict limitations. things like sharing your opinions, exploring any form of sexual autonomy, and, of course, CATCHING A FUCKING BREAK!

And just like that, teenage you is fully briefed on the lifelong curriculum of womanhood. Don’t get it twisted.. the “powers” your vagina grants aren’t for your own use; they exist entirely to serve some man out there who will surely rely on your nurturing.

If you hit the geographical lottery, congratulations!!! you get to “learn” how to exist as a girl under some guidance, at least in a slightly less brutal way. Lucky you. Some girls aren’t even that fortunate they don’t just get stuck doing chores; they are forced into child marriage, and their bodies are mutilated so even the thought of pleasure becomes impossible. And that’s just the beginning.

Maternal Capacity

Some women are simply ill-suited for motherhood, and when personality issues go unchecked, they can further erode the fragile bond that might have existed with their daughters. The relationship often remains rigidly defined as “mother and girl child,” leaving little room for understanding or dialogue. Attempting to speak openly is fraught with challenges. mothers may deploy every tactic in the book to maintain control. And if, by chance, they actually listen, prepare yourself: you may be gaslit, manipulated, and even witness tears strategically shed to convince you that you are the source of the conflict and that your behavior is unacceptable.

It is important to recognize that not every woman is meant to be a mother, and the patriarchy compounds this problem by insisting that motherhood is an inevitable or universal path for all women, regardless of temperament, capacity, or choice.

When a mother is ill-equipped to navigate her own emotional and psychological challenges, her influence often amplifies rather than alleviates the constraints imposed by society. The daughter bears the weight of these compounded expectations, experiencing both the rigid roles assigned to her and the emotional consequences of a mother who cannot fully embody nurturing another human being. Recognizing this reality allows us to decouple the ideal of motherhood from inevitability and to understand that the quality of maternal care is shaped as much by individual capacity as by cultural scripts.

Motherhood is not inherently natural or easy; it is a complex, demanding role that requires emotional, psychological, and practical resources, many of which are unevenly distributed or unavailable.

And yet, society keeps insisting it’s an inevitable path for all women, as if every female automatically comes preloaded with the skills, patience, and emotional stability required. This pressure doesn’t just hurt mothers; it shapes how daughters grow up, navigating expectations they never asked for. It’s exactly this stupid patriarchal agenda of inevitable motherhood that pushed me to write this article. Maybe I wouldn’t be here and you also wouldn’t be relating so heavily to this article.

Inter generational constraints:

When mothers settle for less( your dad, a job that isn’t what she wants), follow rules they don’t question, or quietly accept limits placed on them, daughters often pick up the same messages. Without realizing it, girls start thinking: “If my grandmother didn’t question this shit and my mom didn’t question it either, infact she warns me not to question it, then maybe I shouldn’t. These unspoken lessons shape what daughters think is possible for themselves, passing down limitations from one generation to the next.

These constraints aren’t just about careers or school they affect how daughters see their own independence, confidence, and ability to take risks. A mother who doubts herself, or the world, may unconsciously teach her daughter to doubt herself too. The small things.. words, attitudes, even what’s left unsaid frame the daughter’s sense of what she can achieve long before she ever tests it. Recognizing this is key if we want to break the cycle and allow daughters to redefine what’s possible.

Patriarchy:

I think what I particularly hate so much about all of this is that in a typical patriarchal household, men are often excluded from domestic responsibilities, leaving women to shoulder the full weight of household chores, caregiving, and emotional labor. From a young age, girls observe this division and internalize it as “normal,” learning that their value is tied to service, compliance, and self-sacrifice. Boys, on the other hand, are rarely held to the same expectations, creating a system where women are trained to work, manage, and care while men remain largely unaccountable. This dynamic not only reinforces gender inequality but also subtly teaches daughters that their effort, ambition, and needs are secondary to the maintenance of family and societal structures.

I hate hate hate how societal norms dictate that boys are entitled to opportunities and ease, while girls are meant to shoulder responsibility and labor, and how this imbalance is accepted without question.

Ugh can we ever catch a fucking break ???? I’m asking????

Some mothers never attempt to fix what’s broken. They may never fully recognize that they themselves are hurt, and that their wounds have harmed their daughters and that’s okay. The closure you seek will rarely be found in the bosom of your African mother. The responsibility is not yours; it is hers, and that is the end of the story. Any further attempts to extract apology or understanding may only leave you frustrated, confused, or worse.

Was this a rant for all my “mommy issues” girlies ? 😟

However, as with any intellectual tradition, a community of curious, critically minded thinkers will inevitably interrogate the vulnerabilities within an argument or body of work. History repeatedly shows that critique and even the reconsideration or rejection of ideas once regarded as sound is an unavoidable part of scholarly evolution.

Not even Chimamanda is exempt from this intellectual rite. In recent days, I have encountered countless voices dissecting , sometimes even ridiculing her contributions. And yet, her work remains undeniably foundational; it reshaped public consciousness, offered language to experiences long unnamed, and opened doors that had been firmly shut.

Still, times have shifted. New manifestations of patriarchy have emerged, and the terrain of feminist struggle has changed with them. Her reluctance to adapt her framework to these contemporary realities leaves her anchored to approaches that were powerful and appropriate in the era she first articulated them, but less responsive to the challenges facing us now.

Does this diminish the fact that her analyses were logically sound and even revolutionary when she offered them? No.

Does it complicate our ability to rely on those same frameworks in a moment demanding sharper, more radical tools? Yes.

This piece isn’t focused on her; it’s an exploration of the current conversations and conflicts defining what we call “modern-day feminism.

So, what even is feminism?

Feminism is a movement and framework that challenges systems of oppression rooted in socially constructed divisions, including gender. It seeks to dismantle artificial hierarchies and expand freedom, opportunity, and dignity for all humans. Recognizing that any rigid division, not just between men and women, can be a tool of control.

So no, It’s not just about “equality” in a simplistic sense; it’s about questioning the categories and roles society has imposed, and imagining a world where humans aren’t limited by those constructs.

What do people think feminism is?

Misogynistic responses among certain Nigerian men can be understood as a reaction to feminism’s perceived disruption of traditional notions of “womanhood” and the so-called “natural order.” In this perspective, autonomous and self-determined women are interpreted as a threat to normative constructions of masculinity, leading to resistance against feminist initiatives.

However, such responses simultaneously reveal the men’s own subjection to the same structural constraints. By adhering to rigidly prescribed gender roles and socially constructed hierarchies, they too are confined by normative expectations regarding how men ought to think, behave, and engage with society. Feminism, therefore, should not be construed as an antagonistic force toward men; rather, it operates as a transformative framework that seeks to dismantle systemic constraints, promoting liberation for all individuals regardless of gender.

As Angela Saini explores in her lovely book; The Patriarchs: The Origins of Inequality, the hierarchies we’ve long accepted as natural were deliberately built and enforced over time. Recognizing this is crucial for contemporary feminism: it’s not just about challenging individual acts of sexism, but dismantling the very structures that claim to be inevitable, liberating everyone regardless of gender from imposed roles and limitations.

The internet is chaotic, but the public’s ability to discern credible, informed sources is even more fractured. Access to the internet confers access to vast audiences, and this dynamic can quickly become problematic. Numerous individuals propagate harmful rhetoric under the guise of feminism, and this is particularly concerning because it often requires little more than confidence, vocal assertiveness, and a performative radicalism to persuade women that one’s personal and potentially flawed views are representative of feminist thought.

This is why I firmly align with the perspective that one’s feminist beliefs and perspectives should not be dictated by random voices on the internet. Developing a nuanced understanding of feminism requires extensive research, engagement with diverse texts, and consideration of even those works that challenge one’s own views. Unfortunately, this ideal is often unattainable: anti-intellectualism, coupled with limited access to relevant materials, means that for many, the internet becomes the primary and often distorted shaper of their feminist understanding.

In contemporary discourse, feminism is neither a static doctrine nor a monolithic experience; it is an evolving framework that must respond to the complexities of modern society. As such, understanding its purpose requires more than cursory engagement or performative alignment. It demands critical reflection, historical awareness, and a willingness to interrogate one’s assumptions in light of social, cultural, and structural realities.

The challenges faced by feminism today including misinterpretation, commodification, and the amplification of harmful rhetoric online underscore the importance of intellectual rigor and deliberate inquiry. It is insufficient to adopt feminist language without engaging with the theories, histories, and ongoing struggles that underpin the movement. To do so risks diluting its purpose and perpetuating superficial or contradictory notions of liberation.

Moreover, the contemporary feminist project must recognize that oppressive structures are not solely directed at women. Patriarchy, as a socially constructed system, imposes limitations and expectations on all humans, constraining identities, behaviors, and possibilities. In this sense, feminism is a broader humanist project: it challenges artificial hierarchies and seeks to cultivate freedom, equity, and dignity for every individual, regardless of gender.

Ultimately, engaging with feminism today requires intentionality and discernment. It is not enough to follow trends or echo popular sentiments; one must study, critique, and situate ideas within a wider context of historical struggle and contemporary realities. Only through such rigorous engagement can feminism fulfill its promise as a transformative movement. one that dismantles oppressive structures while expanding the horizon of human freedom.

Although this article may have strayed from a specifically Nigerian context, this deviation underscores an important point: the core struggles, debates, and principles of feminism often transcend regional boundaries. The universality of certain feminist challenges, misinterpretation, patriarchal resistance, and the shaping of discourse through media demonstrates that while local contexts matter, the movement shares common threads globally. Engaging with these broader patterns does not diminish the importance of regional nuance; rather, it highlights how interconnected and universally relevant feminist inquiry can be.

It’s the idea that every part of us, every thought, instinct, opinion, gesture- is a fragment someone once handed to us. Intimacy carves us open and leaves traces: a borrowed mannerism, a softened belief, a new way of seeing the world. The deeper the intimacy, the louder that fragment speaks inside us.

With time, some of these pieces fade.

Some fall away to make space for new ones.

Some step back so another can finally breathe.

Some return only when we’re ready to reconcile all the versions of ourselves we’ve abandoned along the way.

But there’s always one piece that refuses to dim.

One fragment that holds its brightness as fiercely as the day it fused itself into us.

Unmoved. Unfading. Present.

And today, we’re here to talk about that piece, and why it chose to stay.

There is a strange science to the way certain pieces settle into us. Some fragments are gentle visitors; they stay for a season, reshape a corner of our worldview, then slip out quietly. But others root themselves so deeply they feel structural . like bones instead of memories. They don’t merely influence us; they anchor us. They dictate the pace of our healing, the depth of our longing, the way our hearts respond to new softness. And no matter how much distance or time we stack between ourselves and the person who planted it, that piece keeps humming beneath everything.

I think it’s because some connections aren’t just emotional they’re chemical. They alter something in the bloodstream. They heighten awareness, sharpen intuition, expand the internal vocabulary through which we understand ourselves. When a bond reaches that level, it becomes less of a memory and more of a biological imprint. So even when you shed old habits or reinvent your identity, that one shining piece remains in circulation, refusing to dissolve. It’s coded into your reactions, your preferences, the quiet ways you love and unlove.

What to do with this piece?

The first step is acknowledgment. Notice it without anger, without shame. Trace how it appears in your reactions, your desires, the quiet corners of your mind. Name it! Understand its patterns. See it for what it truly is: a guide, not a jailer.

Next, invite it into dialogue with the rest of yourself. Let it exist alongside the fragments you’ve gained, lost, or replaced. Ask it what it wants, what it teaches, how it can help you navigate who you are now. Integration, not dominance, is the goal.

Finally, let it function. Let it inform, illuminate, and stabilize you. The piece isn’t a burden; it is a lens. It doesn’t confine you; it clarifies the way forward. When you stop fighting, you stop fragmenting yourself, and in its quiet persistence, you find a part of your own logic the logic of endurance, of learning, of becoming whole.

I hope we’ve made progress on what the piece is and how it works?

I tried to convince myself I’d “sit with my thoughts,” but me and introspection haven’t been on speaking terms for WEEKS. I’ll let it fly.

So here’s the actual plan: I’m going to slip into that suspiciously pleasant headspace I always find by accident, switch on my sunset lamp, and knock out while my brain runs its usual marathon of dramatic daydreams. The kind that makes me wonder if I’ve trespassed into my own subconscious without permission.

Before I trespass, I should probably tell you about my week… except time has stopped making sense to me. Days? Hours? Couldn’t name one if you paid me. Everything feels like I’m watching my own life through a cracked fish-eye lens.

So if this sounds like a cry for help, congratulations! you’re perceptive. Derealization has me in a chokehold and I’m just letting it happen at this point.

Monday… honestly, the day is a blank screen. My memory clocked out. But there’s one scene that stayed: me in the supermarket hunting for party hats and balloons like a confused children’s entertainer. Then I wandered into the wine section again… as if I suddenly have the financial range for anything in there. I can’t even afford the cork, please.

Anyway, let’s just say I spent the day “planning” my little birthday picture situation at home. Planning, delusion, same thing!

Tuesday! My birthday. finally. The one day the universe behaves. My friend showed up with finger bites (basically candy and biscuits) and the cutest plushies ever. She also gave me a lighter… which I’m still side-eyeing. Like, what exactly do you think I’m doing with this? 👀

We ate, lounged, and compared artists’ voices like absolute nerds, pointing out similarities and laughing at insane tweet head lines like: three men in Algeria were arrested for attempting to sneak into Spain by disguising themselves as sheep. It’s a crazy time to be alive tbh.

I can’t actually remember what went down next, so I’m heading to my gallery to double-check what I did after she left. accuracy is key, people. This is a no scam zone.

Also, I forgot to mention the night before: I was taking the cutest birthday pictures and low-key bonding with myself. I was fried too.

Now that I’m thinking about it… it’s nobody’s business what I did. ( I don’t remember and I’m going to crash out) Just know I came back, scrolled Pinterest like a madwoman. (just Pinterest cause every other app reminds me of the absolute shit show my country and the world at large is.) then I passed out like a log of wood. Absolute craftsmanship in sleeping, truly.

Wednesday! Solo birthday brunch.

I saw a spot on tiktok and I spent hours trying to get there, getting lost more times than I can count, but somehow it all worked out. I thought about ordering matcha because apparently that’s what tiktok saiddd.. but nah. That’s make me a walking PSA on overconsumption and I’m not that. So I let chaos take over and ordered whatever my broke-but-happy brain wanted: chocolate fudge cake and… strawberry lemonade? (No receipt, no evidence, no regrets.) Like god intended.

It was glorious. Me, a book I’m about to make my whole personality, my wallet quietly sobbing in the corner. this is literally what life is for.

I tried to meet a friend afterward. Plans failed. Could’ve been an even nicer day, but whatever. Solo chaos »»»> (uhm idk why it’s changing into this)

I left feeling like a mythical creature who just casually exists in the world for dramatic effect.

Now that I’m thinking about it… I’ll probably tell you guys about Thursday and Friday tomorrow.

Will the sudden, blaring doubt about staying home win over my desperate craving for solitude?????? Tune in next time. if there even is a next time.

Happy Friday! Or whatever day it feels like, because honestly, time is broken! Be ungovernable.

I’ve learned that anything can happen to you, and honestly, it probably will. Life doesn’t handpick its storms. They arrive without warning, rearrange you, and then they leave you with a new kind of wisdom.. the type you only earn by surviving. This lesson alone could fill an entire book y’all!

I’ve learned that I am my own best friend, the most reliable person I will ever have. If I don’t show up for myself, nobody else can fill that space. So I hold myself close now, tightly, consistently, every time.

I’ve learned that learning should never end. Knowledge is boundless, thrilling, and sometimes terrifying. And I’ve learned not to limit myself because of niches or labels. Curiosity is freedom.

I’ve learned that grace matters. the kind you give to others, and the harder kind you give yourself. I don’t always get it right, but I’m learning.

I’ve learned not to let my thoughts cage me. A mind can be both a sanctuary and a battlefield, and I’m trying to build peace inside mine.

I’ve learned that the body keeps score. Stress, faith crisis, academic pressure, heartbreak, expectations… they all leave fingerprints on your mind and sleep.

I’ve learned that who I am doesn’t disappear when I make mistakes. Errors don’t erase identity. Lapses don’t cancel worth. Challenges most definitely don’t rewrite the chief’s destiny. I remain me, even when I feel undone.

I’ve learned that being principled is not a flaw. It’s a gate that protects you from experiences you were never meant to have!

I’ve learned that faith can be both a home and a wound. That deconstructing what you once held sacred is not rebellion it’s self preservation. I learned that losing a belief can sometimes lead you back to yourself.

I’ve learned that girlhood doesn’t magically end at 18.. it becomes something more tender and more powerful at once.

I’ve learned that freedom is rarely loud. Sometimes it’s just the quiet choice to walk away, to outgrow, to stop performing, to stop apologizing for wanting more.

I’ve learned that even in the ache of emotional neglect, you can build yourself a home inside your own body a place where you are wanted, chosen, and seen.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t judge certain things before you try them (food, people and clothes too!)

I’ve learned that peace doesn’t arrive fully formed. You build it, one boundary at a time.

I’ve learned that I am a very sweet young lady and everybody else just tried to push anti fidora propaganda.

I’ve learned that I don’t have to be strong all the time.

I’ve learned that I don’t have to be close to people j don’t want to be close to.

I’ve learned that shame is inherited, but confidence is crafted. People will try to teach you smallness.

And the most beautiful lesson of all: I’ve learned that I am becoming someone I would have admired at 14, rooted for at 16, and prayed for at 18.

Happy birthday Fidora. 💓🐒🪷🐒🐒🪷🐒🪷🐒

I’ve been sad. Really sad. Scrolling and posting also hasn’t helped. Whatever happened to the fake dopamine hit. So I tried something different: I named it. I told the blob of vague despair it has a name and to sit quietly for a minute.

I haven’t been okay. And pretending I am hasn’t helped. I keep telling myself I’m fine because the alternative feels too heavy. But I’m not overreacting. I’m underreacting. I’ve been calm when I should have thrown something. Quiet when I should have screamed at a lamppost. I’ve swallowed everything until even the grumpy little void inside me stopped complaining. I shock the werey !

Now there’s no one to blame. No fight to have. No target for the anger that usually comes with being hurt. Just me and the small army of sadness plotting quietly in my ribs. So I sit. I notice them. I let them be there without pretending it’s anything else.

And maybe that’s enough for today. Maybe noticing is all that matters. Maybe tomorrow I’ll carry the same sadness. Or even worse but one this is certain, the sun will come up whether I care or not, whether I’m ready or not.

Or maybe I’m just full of shit right now.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll always be.

Someday, I’ll excrete.

it’s not just a hashtag btw. Entire families are disappearing in Darfur. Villages turned to ash. Women violated as warnings. And what the world calls a conflict the people of Darfur call GENOCIDE!.

Sudan was once Africa’s largest country. A patchwork of tribes, languages, and faiths stitched together by colonization and ruled through division.

When the British withdrew in 1956, they left behind a country already cracked along the lines of race, religion, and power. The Arab Muslim north held political dominance, while the Black African south remained marginalized and resentful of decades of exploitation. Regions like Darfur were pushed even further to the periphery neglected, underdeveloped, and excluded from national decision-making.

Those fractures didn’t heal after independence. They deepened. What followed were two long civil wars, driven by inequality, ethnic tension, and the struggle over who truly belonged. Millions died, and an entire generation grew up knowing war as the only language the state ever spoke.

When South Sudan finally gained independence in 2011, it was meant to be the start of peace a moment of relief after half a century of bloodshed. But instead, Sudan was left fractured once again. The loss of the oil-rich South devastated its economy, power struggles intensified in Khartoum, and long-simmering ethnic tensions reignited.

The promises of liberation quickly turned into new cycles of violence. The military and paramilitary forces, both born from years of war, turned against each other. And as always, it was civilians.. especially women and children, who bore the heaviest cost.

The first genocide

In 2003, Darfur rebelled against Sudan’s government. The response was ruthless. Arab militias the Janjaweed were armed to “crush the rebellion”. Except, they didn’t just crush it. They erased villages, targeted ethnic groups, and used rape as a weapon of war.

Women’s bodies became battlegrounds, punished for birthing a different ethnicity, for existing outside the power structure of men with guns.

Over 200,000 people were killed, and more than 2 million displaced. The world condemned it, called it genocide then turned the page. Moved on too fast bro.

2023:the return of the killers

Two decades later, the nightmare has returned under a new name.

In April 2023, Sudan’s Armed Forces (SAF) clashed with the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) a paramilitary group descended directly from the Janjaweed. The RSF quickly took control of Darfur. What followed was hauntingly familiar:

Massacres of the Masalit, Fur, and Zaghawa communities. (The three of the largest non-Arab ethnic groups in western Sudan particularly in Darfur)

Rape and sexual slavery used to terrorize women.

Mass graves, burned villages, and aid blockades.

By 2025, the United States officially called it what it is: GENOCIDE.

The women of Darfur: silenced, scarred, surviving

In every genocide, women’s bodies become political terrain. In Darfur, they are targets because they carry identity they birth the next generation of the ethnic group that the killers want gone.

Rape is used not just for violence but for humiliation to rewrite bloodlines, to erase belonging. And yet, Darfuri women are still organizing in camps, still teaching, still nursing others, still refusing to vanish.

Feminism here isn’t theory.

The silence of the world

We live in a world where genocide has to trend to be acknowledged. Sudan rarely trends. There are no blue-and-yellow profile filters, no celebrity fundraisers. Just the quiet echo of lives lost while headlines look away. Western media treats African suffering as background noise too complex, too far, too Black. (Except exploitation is involved lmao)

But silence is complicity.

What’s happening now

Over 10 million displaced, making it the largest displacement crisis in the world. Famine is spreading like crazy, food blocked, hospitals destroyed.

Mass killings in El Geneina, West Darfur, where entire Masalit families were executed. RSF control much of Darfur, continuing ethnic cleansing while the global community debates “peace talks.”

And amid this, women lead most humanitarian responses, even with no protection, no funding, and no media spotlight.

Feminism as resistance

To write about Sudan through a feminist lens is to name what the world refuses to: that patriarchy, racism, and militarism feed each other.

The genocide in Darfur isn’t just ethnic it’s gendered too. It’s built on the same foundation that allows men to believe they own land, women, and the right to erase both. Because every time a woman’s pain is dismissed as “collateral damage,” the system that enables genocide stays intact.

What you can do

Awareness.

Talk about Sudan. Say their names. Share verified reports from sources like Refugees International, Doctors Without Borders, and Human Rights Watch. Support women-led relief efforts where possible. Hold media and governments accountable for their silence.

Silence is what genocides rely on most.

When the world forgets Sudan, it forgets its own reflection because what’s happening there is not an isolated horror. It’s the same logic that fuels all oppression: the belief that some lives don’t count.

And as long as that belief exists, feminism’s work and humanity’s conscience remains unfinished.

#SaveSudan

And love was woman.

And woman was many.

Mother and her little goddesses,

breathing gardens into galaxies,

birthing warmth without wombs,

without pain, without sin.

And their laughter made rivers.

And their touch made stars.

They loved until love overflowed,

and from the overflow, man was formed

a creature new to tenderness, new to light.

And man drank too deep of the love.

And love became hunger.

And hunger became need.

And need became power.

And power

broke the song of the heavens.

And the goddesses watched,

unable to name hate,

for they had never met it.

They made more men, thinking love multiplies.

But man learned creation through conquest.

He built walls, rules, and mirrors.

He made beauty a weapon,

and ugliness a sin.

Those who could not be adored gathered,

and their bitterness birthed a kingdom.

They named their pain “truth,” and crowned themselves its fathers.

And the Mothers, desperate to heal their sons,

tore their love in halves and quarters, fed them pieces of their light

until nothing remained but echoes.

And when the last goddess dimmed,

man mistook her silence for surrender.

He called it order.

He called it dominion.

But it was ruin.

And Mother watched, empty,

where love once ruled.

And so it was

love became memory,

and man became god.

But the universe remembers.

Even silence has memory.

And deep beneath man’s kingdoms of stone,

love still hums faint, but alive.

It stirs in the bones of daughters,

in their tears, in their laughter,

in the way they touch the world

and it blooms again.

The goddesses are waking.

Not from sleep, but from exile.

They are gathering their fragments,

their voices, their light.

And when they rise,

they will not seek permission.

They will not beg to be seen.

They will name the stars again,

rename the earth,

and build not with power

but with remembrance.

For when woman remembers,

the universe heals.

And love, real love

will reign again. 💓