Tag Archives: strong

Ayiba and “The Tease”

Hello Everyone,

It’s been a while! I have a special delivery today 🙂

The new issue of the very innovative online medium, Ayiba Magazine, is finally out. The issue is an ode to African Women. And my piece, “The Tease”, is in it 🙂

This piece is one of my favourites, because it was inspired by a beautifully life-changing event for me.

On International Women’s Day,  I went to see Angelique Kidjo and Fatoumata Diawara, both amazing African musicians, in concert. And it was everything.

I watched Fatou dance barefoot on stage, tossing her scarf and swinging her braids, with more power and passion than I have ever seen. This woman moved like she was music itself. Angelique Kidjo, who is much older, was no different. I watched them move so freely, even aggressively and unattractively at some points, with no concern for who was watching.  They were confident enough to do exactly what they wanted, and let that be all. In that moment, I understood what it meant to be a strong African Woman. And the realisation even brought me to tears. (I’m such a dweeb).

So, “The Tease” was  based on this. It’s an ode to these women who unwittingly became my role models. It’s an ode to MY definition of what it means to be a strong African woman, which is to be a “Tease”.

Please read “The Tease” here:


Also, check out other works in the Ayiba Mama Africa Issue:


P.S. I made a drawing to go with it. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit the dimensions of the website. So here it is:

The Teaser








I hope you like the piece, and that my little story didn’t bore you! Please let me know what you think 🙂

Thanks for being here.

Love, love, all the love,



Ugly Hands

He told me I’ve got ugly hands.

I believed him, and that’s what made me cry.

My tears moisturised them,

My palms embracing my chair,

Hiding them away under my weight.


I would only bring them up to watch them work.

They worked hard too. They still do.

I’d marvel at their craft;

I could draw the straightest of lines,

They never dipped if I didn’t let them.

Those lines dance for my pleasure,

Cascading smoothly around my thoughts.


Or when someone made me mad,

Those hands, they would work hard.

The sound of their meeting the offending cheek,

Oh it caused the deepest contrition,

It made me believe in their force.


Would I give them up for dainty ones,

That I would file and leave limp by my side?

If I ever met him one more time,

I’d show him what my ugly hands could do.

Perhaps I’d draw him a line,

Maybe on paper. Or maybe across his cheek.