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Wild Thoughts

(Poetry and Prose)

Wild Thoughts

(Poetry and Prose)


Mulako Banji Hachamba

By Mulako Banji Hachamba

Copyright © 2018

1st Print October, 2018


All rights reserved. Do not reproduce or transmit any part of this book in any form or by any means now known or to be invented, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author.

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For the fighting hearts

For the pillars that have held us up

Strong, black and bold

Beautiful women and men

Your strength will not be in vain.

These words are yours!



Words for the Journey

Words for the Insecurities

Words for the girls, ladies, women and everything else we are called

Words for the Lessons


I would like to begin by thanking God for not only instilling this gift and purpose in me but also providing abundant means to make what was only an idea a vivid reality. I also want to give gratitude to the following people; Abitana and Barbara Hachamba, my parents, for everything they have done to lead me to this point, spiritually, financially and the gift of education they gave their girl child so selflessly.

I thank, Mulako Kashweka for her financial support, Daniel Kanyanta for allowing me to bounce off ideas and pick off his brain, Mr and Mrs Sichikolo for providing support during this process. I thank, Mwilah Chriseddy Jr, for having edited and published this piece of art, you have truly made this a beautiful reality. Lastly, but not least my support system, close friends, family and important others. I am more than grateful!

From brail, we learn

That for words to be truly understood,

They must be felt.

I just feel I am beyond my years

And it has nothing to do with maturity,

I am probably as juvenile as they come,

But the stories my eyes could tell,

Truth or fable

About the wanders they have seen,

The songs my mouth can sing,

Sweet melodies

About the mysteries I have felt,

Feel my skin,

Can you trace the battles I have won?

The journeys I have trod?

My experiences are beyond me,

I live the incarnation of a future life.

Let us begin

Words for The Journey

Crawl baby crawl

Even a butterfly in all its magnificence once looked like a struggling worm

We must all undergo the process.

She is a full course meal

Made in the Kitchen of two great lovers.

She is a delicacy of a woman,

Sometimes a Nshima with Visashi and beans

On other days, she is that fancy meal

Your African tongue can’t twist itself to pronounce.

She is sadness and happiness

Existing in one body.

Do you not know,

Tears of joy and tears of pain share one mother?

Do you not know,

Both Good and bad things, can share a giver?

It is such a contradiction.

For the woman struggling to fit in

Look at you exorcise the living daylight out of you

Look at you scrub yourself out of you

Do skyscrapers ever wish they could shrink in size?

Do owls ever think…

“If only we were not birds of the night”

Does the sun ever once in a while get tired of being too bright?

Do not water yourself down

It will only destroy you

Fitting in is not for you

It has never been.

Some of us will never know how to be soft

Intensity was woven in our skin

Created to show the product of struggle

There has never been a before

Only an after

And many other after’s.

I have war written on my back

The religion of my father and the feminism I hold dear.


You have told the woman

Suffering depression,

Suffering the claws of a broken past,

Suffering the woes of childbirth,

Suffering the pains of changing bodies,

Suffering the heartache of promiscuous husbands,

Suffering the tire of raising children,

You have told this woman that she is super woman!

So she cages her anger, frustration, depression and exhaustion and she pretends she is fine.

Because superwoman is strong, superwoman handles everything, superwoman is invincible, superwoman cannot share her problems, superwoman cannot feel tired regardless of her load, superwoman is not insecure, superwoman has her family together and her husband eating from her palm, superwoman can do it all.

The culture of superwoman is burdening women with the idea that they are strong enough to take it all and do it all.

It is telling them; “You have a super armour, nothing can penetrate”

I am sorry to disappoint this narrative with a few pointers of my own:

  • Superwoman, a fictitious character found in books and television is now being used as a way to define the lives of real living women,

What a joke!

  • If women are to be reminded of their strength, let them also be reminded that there is no strength without weakness.

  • Superwoman has given women the feeling of invincibility, that when issues of chronic sadness, depression and anxiety creep in, they bottle it up and hide it under the floorboards. They are invincible after all; such issues must not affect them!

  • This “super woman” has given women the belief that they can do it all by themselves, because they are superhuman.

  • Is that why mothers always seem tired? Is that why they are always in need of a vacation? Is that the reason they begin to age faster than our fathers? Because they did it all, you can see it in the sagging of their eyes and the early-set wrinkles draping down their beautiful faces.

  • The story of superwoman is a story of strength, but the interpretation of this female strength in the reality of women’s lives is what is amusingly ignorant. Strength does not mean doing it all; it can also mean asking for help. Strength does not mean you can take it all, it can also mean knowing when enough is enough. Strength is putting your burdens down and asking for assistance, strength is the woman seeking help for her depression. Strength is the woman hiring help because the stress of her work home life is tiring her out, strength is the woman leaving a bad relationship because enough is enough she cannot take it. The idea of a superwoman will weigh you down, she is an unrealistic expectation.

We married off my Friend this year

And the “women” told her she needed to find new friends

Because her old friends would steal her husband


What a joke!

I clapped in her face!

To the friends of my youth

I want to believe

The friendships we have forged

Will exist in days of husbands and children.

Your sister told you,

He is at it again, following everything with hips and a perky bosom.

You told her to leave,

He is not handsome after all” you said,

Like that should have made a difference.

After all, women have been taught.

Men do no not need to be a meal for the eyes,

They just need a fat pocket, a motor car, and a home for all their misdeeds.

You on the other hand;

Will have to put on foreign hair, foreign clothes and foreign accents. You will need to pop all the ripe pimples and medicate them with some creams.

Sit in a bathtub that will erase the blackness of your skin. Bake yourself with shades of orange and brown that do not exist in your bloodline. Shave the places that grow wild. Pluck, pull, tuck and stretch.

You on the other hand will have to be everything but yourself.

Your sister baked herself and waited for him, he never came.

My love, precious love, sweet love

Where did we go wrong?

When did we squeeze out the remaining of what we called love?

Why are you walking away?

My love, precious love, sweet love

Do not walk away from me!


We should be walking down the aisle

In five years

Having kids in seven

My love, precious love, sweet love

I will twist myself in different shapes,

Shapes that where never invented

Until I am what you like.

For you

Do not leave.

Last attempt

When love gets real

The falsehood of kingship is undressed

And then we see the joker behind the façade

In their pure shame.

Joker behind the Mask

Loving and losing

Having and not having

Drums rolling

Lover sobbing

Pastry eating

Love handles forming

Clothes tightening

Pimples seeping

Armpits smelling

Mouth binding

Cracked legs and dirty hair

Shall we mourn?

Shall we mourn?

He is gone

I am gone

It is gone

All gone

The aftermath

Manna, manna

Manna from heaven

Black boys like manna from heaven

Walking on streets

Manna from heaven

Entering our lives

Like manna, mannna

Making us preach blessings have come

Manna, manna, manna

And then

Going as quickly as they came

Manna from heaven

They leave as soon as they came like manna from heaven


You will love again!

They make the first love feel like

The constellations of the galaxy,

It is the messiest if you ask me,

Full of clumsiness and error,

Therefore, my advice to you would be:

If he does not smell of pure love,

If he does not treat your body like a temple,

If he is unfamiliar with your bible,

He will hurt you. He will destroy you. He will use you

He will try to eat you. He will tell his friends

And they will sing songs of your inexperience

If mummy does not approve,

Avoid him as you would the plague,

That sought of pain; you are not ready for,

That sought of pain, should not be caused by love,

Run, baby, run

Evade the clasp of his hand… Shivering in lust

We have been playing with ghosts

And not the friendly kind

The ones our grandmother's swore they saw

The ones that dance in the night and visit us in our sleep

We have been playing with Mr. Right!

The ghost of the perfect man

Making us feel the incompetence of our lovers

And the weight of their short comings

Breaking our bones.

How did this happen?

Who gave us the juju,

To create something so dangerous?

Mr. Right

He is an unfinished building

I see weeds and grass growing from his being

Mosses have found rest on his physique

He was a work in progress

Then something happened

All of a sudden, no one can hear the sounds of shovels and bricks

No one can hear harmers and nails conversing

Everything was abruptly put on halt

And now this piece of beauty now looks haunted

They say make him into the man you want your son to grow into.

My reply,

Creation is for gods

Recreation is for women”

For the women always fixing

Ask the night

She will tell you how many tears I have cried

How many secrets I have shared

How many disappointments I have left for her

In the mid night hour.

When you want to talk trash because he walked away

Remember, you once told him you love him

So gather up all that is left of the “so called love”

You used to profess

And let it be the strength you use

To just be nice.

When he walks away

When it comes to him,

How he shows you off, like he built you,

Oh! Did he contribute to your outward embellishments?

That is amusingly naïve of you,

Hair and clothes are nothing!

Basic materials that can burn to ash,

But substance of character, did he strengthen that?

Because no manner of fire can consume that,

What about the big heart you have?

Does he tender to it like a beautiful garden?

Your beautiful mind, does he enlighten and challenge it?

Then what about the small things,

Like encouraging kindness and love,

Can the words he speaks to you grow seeds through concrete?


Then do not walk with him, let go of his arm,

He is merely attracted to your symmetries and we know that Fades with time.

The love you are looking for must transcend kings and dynasties!

And when you realize he is not yours to love

Let the man go

He too deserves to experience unconditional love.

Let the man go


You will find healing.

This is for the crocodiles

Showing us their crooked smiles

While cunningly planning their attack

This is for those cooking us sweet compliments

While whispering thunder like whispers behind our backs

This is for the gossipmongers

Always having something juicy

And they begin

“Imagine what they said about you”

This is for they who loyalty has never known.

Forgiveness is your friend

Embrace her

Forgiveness is a gift

Receive her

Forgiveness is the peace

Your ancestors did not know they needed

They fought each other

For everything big and small

We can see it

Can we not?

In the way, we treat each other

We turn on each other

Like we are more superior

Can you not see?

Can you not see the rift it has brought between us?

They call her tribalism.

I wrote this in August,

I look out the window

See nature shedding her leaves

I ask myself,

If nature can let go of what used to be, who am I to hold on to dead weight?

And when the leaves drop

The dead weight leaves you bare

A naked tree ready to grow new leaves.

Once again, we bear fruits

Sweeter than the last.

Bloom for yourself

When he smells of the future

You cannot help but forget the past

Which past?

Past who?

Chikondi Cha new one

I feel I should write a new poem about you;

A sweet poem, Sugar or honey

About hope, Martin Luther King

About renewal, Skin

About revival, Pentecost

A fresh love, Mint

But I would rather wait,

Let seasons come and go

And then i will write;

About growth, Metamorphosis

About sacredness, Vows

About wombs, Children

About offspring, new generation

This would be a good poem

But what if it ends like this;

About disappointment, Break up

About Emotions, Roller coaster

About heartache, Pain

Will this be a poem worth writing?

Or will it be a waste of laying my soul Naked?

New poem

Sometimes I beg the little girl

Not to date that boy

He will leave you

Not to make that friend

She will destroy you

Not to make certain choices

They will leave a trail of disappointments

But then that little girl with all that

Has transformed so perfectly

She has turned her battles and her strife into sweet nectar.

Words for Our Insecurities

The way you carry your insecurities

Like you should be ashamed

But what would strength be, if not for hardships long embrace?

It is a good time to be an African woman

Living in a time where we are celebrated for

Melanin popping

Broad noses and broad foreheads

Big lips and wide hips

Heavy breasts and jiggly buttocks

Kinks, curls and stubborn fros

Colours textures and wild aesthetics

Artistic pleasures and wild scents

It is time the celebration came home!

You ask,

How is it possible,

That so many women

Have found UGLY,

Living, breathing and thriving in their bodies?

I tell you,

Seeds of negativity and self-hate

Sprout and disperse

With a speed light cannot seem to master.

“I cannot believe I once believed I was beautiful because the words came from a little boy struggling to grow a beard.”

Do you still only feel beautiful when the words come out with a husky tone and from a masculine build?

If you do,

My friend knows a papa who works miracles

You are in need of deliverance!

Deliver us

Men are not the mouthpiece of God

Do not let them tell you what beauty is

It will only leave you hungry.

These men you call bad,

Do not become bad when they casually sleep with your daughters.

They do not become bad when they undress your daughters with their words.

They do not become bad when they insult your daughters.

They become bad when your daughters give the ownership of their bodies to them like a Secret gift.

They become bad when your daughters believe the nasty things they say.

They become bad when your daughters give those insults the power to hurt them.

They become bad when your daughters shrink themselves because a man said so.

They become bad when your daughters loose themselves in a quest to be who he wants them to be.

You see, for it is when your daughters give them the authority to hurt them, then they become bad.

Before they were wielding weapons with no ammo.

Because our daughters hold all the cards

Did someone not tell you?

Your body is not a cheap komboni lodge

Where tired sweaty men do secret things of the night

It is not a dark alley for side deals and illegal business

You are gold baby; did your mother not tell you?


Our strength does not begin from the parting of our thighs

These are lies we tell ourselves

These are lies that must not be told.

Even after all this

When everything have been weighed on the balances of life

You have the greatest case against you!

I went to the battlefield

Ready to fight

I lifted my chin to face her

My rival


There I was

Staring at myself in full amour

Then it finally dawned

I have been my greatest enemy

My fiercest battle

My toughest opponent!

My long-time nemesis!

My biggest critic!

All this time.

The way I bring myself down

The beauty industry must give a eulogy at my funeral

For my great contributions

Through soaps and creams

Hair products and skin regimens

Tummy trimmers and weight loss fixes

After all this,

You will look in my coffin and wander what the fuss

Because I never changed.


They say

You are confident

In a way where they are asking

Why is she confident?

Like you should not be

With those thick thighs

That round stomach

And that body taking up that much space.

To my Black Skin

You will not be harmed

By cosmetic companies that have preyed on the insecurity your beauty carries

They have tried to make me see you as ugly

Surely, you will change the world

That is why you face so much opposition.


You are at war with yourself

Like the sun in constant battle with her own rays

You hide yourself

Because you lack the semblance of sunflowers

When will it dawn on you?

That you are your own making

Your own kind

Your beauty yours

Your thorns yours

Your adversities yours

And even a sunflower in all its grandeur

Takes a bow and does not get to see the night in all its glory

Showing you, we all have our crosses to bear.


You wrestle with God

When you are at loggerheads with your body

You have a bone to chew with your creator

You can see it in the way you view yourself.


Your body deserves the praises you sing for other women.

Pray, pray

Pray for the girl’s hands deep in their throats

Pray for the skin cutting, Body shaming,

Mirror breaking,

Black daughters of the mother land.

Do not judge him

Because your beauty

Is not the beauty that makes him water.

Even you prefer darkness to light

Storms to scorching suns

It is what makes life interesting.

The beauty in difference

I definitely do not look like the girl on TV,

My thighs are intimately acquainted with each other,

Hers have never met


I have not even begun to talk about

Body parts you do not see

But my grandmothers are wailing


Because a woman’s body must not be talked about in public, by women

But men are allowed to dissect it

With all its sensitivities

They talk about all its alignments

And all its hills and valleys

I will not confine the discussion of the female human body to a science class

My ancestors will weep

But they are long gone

I am paving the way for those to come after me

Who am I to them if I do not lead the way?


Your biggest contradiction is

You say you hate what you see

But you are glued to the mirror

Like a cheating spouse to his phone.

Standard of beauty

Hours earlier, I stare at my image

I do not like what I see

Hours later..

I see you

I like what I see

I buy creams, I starve

I grow my hair natural

Like you

Months later..

Do you see the difference?

Am I becoming you?

I stare at my image in the mirror

A shadow of who I used to be

I hate what I see!

I try again

To change

Squats anyone?

Because thick thighs are in!

The cycle continues

I am fighting a losing battle!

You have been living in a dilapidated house

Walls cracking

Roofing sheets corroding

Paint chipping

Windows breaking

This house...Your body

What should have been a holy temple

Looks like a haunted mansion

You have destroyed it you

You have shamed it you

You are disgusted by it

This body

Has seen you through all your stages of growth

This body

Home to your beautiful soul

This body

Make peace with it

And corner by corner

Make love to it

Let it know

You are here to make amends.

My body, my temple

Let the rain fall on you

Your naked body

Let it wash away the worthlessness

You have engraved on your skin

Only a detergent made in the heavens

Can wash and sanitize

All this damage.


A daily dose of

I love you

To self

Keeps wrong love away

(Take it from me)


It is never enough to live in this world without someone making you feel like you are not yet there.

Not pretty enough, not structured enough, not thin enough.

“Just one more diet they say,” you will get there

Not intelligent enough, “sciences, math or nothing”

Not talented enough.

Not brown enough, “I have a cream, you know!

Why are we so aware of everything people are not?

Is it because we have failed to achieve self-love?

Therefore, we are determined to ensure that others never reach that destination too?

Hence we push and pull, tear down and tear apart,

“If I cannot be, no one can.”

Therefore, I will remind you of everything I think is not perfect in your life and hang it in your face like the veil of a bride forced into marriage.

I will make you carry it on your shoulders like badge. I will mark it on your face least you forget, you are flawed.

Shame on us for failing to love ourselves and making sure that others do not love themselves too.

Shame on us for the bullying,

As well as the snide comments we pass as “conversation starters”

Shame on us for believing we are good, because we do good, when the good we do, cannot be compared to the harm we cause people by belittling them.

Shame on us for highlighting people’s imperfections, flaws and insecurities.

Shame on us for not seeing the good in people, the best in people, and the perfections decorated with all the imperfection.

Shame on you, shame on me!

We suffer from this disease we cannot seem to stop spreading. It is disgusting, what we do!

Oh, I pray you do not shut this page and practice what I preach against!

The crack it has made on the mirror of people’s confidence is unfortunate.

It is a diseased dog that must be put down!

To those that have been sunflowers

Even on days, the Sun decided to play hide and seek

I upload you

I wish to be you.

Words for the Girls, Ladies, Women, and everything else we are called

My oh my! look at our beautiful faces!

If only we looked out for each other

As efficiently as we draw our eyebrows,

Maybe then, we would realize,

Her struggles are ours too.


We need to advocate for our social issues.


Dragon slayer!

If it does not settle in your stomach,

It was never meant to be there.

(The things we know are wrong but choose to stay silent)

This we must know

It might not be me

It might be my sister

It might not be her

It might be a little girl somewhere

Still basking in the glory of her innocence.

This we must remember

When we choose to fold our arms and do nothing

Say nothing

Because we think, we are safe

So maybe we are

But are the generation of little girls we are bringing into this world safe?

Think of these things.

Therefore, I will tell my little girl

Do not talk to strange men

And if they touch you

Do not just scream

Scream, bite, punch, pull, Fight

You are allowed to be a fighter

Especially when it is for your sweet life.

Baby fight

Are we doing enough for the girls?

The young girls forced to know things only women must know

Forced to experience things that only adults should

Forced to carry tiresome burdens

Burdens their small backs cannot hold, should not hold

Are we doing enough?

Please ask yourself

Am I doing enough?


They say we are beautiful. Sculpted. Precious. Lovely

That is all the reason we are born with targets on our backs

And hunted like bush meat.


They poach us like ivory

From the wild. Which is our home

Are we not safe even in what is supposed to be a safe haven?

Early marriages

Everyone likes the finer things in life

Vaginas seem to be on the list of finer

Actually, they are at the top

Because we are being harvested before we are ready to bear fruit.

Child rape

I am afraid to birth a baby girl,

I am afraid,

My arms will not be strong enough to protect her

From the heartache, this world is anxious to offer.

I am afraid,

What lurks in the dark will snatch her from my arms when I turn or blink.

I am afraid,

When her heart is broken, my voice will not be music enough to mend and heal those broken pieces.

I am afraid,

My influence will not be enough to ensure she succeeds at being true to herself, instead of

Succumbing to the world’s ideal of perfection.

I am afraid,

My midnight prayers might not be enough to protect her from evil vices.

I am afraid,

I will not be the mother my mother is to me,

She is Gods extension of himself on earth.

Baby girl

When the whole world shames me,

God’s contingency plan to get me back up is the love of my mother.


Let Her Be

Is it okay to leave her alone? Just let her be!

Let the girl child grow

Let her grow freely like wild grass

Let her explore for herself and discover for herself

Let her not be expected to grow like roses when she is wilder than the desert sand

Let her grow in a friendly environment,

Free from religious and societal judgment

They will bind her and imprison her mind

Do we want that?

Let her fulfil all the stages of childhood

Without the expectations of a grown woman

Without the fear of dangerous men

Roaming the streets trying to eat her up

Without the feeling that she cannot trust the men in her life

Because the devil does not wear Prada anymore

He lives in the bodies of some of whom she holds dear

How can she tell friend from foe?

Let us leave the girl child to explore all the opportunities she sees fit

She will pilot the plane if that is what her soul craves

Leave her to explore her talents and her gifts

She is not to be stopped neither is she to be anchored

Who do you think you are depriving of the education she has a right to?

Protect her do not harm her

Empower her in the same way you empower him

Allow her to speak her mind the same way you allow him

Give her the opportunity to make big decisions

She must know that feeling

Therefore, she can choose her path accordingly

Let the girl child discover what beauty means for her

Let her grow into herself and not your version of beauty

After all, who are you?

Who gave you this big authority you are using to set beauty standards?

Let the girl child not feel the pressure to look oil free on a sunny day! It is nonsense if you ask me.

Let the girl child be!

I am no longer asking.

She will live the life she sees fit!

She will grow into a cactus if she so pleases.

Let Her Be!

Some African men who have sent their girl children to basic schools

Expect us to clap for them with our buttocks

They want a Presidential motorcade

And want us to name the new shopping mall in their honour


Why do you crave so much praise?

For doing something that is your responsibility

Education is a human right

And she is as human as he who is to carry your name.

Female education

This is for my father

And for many other men

That have given their daughters the gift of education

Instead of giving us away into early marriages

May other men learn from you!

May they imitate you!

Sweet Nothings

Voice to your children that they are loved, tell them they are wanted, and remind them of their beauty

Convey to them that the world is blessed to have them and no one must tell them otherwise.

Tell them if they work hard, the world will bow at their feet.

Embrace their talents in any form and encourage them to develop them thereof,

Because if you do not appreciate what you have brought into this world, someone else will…

And the first funny character who will tell them sweet nothing's and sing beautiful emptiness,

Will have them running and that will be the end .

You will not be able to catch them.

They will be the sheep that are caught by the lion in the famous children’s game

“Sheep! Sheep! Come Home!”

And no, they will not be afraid!

He said. She said

Him: I feel sorry for the man who will love you…

He will have no choice but to be chained to your strong opinions and your defiant nature…. it is so sad that he will love a woman who might challenge him more times than not.

Me: I fear for the woman, who will love you. She has no idea what this relationship will do to her, the damage, it will cause her. A silent woman, can you even imagine!

She will have to shut her mouth, hide her opinions and bottle them up because the man she truly loves is afraid to be challenged, especially by a woman.

I feel sorry for the sun and the moon

They might feel the need to dim their lights to make you more comfortable in their space.

Because, I mean, the sun outshines you and the lunar lamination the moon gives definitely over shadows you

The tears they might be shading for their babe, who does not seem to understand,

We can co-exist in this world with all our lights shining bright and no one would be burnt.

You see,

I have met your father and he is set in his ways.

He pretends to care for women,

When he sees his daughters as potential liquidated assets!

I’m sure he has calculated his potential income if he charges four cows for each of you

And he is anxiously counting down to when those “plates” will arrive!

I have met your mother

She is as calm as a cucumber

But once in a while I see her fierce come out….

But it goes as quickly as it came

So sad though, she has taught herself to be water when she is fire!

Imagine the contradiction!

Imagine how much corrosion the soils of her mind have gone through,

Just to undo what runs deep in her blood.

What parts of herself did she have to suppress?

Just because she is a woman

She said

Why do I feel like I am not mine? Like I never was.

The idea of bride price

When you get to that critical age

Where everything you do are held to a standard

Of what "men like and dislike"


Because I am here now

Therefore, I understand

That there is so much nonsense aunties are still whispering to their nieces

Grandmother's to grand daughters

Mothers to baby girls

The Marriage age

And even the elderly, in all their tender love, have been indoctrinated with sentiments

Of how we were born to marry

Let us love them back even more

But let this be a caution

That not all that is ancient is right

Marriage as good as it is

Must not be held in front of our faces like magic eggs.

Marriage is not a prize

If marriage is to find you

Let it find you drawing colours into your life

Not sitting blunt face into the sunset

Waiting for it to come.

Busy bee

African women are prepared with the skill set of running their own homes at an early age.

They are taught;

  • Husband keeping

  • Home making

  • Baby keeping.

  • House keeping

They are ready for the physical part of marriage.

Whether they are emotionally ready, is out of the question.

Because if we did think about it,

We would know that we are sending into marriage, little girls dressed in women’s bodies.

They hurt us. Beat us. Kicked us. Starved us. Raped us.

When we fought back…. We were the villains all along


If he beats you, stay silent!

If he beats you again, forgive him.

If he hits you the third time,

Tell us, we will speak sense into him,

If he continues, pray,

The lord answers prayers.

You cannot leave, you can never leave.

Matrimonial violence hidden in “religion”

There is no charge for violence unseen.

Emotional abuse

Open your mouth Mamma!

People with no opinion confuse me,

Scratch that,

People who would rather bottle their opinions

Rather than express themselves baffle me.

I would rather we beast out into deep argument and you punch my face,

Rather than, you take everything I say as gospel truth.

I am a liar!

I am liar oh!

Please voice to me that you know the truth and that you know I am lying!

Let me hear what you have to say,

Be it wise analytical thoughts or just nonsense,

At least you have an opinion.

Say you like it or hate it.

Say that it is wrong and that it is wise.

Compliment, praise and rebuke!

Tell stories, yours and those of others.

Stories that make you laugh and those that make you cry.

Debate and counter opinions you do not particularly agree with.

Open your mouth please!

Are you not afraid flies will sit on your lips?

The “yes ma” way you were raised,

Must be left in the bush.

The “you are right” even when “you are not really right”

Must be un-socialized from your system.

Are you listening?

Open those ears please!

You are not a living and breathing human being,

Just meant to agree and accept.

Challenge all these confused norms,

Things like “women should not speak sermons” and “Men are closer to God than women”

We need to “holy Ghost Fire” them out of our system congested with so much rubbish!

Its rubbish if you ask me…

Do not speak much if you are a woman???

What if you were blessed with the voices of many?

Do you become less of a woman then?

And if you have been arguing from your mother’s womb,

Should you then not do something that comes naturally to you?

The wrong things we are teaching women about them behaving as if they are menstruating all the time must end!

Open Your Mouth!

The woman I never was

I do not want to be the woman I never was

Because I was struggling to be the woman, you wanted me to be

I do not want to wear high heels all the time

And comb my hair in good time

Because everyone expects a fine young woman out of me.

I do not want to look at my dreams from afar

Because the world thought, I was growing old

I needed to put those dreams aside and settle down.

I do not want to sit and wait for love to find me

Because it is the modest thing to do

The African thing to do

Because if I am being honest

I want to go out there and catch love like fire flies.

I do not want to be the woman who never bloomed

Because she was afraid, her petals would scare of the rest

Instead, I want my petals to be larger than life and outshine the sun.

I do not want to confine myself to my country,

Because if I am being honest,

I want to dance through the streets of Nigeria

And buy some good fabric from Ghana.

I do not want to love with inhibitions

Instead, I want to throw myself

In the passion and the nonsense of love and if I land headfirst I will do it again.

That’s the woman I want to be

This Woman I will Become”


Trust me,

You do not want to sit at 60 and realize the woman you are is not the woman of your wildest dreams, but the woman society wanted you to be.

You don’t want to realize,

You are not the woman of the new moon

The woman of the wild or the woman of the eclipse.

You do not want to murmur at 70

Because you did everything right by them and did everything wrong by you.

Because you lived an alright life and not your life.

You do not want to sit on your deathbed

and say “it was a good life.”

You want to whisper

“My ancestors are fidgeting in their graves because I was what they could not be”

Both the magician and the magic

The woman and all the nectar in-between.

Women must stop expecting others

To always do things for them.

We have been deceased with wealth entitlement,

That is why we are always looking for rich husbands

And rich boyfriends.

Remember; God has made us more than capable to make our own milk and honey.

Get up sweet heart,

You have work to do.

Words for The Lessons

For every heart break, heart ache and experience

A lesson I have learnt

A lesson I share.


To the one who has reached this far,

The words I have penned down from this point are for you to ingest.

So like my father let me preach!

Take what holds true in your heart it will help you

It is important that you give my words immortality by practicing what I preach

May my words imprint themselves on you

And dance around your mind like bees around a comb May they find rest in your heart

As they make love to your ears

Like sweet music to a hungry soul.

Become one.

Life is worth the struggle

A battle worth fighting

Do not stop

You are doing fine.

From Abby and Barbie

1. The right things come on time and in time.

Blessings ought not to be rushed,

They cannot be

After all, who am I to move the hand of God’s


2. You will be everything you want,

Beautiful, educated, strong

If anyone thinks, it is too much,

For you to be a whole rounded independent


It’s a shame on them!

3. Step up

And watch the wolves come out to play!

4. Education looks good on everyone,

But on a woman,,

It is a feast for the eyes and the senses.

5. Excellence is a beautiful thing to aspire for.

6. Be kind. It is nice.

7. Your future is waiting for you

Catch it, you can!

8. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh!

9. Your sweat will sing songs your mouth cannot sing,

It will recite poetry your mind will not fully


For it has been the plan of God from the beginning,

For man to reap what he sows,

10. God first.

Immediately we become

Graves of biter scoffers pop open.

It is ok to be weak, sometimes

It is ok to need assurance, sometimes

It is ok to need someone, a friend

To help you get through the hard days

And give you a push to get up and fight again

It does not make you any less of a strong woman

It makes you real

Blood. Bones. Flesh. Skin

Human…Whole woman

Because these are our struggles, these

We will fight and win them, these

Because our forefathers were warriors, those

They fought their oppressors, them

Who am I to sit and mellow in my sadness, me?

I will cry, me

I will shade the weight of my past, me

Then I will mend myself shred by shred, me

Because I am, Blood. Bones .Flesh. Skin

Human…Whole woman

I will survive

We both will.

You and I

Child of Africa

Do not let them stifle your hunger for more

Block your ears to sentiments like “starve your cravings”

They will thin your passionate heart

And dowse your flame

I too yearned for something no one could give me

So I wrote. Created. Poetry.

You will be who you wish to be


Father’s daughter

You are your parents dream

The creator’s masterpiece

You have high standards to uphold

Fail not yourself.


Ulimwana Musimbi Wabauso


Cabazyali bako

Alimwi Ulichibambe

Chamulengi cileta lumuno


Kupati kuboola

Utalilekeleli Na


Mothers Pride

Your fear of the unknown

Is as visible

As the sight of

Hungry men


For ripe breasts.

Like them,

It is disgusting to watch

Let it go!

Follow your feet

Walk on sacred land

Land deemed too good for you

You will tread ground that has not been covered

And is yet to be discovered

You will conquer

You are not allowed

Because you were never restricted!

It is the freedom we all cannot seem to harness.

Must the oceans speak in tongues

For you to lift the weight of your bones

And be part of something more

Something great.

Something bigger than yourself.

Speak up and speak out

Especially for the voiceless

Speak up and speak out

To question and challenge the wrong, lies and falsehoods of any kind

Speak love and speak it all out

Tell your story too

The world has been waiting for something like yours

To shake the foundations of our thought

And fundamentals of our lives

The day you speak your truth

Is the day you birth your purpose.

There will be moments when you will have to pick up those bricks and build yourself back up.

No matter how heavy they get with the moving sun, do not stop

No matter how many buckets of sweat you perspire, do not stop

No matter how bruised your hands get, do not stop.

There will be moments when your tears

Will know the pores of your cheeks intimately well;

Cry it all out, but not for too long

Just enough


Wipe your tears

Because the nature of tears like rain,

Must last only but a season,

Imagine if we could breathe out pain

How empty of brokenness we would be

But unfortunately we fold our pain neatly

As we tuck it away at the back of our chests.

How sinful

To my fellow Africans,

Mental illness is a reality

We must not substitute doctors for pastors

Them both must play their roles in our journey to wholeness and recover.

How sweet this life, beautiful life

Giving us second chances, then third, fourth and so on

Because that is how special we are!

Wild Thoughts!

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