Lost and Found (II)


Picture Source: Google, Quote culled from Nicola Yoon’s ‘The Sun is also a Star’.


You do not wake up until 12:00pm, sweaty with a full shot of headache. You are certainly taking the day off work. You look around your room now that sunshine streams in from the window side. Save for the pile of hair on the floor that greet your gaze, everything else appears serene, unperturbed. Your hair, dammit! You want to cry but you don’t. You are still in your work clothes from yesterday but a little less bitter about your life.

You clean up your room and take a long cold shower, basking in the sensations that seize you as water splashes on your scalp. Maybe cutting your hair wasn’t such a bad idea after all, you decide. You change into a short black dress and stay in bed for the rest of the day, shuffling between movies, and writing in your journal. You forget to eat.

Dear Diary,

Bad mood suffocates me like foul air sometimes. All it takes is one moment, a second and all the things going wrong or about to go wrong or I fear will go wrong crash in my face pooling tears in my eyes. Then I become full with grief, and wait to explode. I remember the choices I did not make and regret the ones I did. Yesterday, I had a major explosion. I am not sure what triggered it, but it surely came to fore after the call with Boma. And no, it’s not Boma, it’s me. I know it’s an overused line, but the truth cannot be over-sold.

With NYSC rounding off in a month, and me, still yet to hitch a job or find a man, I am constantly faced with the question of where my life is going and what the future would look like. A lot of my friends seem to have achieved a lot during this one year; some completed projects in their communities or at least kick-started it and now have something prestigious to add to their CV, some are getting married to boyfriends they met at Camp, some have jobs already waiting for them after service, some have hitched a boyfriend or two along the line and while it would hardly increase their job prospects, it affords them a husband material to take home to mama… and I am here, having nothing and too good for love, writing this self-pity journal, mildly wondering why my last date ghosted on me and when it will be my chance to get lucky.

I have tried dating but I have hardly ever gone past a first date—they say “We should certainly meet again sometime soon” but we never do. I have sent in application letters to too many companies and shared my CV with too many people, but the same response meets me: “we will get back to you shortly”. They hardly ever do.

But I know I shouldn’t do this: compare myself with others because each man to his own race course. So I am taking a break from other people’s lives. With social media applications gone, and a new sim in my phone, I can monitor what and who gets to me and meet my life where it meets me. Sometimes, we need to disconnect from people to connect with ourselves; and that is totally fine.  

It’s me; I know it’s all me. But even that knowledge is not satisfying. I need a breakthrough. 

Yours, the unmade adult child.

You sleep the rest of the day away until a knock finds you in your dreams. It is 6:30pm. You shuffle to the door of your en-suite apartment to find a worried Sam. You open the door to let him in.

“Goodness! Your hair!”

You make a short laugh and shrug his questioning gaze off. “How did you know my apartment?”

“And good evening to you too.”

You smirk. “Forgive my manners, good evening. Please have a seat.” You gesture towards the bed, the only “seat” in the house.

He takes a seat and makes a show of looking around your well-furnished apartment with approving eyes. “For a corper, I will say you have a high taste.”

“Let’s say I will do anything to make a strange place feel like home. So, how did you find me?”

“It was easy. I just had to ask for the gorgeous fair youth corper who lived here, and all fingers pointed towards your door. What happened to you?”

“Right!” you smirk “you forgot to add ‘fat’. What can I offer you?”

“An explanation. Come here and have a seat. Let’s talk about yesterday and your hair.”

 You roll your eyes. “Making orders in my own house? For a gentleman, I will say you have too much nerves.”

He smiles. “I do when I need to. Common now, sit. Please.”

You oblige him. “I was just unhappy is all. Nothing “happened”.” You emphasize “happened” by raising your fingers to put imaginary air marks.

“And your hair? A terrible accident?”

“Well, I wanted a new look.”

“For someone who has a good taste in interior décor, I will say you have a horrible fashion taste. You do know you have to visit the barber, right? You look unfinished…”

You laugh. “Thank you for the compliment and yes, I know.”

“So is this the reason you didn’t come to work today?”

“I wasn’t feeling very well. That’s the reason.”

“And your phone? Switched off. No one could reach you. We were worried sick. Everyone kept turning to me because they knew I was the last person that saw you. You could have called me Grace. You could have said something, or sent me a message. I kept sending you emails, you didn’t–”

“I am sorry Sam. I am sorry. I—I felt suicidal yesterday, okay? I just needed to get myself together.”

“Suicidal? And you say nothing happened?”

“I am fine now Sam.”

“If you wouldn’t talk to me, have you at least talked to someone about it?”

“Yes. I have.” You smile to reassure him that you are okay, but it is futile. His face looks flushed, his worry imminent. “Thank you for taking the pains to come see if I am okay.”

“I don’t know what to say Grace.” He looks away from you, shaking his head and twiddling with his car key.

“Say “you are welcome””

He smiles. You smile too. “Good to know you are fine anyway.”

“Yeah, glad I made it.” You check the time, it is almost 7pm and you begin to feel uneasy.

“Err, it’s getting late, you know?”

He looks up at the time, then at you. “Are you sending me off so soon?”

“Not that I don’t want you to stay, but I imagine you must have some things to tend to at home. I don’t want to keep you longer than you have to be here.”

“Don’t be too kind. There is nothing to rush home to. No dinner. No wife, or fiancee, or girlfriend.”

You blush. “Okay, let’s make you dinner before it gets too late”

You make Garri and Egusi for both of you, and you eat from the same plate which feels a tad sentimental. You start to feel a little too self- conscious in your short dress as you see his eyes roving every inch of your body.

“You know I like you, right?”

You smile. “Yes. You are too obvious about it.”

He laughs. “Well, good. And I know you like me too.”

Now, you are the one laughing. “You look like the kind of girl I would like to settle down with.”

“What? Is it you or the food? Mum always said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I never wanted to believe it, but now I am tempted to.”

He laughs. “But I am serious about this…”

“You don’t know me Sam.”

“I want to now.”

“If you knew me, you would change your mind. I would rather bask in the euphoria of this pleasant friendship we share now, than lose you—or well, the free rides home!”

He smiles. “What will make me hate you? Your impulsive change of taste and hairstyle? The history of how many boys you have dated and the ones whose hearts you have broken?”

“Yes. And my penchant for invading the souls of well-meaning men with my beautiful corruption.”

“Now I am scared…” he fakes a shiver, you laugh. “But I still want you. Your virus and beautiful corruption. I want to be invaded by you.”

You check the time again. 7:35.

“It’s late Sam. Plus I have to prepare for tomorrow. Figure out what to do with my hair and stuff.”

“I want you.” He insists, ignoring your efforts to send him off.

“Don’t want me Sam. I am not as pretty inside.”

“I don’t want pretty, I want Grace.” he winks.

You smile. “I don’t know Sam. Maybe we will revisit this after you get to know me better. Thank you so much for coming around, and keeping me company. Drive safely, okay? See you tomorrow.”

“Whatever you do with your hair, make sure you stay recognizable. Please.”

You laugh, as you shut the door after him. “I’ll try.”


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.


Conversations with Marvin: Will “what will be” be?

Love is a kind of grief.

-Chimamanda Adichie, Americanah

Me: What will be will be

Marvin: Will it?

Me: We will have to see

Marvin: You don’t even believe in your own self, your truth; how then, my darling, shall I begin to believe you?

Me: *silent*

Marvin: What will be will not be. What you want to be, you go out there and make it happen. I want you, I am here– willing to do whatever it takes to have you. The question is, do you want me too?

Me: Rain…

Marvin: What has rain got to do with anything?

Me: Can you make it rain?

Marvin: I am not a fucking rainmaker baby. What the devil has that got to do with us?

Me: I want rain. Now. I cannot make it happen, you cannot make it happen. Look outside, it is piercingly bright. But I want rain. Can you make it rain?

Marvin: Sunshine, sunshine look at me–

Me: If I cannot make it rain, you cannot make me stay.


I have just finished reading Adichie’s “Americanah” and it has left me with a riot of emotions– a sad familiar longing, excitement for a love that triumphed, worry about the reality of it. I have often thought and said “what will be will be” and often too, I have believed it. Because I can safely say that Ifem and Obinze were meant to be together and that is why they ended up together. But, as I now vividly remember the words M once said, that now float in my head auspiciously: what will be will not be, you have to go out there and make it happen if it matters that much to you, I shrink in the knowledge of my own incredulousness. I am thinking, now, maybe this is also true. Because if Obinze had not gone back to Ifem (seven excruciatingly-slow-moving-months after), maybe they will never have got back together.

And maybe there is no set rule to these things and maybe we say “what will be will be” because our hands are tied and Faith is our only recourse, maybe because Destiny; maybe if two hearts are truly in love, and in sync, the Universe will make their silent wishes come true. Maybe, maybe…

Yet now I ask myself, wondrously, curiously, will what will be be?


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Conversations with Marvin: The deal about honesty.

Me: I think honesty is the most important thing in a relationship.

Marvin: No, I think it is Love and Respect. You love someone, you want to forgive them quickly even before they apologize. You love someone, you find it hard to get mad at them. You respect someone, you consider them and their feelings even though you are only responsible for what you do, not how they feel. You love someone, you spend your living days having their back, trying not to hurt them. You love someone, you believe in them until there is a reason to stop believing. I think we lie to ourselves when we say we want honesty. Because we can handle love and respect, but we can never truly handle honesty. We don’t know how. The world we live in is not made for honesty.

Me: I don’t agree with you. I do not kid when I tell you I want honesty. I want to know every grain of truth that there is: about the past, about everything. When I love you, I give you the whole damn truth and I expect the same. I want to know about the girl you kissed, the girl you almost cheated with, the atrocities of your past, everything. When there is honesty, we give ourselves a chance at forgiveness. A chance at new beginnings.

Marvin: Would you really want to know how I kissed that hot girl in my office because you and I were not on talking terms? Would you have the patience to hear about how she kissed me more than I kissed her because the man in me wanted it but the soul in me knew it belonged with you and no other? Would you want to know my loins stirred with lust after I saw some thick set woman walk by? Would you want to know my ex visited and although we didn’t revisit the bed-times, I had wet dreams about her? Would you want to know? Can you handle it?

Me: Yes, I would want to know. And it should not be your business if I can handle it or not. Your responsibility is to be honest, and my responsibility is to make do with that information however best I can process it. If I resolve to forgive you, it will be my prerogative. If I resolve to leave because it is too much for me, then maybe we shouldn’t have been together in the first place. I think people who feel self-righteous about their ability to hide the truth are in fact selfish egoistic bastards. You are not afraid to tell the truth because you are concerned about my well-being, rather you are afraid because you worry about how I will begin to see you and how my feelings for you might change; how you might stop being the guy I love and dote on and start being the one who hurt me, the one who cheated.

Marvin: That is not true… and I am not saying I would not be honest with you, all I am saying is that I think beyond honesty, love and respect are the most important things in a relationship.

Me: All I am saying is if you love me, you will respect me enough to be honest with me; or even better, respect me enough to not do those things you would not have the heart or humor to be honest about.


Honesty is the fastest way to prevent a mistake from turning into a failure

-James Altucher

Honesty is a double-edged sword, and I think that in all sincerity, there will be times in each person’s life when we will contemplate on the perks of being honest and the perks of keeping our mouths tight shut– because we are humans, and more often than we may wish it happened, we are not always in control of our bodies or the things we do and/or say. We have “wants and desires” and then there is “the way that things should be”, but the path of life is not all rights and lefts, or rights and wrongs, or blacks and whites. Some days don’t come with choices, they impose their will on us and leave us with the torment of whom to tell the story to.

And this is not just about romantic relationships…

Recently, I was honest about something to someone very dear, and (surprisingly or unsurprisingly) I expected to get a certain kind of reaction, which I did not immediately get. I was thinking (quite self-righteously) to myself “I could have lied! I damn well could have lied but I chose to say the truth, so I deserve to be cut some slack” but really? Now, I see that thinking the way I thought then would amount to me trying to rationalize dishonesty, like everyone does it, so why not me?! But of course as we already know, the ubiquitousness of a thing doesn’t redeem it from savagery. It remains what it is!

What do you think? About the role of honesty in romantic relationships, or other relationships for that matter? In light of the abundant ways that people can now cheat (it gets as bad as you cheating and not even knowing that you are), or the fact that, increasingly, it seems as though there is no reward for or gain in being honest. Should we even expect a reward for being honest? Should we spread the dirty linen wide and clear in front of our partner’s eyes, unthinking, uncaring? I think yes, despite the consequences.

But then, it is easier said than done.


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Musings: Be careful what you wish for.

This morning, as I sit reading through old posts and musings on my blog, I stumble upon an old note– one of my all-time favourites, ego, which i had written for a boy I was very much taken by. I had met him through a friends friend, and it had been easy to love him. He was laid back, humorous, out-of-the-box, giving so much and yet giving nothing; so there he was ‘getting to know me’ daily, early morning messages, nice compliments and the works but he wasn’t saying anything! I was frustrated, I was mad at him. I would write stories about him, wish for him like a child wished for teeth, but nothing!

Soon, I started to give him attitude, and wish him away. My mantra was, and still is, “it is okay to want to take your time with deciding whether or not you want to be with me; but do me a favour! Make your contemplations from a distance. I do not want you standing in my face, all dotsy and datsy. Pick a lane and stay there.” It didn’t take too long from there on to blank him out. But i kept on writing those stories. And if I ever underestimated the power of writing, it soon blew up in my face, in a billion tinny pieces…

A couple years down the line, we became an item and I was elated, swollen to burst level! I was like FINALLY! I thought it was it, you know? A worry here, a flaw there, but isn’t that what humans are made of? Soon, days wound into months and we made a terrible split: battered hearts, wailing eyes, bitter words and “maybe we shouldn’t haves”. And it is sad and crazy thinking about it now! How the hell could I have wished for something so bad only to wish it away down the line?

It is on days like this, in moments such as this that I find wisdom in the saying: be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Sometimes, things don’t work the way we want them to, and I am beginning to learn that maybe, just maybe, life is working for us rather than against us. These days, when I see fine boys that I am crushing on who can’t find the humour to crush back, I am learning to hold myself back and thank the Universe rather than try to make that person see how awesome I am. Of course I am sugar, but I am not made for every ones cup of tea.

I am stepping into the other half of this year with so much awareness of my kind and brutal flaws, the heartbreaks that defy journaling which I have carried endlessly through the years, the memories of laughing days shared, the knowledge of bad decisions taken and golden chances unused. But I also step into the latter half of the year with an avalanche of forgiveness– for myself, for every mistake and every grudge, every hurt and everyday I thought I wasn’t enough; for the boys that stirred my feelings, knowingly or unknowingly, without hopes of nurturing them. And for everyday that I forgot my worth, and every other day that that knowledge will evade me in the future.

I am growing and there is a lesson at every turn. Let’s take notes, shall we?!

© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Of Kindred Souls.

I really
just want to love you, simply.
I Haven’t got the words to concoct sweet poetry
But I own a heart,
That’s been there and back
In love and out
Swallowed and spat;
And I want to embrace you in it
Just place you gently,
side to side with
The kindred souls of men
That have kissed my heart awake
With the miracle of their love,
The betrayal of their departure–
And I really
Just want to love you, simply.
I can be your miracle, baby.


I really
Just want to hold you, lightly.
I am not as strong as I seem.
I am worn from love;
from nurturing hearts
That would proclaim the love of men that could never be me.
But I want to gather you, ever so tenderly
Hold you, in the places that you fear will cave in
You need me, I need you
You will breathe love into me,
I will save your heart from falling
The restlessness of your wandering soul
is calling out to the void in my own
And I really
just want to hold you, lightly.
You can belong with me, darling.


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Mother Universe.

Mother Universe,
Here, take my heart, a gift
And if I may, one favour ask, please
Find where it belongs
and entrust it with your ease.

The man, the one man my heart seeks
You know him, it’s our little girl-secret
And if you find him, Mother Universe,
one more favour, please?
Tell him I do not not ever think of him.

Tell him, the man in my dreams
To keep his smile, bright
And his heart, mother, should find no more grief
For I do not take lightly the pains of a lover
Tell him, my heart– it tears everytime he bleeds.

Mother Universe,
Here, take my heart, a gift
And if I may, one more favour ask, please
Find the one man that I love
Tell him, mother, he is so beautiful; how shall I not?


For the ones that we love deeply; against the tides of fate or the passage of time.


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.


You are bored and idle. You have tried everything on your bucket list but you are not yet un-idle or un-bored. You tap your computer to life, and quickly type in some address in the search engine. It is a blog site. His blog site. You scroll through, with a flurry of contrasting emotions—hesitation, curiosity, and fear. You haven’t visited his blog in about one and a half years, because sometimes you have to burn bridges to create a distance, and you do not know what to expect now. Maybe a diss post, or a backlash, or something to get at you for ending things the way you did—like an anniversary post to his new girlfriend or a picture of his new self plus two, his wife and kid. You shudder.

Surprisingly, there has been no activity since the last time you visited. He hasn’t even been there himself for so long. He has probably been busy making some girls fall to their knees in reverence of his flawless charm. Shina! You see one of his posts you had commented on, back then—during the “good old days” when your heart was still your own. You read through again, and gasp at its ingenuity… then you see his flirtatious reply to your innocent comment, and you smile. He wanted you even then, how did you not see it? There had been nothing fantastic about him—not his silence when he ought to speak up, or his boldness just when circumstances begged that he be quiet, but you had yearned for him, shamelessly. So that although it took too long for him to profess his love, and even when he did, it had been an imperfect FaceBook inbox confession, you had been content with all he had to offer; and you had had a great three months together—before things ended almost as unceremoniously as they began.

You had broken up with Shina so long ago, but it feels just like yesterday. No, he didn’t cheat or dump you or something like that. He got a scholarship to commence his Doctorate degree at a University in London—for three years, and you decided there was a lot at stake. Three years is a long enough time for anything to happen. What if he never comes back? What if he finds someone else? What if you find someone else? What if the voice and video calls aren’t enough? What if Winter gets so cold that he seeks warmth in the arms of another sylph? These thoughts and more rummaged through your mind days after he broke the news to you. He couldn’t stay, yet he didn’t want to leave. It hurt you to leave, but it was difficult to stay.

He promised heaven and earth. He swore he would come back for you. He said you both could make things work if you wanted to. That was a day before he had to leave for London but you were having none of it. You had every cause to worry. He had never cheated, but he had given you cause to think along those lines, and boy—even if he never went searching again for the rest of his life, he will be sought out as bees sought flowers. You decided what you both needed was space—space to be yourselves without guilt or worry. You told him that everything will be fine, that if the Universe wanted you both to be together in the future, it will make it happen. You told him it would be unfair on both of you to put each other’s lives on a pause, because what if you did not end up together in the first place? He said it was worth a try. You said it was too much to bear.

“We can still be friends,” you had eventually suggested with pleading eyes, hoping he would see that you didn’t want to lose him, but you couldn’t stay un-seeing, waiting for the unknown. But maybe you shouldn’t have said those words, because just as soon, he had walked himself out—well, after that final lingering kiss that left your imaginary lips heavy even days after, and you thought that had been his excuse for a final goodbye. And you had been a little happy and a little sad at the same time that things had ended the way they did. But he had called you the night he got to London. And you had talked, like friends. Then, he had called you the night after too, and the night after that. And the one after that one. And he has not stopped calling since then.

You? You pick his calls. Because, just friends, right? Your attitude has changed towards him, somewhat. You have become a little cold and less concerned– or so you like to think; but he is not giving. Sometimes, you don’t pick up. And he calls on and on, and on, until your battery is well drained out or until you pick and talk to him. It is difficult. For you. Because how can you be just friends with someone you want to rip up and apart with loving kisses and a wholesome hug? Because you cant quite forget him, and you don’t have the heart to wait for his return. Because what if he never comes? Because how does a 28-year old girl wait for her 25-year old boyfriend who might not even be ready for marriage until another ten years time?

You shake imaginary tears off your face now, as you rock yourself to Avril Lavigne’s Slipped Away. It is one and a half year gone, since you have been Just friends. Since you have had to suppress your love, and contain your jealousy and green thoughts of how he is probably smooching a gorgeous white girl off her wit in the comfort of his closet. And it isn’t getting any easier for you. And the days aren’t getting any shorter. And your love for him isn’t waning any faster.

“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.” 

― Paulo Coelho


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

I search for you.

I search for you between the merging of lips
Where breaths collide
And souls meet
I search for you in the linking of arms
Amongst the songs sang
About love and tainted hearts
I search for you
Behind the sound of my laughter
And I search for you
Beneath the surface of my smile
Oh, I search for you
Behind the lid of my eyes
Within the weight of my tears
I swear, I search
But you are fading
And I lay, breaking.


“There are plenty of ways to die. But only love can kill you and keep you alive to feel it.”

-Leo Christopher 


©The Short Black Girl, 2016.

Kiss me back to life.

I thought I saw your face in the crowd,
I thought.
Oh, how I longed to find your eyes
Searching for mine
Because my eyes, they have now forgotten how to sleep.
I thought I saw a stranger wear your smile
And I longed that you might ache for me
The way that I yearn for you.
It is no secret
Everyone knows,
even the sky, and trees-
They tease…
And I am just one step from falling
A breath away from dying
Will you find me and kiss me back to life?


“Delay is a bitter tonic, but it increases the appetite.”

Austin Malley


©The Short Black Girl, 2016.

Musings: “I trust you but…”

You never imagined your life will turn out this beautifully. Yeah, you always knew you’d choose career over much else, but the fancy husband, and fancy family… You never dreamed of those. Yet, you got lucky.

Seguñ is the most perfect miracle that ever happened to you. He loves you, you love him… And he caters to your every need. He is not one of those ‘yeye‘ men that will ask you to ditch your years of study at the university, accolades, degrees, certificates and all– just so you can serve his household better as a full housewife. He has the money to cater for you both, and a part of you thinks a part of him wouldn’t mind having you all to himself, but he respects you and respects your desire to be and feel responsible for yourself. That is a man that knows how to love and keep a woman.

And you… You are a good wife that wants to be kept. You are not one of those ‘yeye‘ ladies that will turn chance into chances. You plan your weekdays ahead. You cook your stews and soups during the weekends and preserve them in the Freezer, so that meal times are almost stress free for you and as quick as can be. You wake up early enough to serve him breakfast of sandwich and tea (after sex, of course, that’s the first course). And he is very understanding, and supportive… sometimes, he helps out in the kitchen and even when he doesn’t, he never makes excruciating demands. But you, you know what your man likes and you go to great lengths to satisfy him. The way to a man’s heart is kuku through his stomach, abi?

And now, you are pregnant. Seguñ would not have you work your butt off at work and then come home to make those almost daunting meals after which you service his wanton desires in bed. No, you need a helping hand. So he suggests to you that you get a house help– just someone to clean the house, make the meals and maybe if they get lucky, stay long enough to help take care of the baby. It sounds like an interesting idea, because this pregnancy is getting you in all sorts of testy moods… You hug and kiss him and transfer a dozen and one hormones into his body after a hot steaming thank you sex. When you both get back to your senses, you discuss more about what got you excited in the first place…

He would rather you hired a female help. They are very resourceful, homely, and can well take care of Junior when he comes along. Plus, there won’t be dangers of them keeping bad gangs and inviting criminals into your home… but you can’t stand the thought of a female help! You have watched too many movies of how they seduced the men of the homes and displaced the women. It is not that you don’t trust Seguñ, you tell him so, but there is only so much temptation a hot-blooded man can take. In fact, you tell him, there is no man than any woman with breasts, and buttocks cannot tame. No such man! Add to that the fact that she will be in charge of meals, what if she decides to put some love potion in it? You trust him but can’t take that risk! He can be vulnerable. You love him too much to even take the risk.

You would rather you hired a male help. Males are stronger, easier to maintain and manage, no worries about shopping for bra, pants and sanitary towels, no fear of the girl sleeping around and bringing some uncensored pregnancy into your abode, he would be able to wash the cars and help move heavy objects around when the need arises. Some men can cook, you would just have to find one of such. Plus a man can be taught how to take care of a baby. Besides, you can take care of Junior when he comes. You want to take care of him yourself… But Seguñ can’t stand the thought of a male help either. He wants to protect you– from rape, seduction, and the insolence and excessiveness of the male folk. You are a woman, fragile and vulnerable by nature. He trusts you, but it’s just too great a risk to take.

So, thirty minutes after, you sit face to face… unable to reach a decision, spent and exhausted, throats parched, hormones stretched. You both are not sure, but it appears maybe you don’t trust each other enough. But no, you do! You trust each other, it’s just… it’s just what it is.

“You don’t throw a compass overboard, just because the ocean is calm”.

Matshona Dhliwayo


  • Do you think men are more vulnerable to sex and promiscuity than women?
  • Which do you think is the lesser of two evils? A male or female help? Or is the mere contemplation of this an acute sign of paranoia?


Do be kind to talk to me. Have a great Monday and week ahead family… and Happy December! ♡♡


©The Short Black Girl, 2016.