Growing up in Nigeria, the idea that improving the lives of women was a cause worth fighting for didn't just come from organizations, or brochures, or formal programming; I had strong women around me who constantly put this into practice in the every day, including my own mother.
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A Brief Herstory: Food Justice and Rebel Toddlers
My mother calls me an exhibitionist, but it's for this reason that I publish so much on the web -- when I'm long gone, I won't have anyone speaking for me, including suggesting that I wasn't always a protesting food justice advocate.
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Inspired by Pariah: My Personal Story about Coming Out as a Nigerian “Boi”
As the strapless lilac dress found its awkward place on my body, the delicate layer of my personal confidence dropped mercilessly to the floor.. When my father said I looked "pretty," I immediately went on a dramatic tirade (more dramatic than usual) to assert that this wasn't who I was.…
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My Straight African Brother’s Reflections on a Very Queer Christmas: “Two Couples and a Sibling”
My brother wrote this guest post for me for Christmas and I couldn't be any more moved. For any of you feeling hopeless about your families coming around, I want you to read this and see this as your future, see this as where your own family members could go.…
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An Immigrant’s Halloween: Blackface, Ghetto Parties, and Disney Princesses
I actually want to have fun during Halloween this year. I don't want to feel constantly triggered by offensive costumes. I actually want to smile at kids when they come trick or treating. I want to carve my first pumpkin without being cheered on by coworkers in blackfaced Bob Marley…