My View on Feminism

Cries Of An Unheard Shadow

I know I’m going to be attacked for what I’m coming to say, but I’ll say it anyways because it’s getting out of hand.
I don’t support feminism.
Somebody will tell me “ehh Robert, then you don’t understand the true meaning of Feminisim”
Please, feminism in the idealistic sense sounds almost valid, but realistically it is quite absurd.
First of all, I have realised a certain trend in the behaviour of the feminists I know:

1. Their spiritual lives are not so good

2. They’re intellectual**

3. They’re control freaks and highly insecure

4. A lot of them show signs of depression and existential crises.

(Ps. This is just my observation)
Let’s boil down to something more objectively true…

Feminism gives the impression that all men are privileged and all women are underprivileged. Women enjoy a lot of social benefits that otherwise would not be the case for men.

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The Art of being female and African

“You have to learn how to cook ehh, how will you feed your husband?!”

This is what most female African girls I know have heard more than once in their life. It is the same thing over and over again. My question is, why does it always have to do with the ideology of cooking and taking care of your husband?

I am so curious to know what it means to be female and African. Does it mean to be submissive to the man, take care of children and family life? Or does it mean something else? As of now that is what is constantly ringing in my ears!

See, I am a modern African and female and I have my own definition of female and African.

To be Female and African means to rich in beauty, intelligence and self-thought. I am not saying to be female and African means that you should not be a caretaker. In my opinion everyone on this planet is a caretaker and it does not just pertain to only women. It is nauseating to hear the topic cooking and taking care of your husbands all the time in a household. I mean seriously, are we actually grooming girls to cook and take care of their spouses?!

Let me change that mentality for you and provide you with a compromise. How about we teach our children, both boys and girls, to cater for each other, to cook for each other and not let it be only a girls affair.

Trust me with this compromise, you are granted to produce future class leaders with the correct mentalities that will definitely change our perspective of the future generation.

We can change the inevitable!

The Element of SURPRISE

The nerves. The sweaty faces and palms. The uncontrollable shaking and recklessness. They were finally here.

We had waited and waited, with anxiety seeping through our veins and becoming part of our human form. It was nerve-wracking!

Dear God,

Oh! we prayed and prayed until it became a second nature. Yes! we were selfish to be praying at this time when we had not acknowledged God’s existence or abided by his words and teachings. All we were worried about was his deliverance and his everlasting miracles. As of this moment we longed for those miracles like most longed for sexual attraction.

We were on good behaviour. In-fact not even good, but eloquent and pre-eminent behaviour. The rowdy, unkempt and wild children you knew were not recognizable. It was as if we had changed over night. Instead of being overnight sensations, we became overnight nerve-wracks. It was astonishing the way anxiety and trepidation can make one change their idiosyncrasies.

We wanted them to be the best anyone had ever seen. They had to be the best we had ever seen. We had worked too hard to fail. In all our prayers, we rebuked it and redeemed our lost faith. Our faith that we hoped would grow even more in a time of desperation. We had to prove them wrong. We had to outsmart all the so-called haters. They did not deserve to see us crumble but rather succeed. We would blow their socks off and leave them drooling with surprise.

We say watch out! because we are coming to turn your already imperfect world upside down and leave you wondering…

How did we do it?





Reading Chimamanda is like grabbing a cane and whipping the African beast in you until it rises up and soars beyond the galaxies.
Reading Chimamanda is like grabbing the foreigner colonization has made you into and chaining it in the densest part of the sea.
Reading Chimamanda is like knocking on the doors of your dead ancestors and asking them to come and possess you with their pride and conviction.
Reading Chimamanda is like beating a drum and telling all the children in your village to gather round the fire and listen to folktales of their roots.
Reading Chimamanda is like running in tall grass with a thousand droplets of morning dew and then sipping on them one by one, satisfaction never comes.
Reading Chimamanda is like asking the strangled writer in you to rise up and see what a good writer is like.
Reading Chimamanda is like digging into…

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the observations of an examination candidate

“This past paper is sooooo coming in the exam…”

I sat there as students gambled and predicted their exams. As a virtuous person, I sat there and wondered ‘what if  i got involved in the discussion’ but my incorruptible sub-conscience said ‘NO’.

There were students in the corner,  nervously trying to cram everything in, with their eyes constantly glancing at the clock because whether they knew the questions or not, they would not be fully prepared.

Then there were people who had revised and were certain they were ready for the paper. They had cunning smiles on their faces whilst they watched as the nervous and unprepared once crumbled internally. They were the smartasses

Then there were the ones who caused speculation and noise. They were just a group of supposedly ‘street-smart’ kids who believed they could predict the teachers’ every move and questions as if they were in a game and the teachers were the pawns.

I sat there as we all waited for the smug looking officials to call us into the warm and deadly exam room where anything could happen. All of us the including the street-smart kids (aka the mark scheme chewers), the smartasses, the nervous wrecks and  people like me, the plain candidates, had a feeling in our gut that the paper had the ability to swerve us but eventually we came together and wished each other ‘good-luck’ even though it would not make a difference. They say examination “favours the fools”, and I hope it favours us.

They called us in and as soon as we sat down at our respective seats, we began sweating … the room became the game and we became pawns in the teachers’ game…