The dimpled cheek, black girl.
With three tribal marks standing on my chest
Two-handed braids interwoven through my kinky hair.
Poetry on empty paper,
The shy nerd in class.
The devoted Muslim girl.
Never missed my daily salat.
Offering ta'ajjud from dusk till dawn,
Till my mother wakes me for morning choirs.
The Yoruba girl, born in an Hausa land.
Lost on what to speak,
I find only English Language.
Even though I'm expected to speak Arabic Language.
I find knowledge anywhere my eyes touches,
And wisdom where my mind reaches.
I say it, how my tongue twists it.
The virgin haired girl,
The reserved one.
A wallflower everyone at college is pointing at.
Are you married? Why are you so fat?
She's just a village girl,
Claiming to be born and raised in Abuja.
I walk away in silence.
Thinking of where I actually belong.
If, I actually belong.
The loner, the narcissist, an egoist
The tagged for being so different.
Crazy, dull, Olodo!
I would hear my classmates call me.
Obese, food-monger, Orobo!
I would hear my family call me.
Is it so bad to be differently modest?
When my quietness is mistaken for sluggishness.
When my solitary is mistaken for stupidity.
I think and wonder...
Where do I find myself in all of these?
When home is no longer home,
And the society is no longer welcoming.
Because of my size and colour and languge and dressing.
Because of my unwillingness to change my culture for yours,
Or myself for you.
I thought we once said.. culture is life?
When culture have changed over with time. I can no longer wear my wrapper to class.
When black tradition is bleached with today's civilization.
When culure is killed in the name of today's fashion, science and technology.
I can no longer use my local beads,
The ones I once cherished.
How can I fit into a society that changes over time?
How can I the human's mind that is insatiable.
Lost in all these thoughts,
That hunts me down like memories of yesterday.
I realize... I just have to be myself,
And nurture my heart to what I want and what I know how to do best.