See eh, Amurika has tired me, I won’t lie. All through last year, I had serious problems with my blood-rise-up because people with brains and anuses and freedom now went to elect Thing from the Addams family to be their leader, thereby bringing us closer to Revelations and see-see-sis.
Then, to make matters worse, I am tired of the snow and the rain and the cold and I just want some sun because I look ashy as if I have no relatives to make me look in the mirror occasionally. My hair is like straw – the one place I found in Roxbury that can do locs, the loctician swerved me after saying she would call me back. I don’t know why. Eez like people in Amurika don like money again. So, here I sit, separating my crackling locs and hoping not to start a fire. O di egwu. To think I used to be a fine chick sef. That one has passed.
The good news is, I have started Narrative non-fiction classes at Harvard so that I can be better at this whole truth-telling thing. But errrr, me I cannot leave this blog because I don’t have to put what I am saying into the kind of English that other people can understand, shey you get?
That’s how me I was minding my business, one old woman like this came and asked me if my name was ‘made up’. Never never in my life has anyone asked me that question before. I mean, made up how? Like my parents just picked a collection of sounds and thought “Ah, sweet music. That will be her name”? Only the woman’s age made me keep my tongue in my head. And another thing, I hate it when you tell people your name and they say “What a beautiful name!” How do you know it’s beautiful? Do you speak Igbo? For all you know my name means “She who will bring about the world’s destruction with her vagina.”
Just say my name sounds beautiful, and leave it at that. I have to teach people English again.
It’s raining. God is just crying over the sorry state of affairs in this country. Na wah.
Anyway, how are you guys? Leave me a comment abeg, let’s catch up.