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My grandmother’s room could have passed for a museum. A museum of memories stored in basins, gbanban. Basins filled with things once lost and later found. Basins of dried tears and blood clots. Basins crowded with the clothes of her past: outfits from the years when she was the best-dressed woman in her age group; clothes ofContinue reading “Mmuka.”

Long before I ever understood the culture, I learned to be proud of my heritage and to cherish the blessedness of my existence as an Omor’mor. Umor wo den! And before school taught me, the streets of Ugep knew our place on the map of the world. They told us Ugep was the biggest villageContinue reading “Omor’mo!”

The Women that raised my imagination In Nigeria, there is Amakohia, a growing neighbourhood of people who loved life and lived it fully. It was a place I once called home. Amakohia was known for housing the only federal government-owned hospital in the area and a federal university. It was a meeting point of traders,Continue reading “Amakohia”

I grew up in a community of women, and one of the topics that often floated over our heads was endometriosis. Nobody was ever really able to explain what it meant to be diagnosed with endometriosis. All I knew as a growing girl was that it causes severe pain in women, especially during their periods.Continue reading “Understanding Endometriosis.”

Akwaeke Emezi writes from a place I can only describe as home. Her prose is soulful and immersive; it pulls you into the pages until you find yourself living alongside the characters, inhabiting their bodies, their fears, their desires. In The Death of Vivek Oji, I saw a boy. I saw a girl. I sawContinue reading “The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi”