Woman-Scorned

You hate me now
And I understand
No really, I do.
I’d hate me too.
But tell me something,
Was it your heart I broke?
Or did I just bruise your pride?
Because I never lied
My intention was never to be a bride
And yet you came
And came, and came…
For the fun
For the heat
From the sweetness
So why hate me now?
When you couldn’t say no?
When you couldn’t break me down
And build me to specification
When like a moth,
You flew to my flame?
Crashing into its heat
Burning yourself…

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Woman Scorned

I saw you today at the coffee shop we used to go
You lifted her hair out of her face and kissed her neck
You both chuckled at some private joke
The waitress’s eye lingered, misty with admiration
And the part of me that remembers you,
That remembers us
Screamed in agony.
You see, I’m supposed to be over it.
I mean, enough time has passed.
Water under the bridge
And if they are right, or if I am doing it right,
You shouldn’t be a blimp on my radar
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
But how could I have opened my heart up to rubbish?
Who makes a dumpster of their hearts?
A trash can of their lives?
Because, if you are rubbish then I willingly did,
And thus would be as much to blame as you.
I dared,
I dared to love rubbish.
I dared to look for the diamond in the dirt.
To stick my hand in the steaming chicken innards, hoping to find the gizzard
But you?
You were a coward
Terrified at the mere sight of blood
Unable to clean up after your own self.
Clueless of your own detritus.
I watch you lean back in your chair,
Eyes roaming across a face that could have been mine.
Ah, there it is.
The same uncertainty in your eyes,
The same crease on your brow that tells me.
That the yawning pit that is your expectations and confusions,
Will swallow her too.
I smile bitterly as I remember,
That in the same pit, I had seen manure
Fertile, fodder for growth.
Life giving.
I should wish you well,
At one time I did.
But now?
No.
I hope the memory of me becomes an ocean you always drown in
I hope every moment with her and the “hers” to come
Is darkened by the shadow of what you have lost
I hope you lie in her arms and your manhood withers
At the thought that those arms are not mine
Like undernourished plants, deprived of water, of compost
Or a gardener who would have worked to see them flourish.
I hope you never escape the smell of your mistake.
I hope it haunts you.
As it haunts me.

Obaa Boni Is Ugly Nti Deɛn? Embracing The Subversive As Liberation

Asaase Yaa Mma

abuse 5I could be the ugliest, most grotesque women on the earth and I would still be the flyest muthafucker breathing. Because I am brilliant, I am bold, I am relentless, ungovernable, unsociable, and an intentionally molded human archetype of Maame Wata herself. Chale, I just dey be kɛkɛ. Feminists are Ugly? So fuckin’ what? The looks of  feminists are completely irrelevant to the global movement for equitable social conditions.  It is about time the focus on women shifted from whether our bodies aesthetically appeal to men, to what we contribute to this world as people. Not everyday self-worth because you fit into arbitrary social standards of beauty. Not everyday self-worth because of the opinions of random bald men on the…

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10 Books by Cameroonians which Every Cameroonian should know/read

Better Breed Cameroon Journal

Here at Better Breed we aim to encourage and inspire Cameroonian youth to believe in their worth and ability to achieve. What better way to do so than give recognition to those who have achieved and are achieving. Tomorrow is World Book and Copyright Day, so we thought to have our very first Top Ten Tuesday. Here are the top ten classic books you should have read or at least know of as a literate Cameroonian.

top-ten-tuesday2

  1. Because of Women by Mbela Sone Dipoko

This is rated R. If you are below the age of 18 please avoid this book. Because of Women published in 1968 is a signature work of the late Mr Dipoko who was known for his graphic sex scenes. The novel narrates the circumstances of a fisherman who has difficulty choosing between two potential wives, spoilt for choice and unable to reign himself in nor decipher between…

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Choosing Me : Part 1

Before she even realized what she was doing, Nadia brought up her Facebook account on her laptop. She had sat down at her computer intending to work. Smiling ruefully and shaking her head she scrolled down her timeline, liking pictures and browsing through comments.  She wasn’t sure at what point it had happened but Facebook had been programmed as the default website her brain pushed her fingers to log into whenever she sat at her computer. It was  quite alright – the social networking site was a source of constant entertainment for her. Glancing over the conversations, the pictures, the memes, some inane, some important, had become a part of her daily routine. It connected her with her friends both in and out of the Cameroonian community, which was important to her.  She depended on it for her “social” life. It was after all “social” media right? Eugene, Oregon wasn’t exactly a hub for Cameroonians or any Africans and being relatively new to her job and the city, meant she hardly did anything other than work and exercise.

This lack of an active social life had been one of her major concerns before moving there. In Houston, Texas where she had attended college and grad school, there was a good-sized Cameroonian and other African community and she’d formed solid roots there. But the money Molecular Probes, the Eugene based biotechnology firm had offered her to work for them had made the move worth it.

She clicked on a video a friend had posted, of a little girl dancing azonto and chuckled delightfully at the look of concentration on the child’s face, her tongue sticking out as she bobbed and stepped to the music. She liked the video and moved down her timeline. Marianne was at travelling to Aruba? Nice! She made a mental note to call her childhood friend as soon as she could. It had been a while since they talked. Oh… It was Aban’s birthday? She typed a quick “Happy Birthday, big bro!” He was a friend of her brother’s. Ang, her college roommate who had recently moved back to her native Cambodia to work as doctor for Doctors Without Borders, had shared a link calling for donations to their small free clinic. She clicked on the link and bookmarked it, making a mental note to donate later. She scrolled further down. Bessem was ranting yet again about feminism. She rolled her eyes. That girl really needed to get a life…or a man…or both. She agreed with a lot of what the girl posted about, but goodness, wasn’t there other stuff she could talk about?

Someone doing the bible verse challenge

New York Times article about the futility of breast cancer screening. She bookmarked that too. Her mother had dealt with a bout of the disease and she read up on everything she could about it compulsively.

Another bible verse challenge participant.

Funmi’s baby shower. Oh no!  She’d forgotten to send a gift. She clicked through the pictures, her guilt warring with delight as she saw the look of joy on her friend’s face. The pictures went on and on and on and she knew if she continued clicking, it would become an inescapable  rabbit hole. She clicked out of the album.

I really should get work done…

But she kept scrolling.

Maggie had posted song from Daphne Njie. She liked Daphne. “Ndolo” She’d never heard that one. She clicked on the link to the song and Daphne’s smooth voice filled her room. She immediately liked the swinging zouk-like undertone the song had.

She returned to her timeline as it played, humming along.

I no go ever ever ever let you down…

Bible verse challenge.

Amaka was feeling happy.

You are so beautiful ….. Ah Ndolo….

Gwen had posted pictures from her latest event, in an effort to promote her decoration service. She liked the album.

Bible verse challenge.

Jude Abang is engaged.

Her heart missed a beat.

Jude was engaged?

Ah Ndolo….

She stared at the status update, in confusion and shock. How had this ended up on her timeline? Since their break up, she had unfollowed him and didn’t check his profile.

Mercy Angwafor commented on Jude Abang’s life event.

That explained it.

Jude was engaged?

Ah Ndolo….

To who? When did this happen? She checked the date and time. It had been posted the day before. Sunday. He had gotten engaged yesterday?

She clicked on his name to go to his profile, her curiosity overriding  the hollow pain in her chest. Sure enough there was a picture of Jude, smiling broadly with a girl she didn’t know, her slim hand outstretched to showcase the ring he’d just given her. The pain in Nadia’s chest grew in magnitude, sinking down to her stomach. Her heart beat accelerated till it thumped loudly in her ears as the reality of what she was looking at sank in.

Jude was engaged.

Frustrated Woman Using Laptop

Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo

Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo

Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo Ndolo

Ah Ndolo….Everybody thinks about you…

You are so beautiful

Ah Ndolo….

Why I’m Marching: Helen N.

Families For Justice

As an immigrant to the U.S , it is easy for me and others like me to forget that the children we bear in this country ultimately are more American than we ever will be and are not immune from the judgments and prejudices which are proving so deadly for black folks around the country. I remember Tamir Rice and Aiyana Stanley-Jones, I remember Trayvon Martin and Rekia Boyd the many others whose deaths have been minimized and excused and justified, as further evidence of the disdain with which black lives are held in this country…and around the world. I am marching with Mothers For Justice on May 9th because I hope for an America and a world where black children can grow and thrive free from these burdens.

About a year ago, Brandon Stanton of Humans of New York posted this picture on his Facebook page.

What followed was a…

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