My Mother’s Corpse & Me

In 12 days, it will be 6 months since my mom died.

It’s crazy when I think about it because some days, I could swear she died just yesterday. Because on those days, I feel just as suffocated as I did the night I got the phone call from my dad. My heart races like it’s physically running through my mind and I feel like I’m going crazy. Then again, it’s ironic because I could also say it feels like forever because every single day has dragged on… With each passing day, I live through 24 more hours of my mom not existing in this world.

Today, I will share my diary entry from the day before my mom’s funeral – the day I visited her in the morgue. To anyone who sits and wonders how this could feel like in their spare time, you’re welcome!

Aguleri, Anambra State.                                                                                 4.11.19

Hey Mommy,

We just came back from seeing you. We were supposed to yesterday but we weren’t able to because we got there at 12ish, and the mortuary people only allow visits from 6-10am. Yesterday was intense. In summary, our tyre tore, we weren’t able to see you, and I pooped in a public toilet in a tyre market in Awka, and then I had a breakdown in a mechanic shop as we switched out the four tyres of Daddy’s car.

But back to today, we just came back from seeing you. I was very nervous initially. I didn’t know what to expect. I even started doing the nervous thing you do with your fingers. On our way there, Daddy told me he hated going to the mortuary. He told us about when his dad died and he identified his body to the autopsy person. Papa’s mortuary was the freezer kind. He said when he took his Aunty Alice’s body to the Eko Hospital mortuary, all they did was lay her down on the slab, and inject her two toes with a tiny syringe. And that was it. But when the mortician came to the house to prep your body, he had like a whole bucket of chemicals with multiple syringes, and he injected your body all over, including your head. I was like “Ahn ahn now”, and he was like “It’s a dead body. The only reason this is painful is because it’s your mom.”

Coco met us there. He had the morgue papers and your white dress and crown. Your casket was there. It’s so cute. Daddy picked it out. At first, I was really really anxious because Daddy had said in the car that your body would be very black now. And I’d actually thought that we were going to enter the storage room and walk through a sea of bodies on slabs, so I was trying my best to mentally prepare. But thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

After a little bit of waiting, they called us in. I was already in front, but for a second, I hesitated to go in. I was scared. They’d brought you out on a table and the first thing I saw was your beautiful white hair. Daddy was right – you were really dark. And all the distorted images of your face I’d created in my head to prepare myself did not match your face. I was startled for a split second because you looked so different – darker, wider, stronger features. But immediately, I was able to see you in there.

Your lips were bigger but they were very slightly open, like you were smiling, but the rest of your face looked stronger – more serious. You had a wrapper around you. I motioned to the mortician if I could touch you; I couldn’t even say a word. He nodded back at me. So I touched your arm. It was really hard – it didn’t feel like skin. It felt like a wooden sculpture. But after that first initial unfamiliarity, it was smooth sailing. You were still you, my onye uwa oma. And you didn’t smell of any chemicals. I kept touching your arm, and the silent tears began to fall. I touched your stomach. It was also hard. But it was you.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Uncle Sunday. I gently shrugged him off and motioned I was okay because they were already like “It’s enough”, probably because I was crying. But I was okay. I was happy to see you. When we walked in, Daddy said “Onwuanyi! Great woman!” Ekene touched your arm too.

I hugged you. More like I put my head on your stomach as I held your arm. Mommy, I missed you soooo much. It was so good to see you. It will always be good to see you. In whatever form. I don’t even feel dirty or like I need to wash my hands. I feel normal, and even at peace. I needed to see you and hug you. And the fact that you looked like you were smiling also gave me peace – like you were at peace, or you were happy to see me. Oh Mommy ❤ I love you sooo much.

Eventually, Daddy and Coco were like “it’s okay.” I kept rubbing your arm. I missed you soooo much. You were still you. As we left, I couldn’t stop looking back at you but the mortuary people eventually closed the door. It was so good to see you, Mommy. So so good. It will always be you and me. Always.  Please never forget me. Please think of me. I miss you so much. I miss you soo much. So much.

Re: Reuben Abati: Big Brother Naija- Television as Madness



I think I threw up in my mouth a total of 4 times after reading this article. First and foremost who is Reuben Abati? According to google, he is the Former Presidential Spokesman for ex President Jonathan. What is the correlation of a former presidential spokesman to BBN? I can’t categorically tell you.  Of recent, I only see his name on Bellanaija but I don’t think I’ve ever read any article of his. I probably wouldn’t have seen today’s *hot pile of trash* if I didn’t read the post about Uti’s tweets. Uti was 100% right. Before I even start dissecting what this old man wrote, why exactly did he feel the need to write “baby” every time he referenced women? The use of that world really just brought to mind images of creepy old perverts and the picture Bellanaija used did not in anyway…

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Unbroken Praise!

HELLO! Feels so good to be writing again omg! We’re still in the first month of this new year and I already have ridiculous stories to tell LOL hashtag my life is a big joke for real. Wish I could tell the stories right now but I literally do not have the time 😦  maybe this weekend? Maybe in March after my CPA exam, which I have been doing everything BUT studying for? Let’s see!

Well, for the past few days, Matt Redman’s Unbroken Praise has been stuck in my head and I have no idea why! I didn’t even listen to it or hear it playing anywhere. It randomly popped into my head and I started humming. Didn’t listen to it though- just kept going about my day. But it kept popping into my head over the past two/three days, so when it popped into my head AGAIN today, I decided to just play it and get it over with. (Have you ever read a paragraph with the word “pop” used this many times? 💀)

And now, I can’t stop listening to it–but at the same time, I don’t want to overlisten and get tired of it haha. But I feel like God might be telling me something? Two lines that stick out to me are:

So let my deeds outrun my words

Let my life outweigh my songs

Making this my mantra for the week/month/maybe even year. I’m BIG on actions (Say NO to iMessage paragraphs with no real-life change 🌴) & I hold people accountable for backing up their words with actual moves–so I feel I need to hold myself equally accountable.

Another reason I feel like this is a message is that the past few days of my devotional have centered on humbling oneself and giving God all the praise and glory. So I’ve been trying to nurture a heart full of praise – sounds kind of cliche hahaha but really! Also coincidental that I went to Hillsong with a “special person” 👀  last Sunday, and since it was the last service, they had a little Praise Night right after. It was amazing! I came into that service with an angry and heavy heart; I had just ended one of my most treasured friendships (abi he ended it–me I’m not even sure hahaha)– but I left almost walking on air, with a heart full of forgiveness/remorse…and praise. After that night, the forgiveness/remorse portion has been up and down bc you know these things aren’t easy but I’m trying I’m trying! 😂

Lord, take this life

Let it become your throne

Amen amen and amen ^ I can only imagine how amazing and stress-free my life would be if it were God’s throne. So much direction and purpose, less sufferhead and anxiety.

Praying that this week is going well for everyone! And even if it isn’t, just keep praising and praising! He’s got us for real ❤

P.S. Interested to know how our new year’s resolutions have been going so far by the way?

P.P.S. Listen with meeee:

On a scale of 1-“Ah God, are we fighting”, how bad was your 2016? (4)

The truth about my 2016 is it wasn’t all heartbreaking. There were some moments that were so ridiculous that I was like “Nah this year is a joke for real. It can’t be serious.” 😂 One of these moments was the night of the Superbowl. So I have this super close friend (let’s call her V); I’ve known her since I was 2 so you can imagine. However, being over here, V and I have had a long distance friendship/sisterhood for the past couple of years. But when we do get to talk proper, we speak for days and spill all our tea.

For days before the Superbowl, we’d been sending voice notes back and forth over whatsapp catching up on life. We started off with my woes lmao and then delved into hers. Her tale was the tale of an Igbo demon. Disclaimer: This story is mad twisted. V had been dating her current boyfriend for a while (can’t remember how long but let’s call him BF), but before him, there was a boy in her life whom she’d thought was “the one” for her (let’s call him ‘ID’ for igbo demon). They were never officially in a relationship but what they shared was more than a “thing.” She loved him so much, and she knew he loved her too, but since he wasn’t “good at talking about his emotions”, he didn’t express himself often… but she just knew. His family called her “our wife” and everything. So although they weren’t in an official relationship and he didn’t directly state any intentions, she was content with what they had and just knew that he was her end-game.

raw-1                 Red flag, red flag

Anyway, ID had a female best friend in Ghana (let’s call her Uche) who was also close to V. V had asked Uche many times if she liked ID, just to make sure she wasn’t stepping on any toes, but Uche kept saying she did not. Yet, V noticed that every time she posted ID on snapchat, the Uche babe would start moving funny and acting one kind. But she and Uche were so close that V decided that she was the one trippin’ because “Uche wasn’t that type of person.” Life carried on and so did their friendship.

One day, Uche called V and asked her “How do you feel about ID?” and V started gushing. Oh I love him sooo much. Even when I see him Monday to Thursday, if I don’t see him on Friday, I feel incomplete… *insert a billion emotional clauses, you know how people in love be like* Sha, when she was done, Uche said “Oh, okay. Well, he’s my boyfriend.”

raw                 ((SHOOOOOOOK))

(PAUSE: When V told me this, I was so mad because this Uche babe is clearly a snake. That was so unnecessary. If you’re coming to tell me somebody is your boyfriend, tell me straight up, let’s be moving. Not the one that you’ll make me expose my whole nyash complete as a prequel to the info you’re about to provide). Anyway, V apologized to her (??? imagine) saying she had no idea and now she knew, she’d back off completely. V was so upset, she couldn’t believe that these two people she trusted so much had just played her. So as she went through the next couple of days crying and sulking, she was tweeting all them “heartbroken” tweets. Guys, can you imagine that this ID boy messaged V saying “Can you delete your tweets? You’re upsetting my girlfriend.” (???)

So V replied the goat–ahem, boy–telling him he wasn’t f@#king serious and kept doing her. Uche now contacted V telling her, “You’re so shameless. Instead of you to face your own relationship” On top of that, Uche started telling V so many personal things V had told ID in confidence (trust me, these things were superrr personal) just to rub them in her face. So V called ID POPPING OFF, and do you know what this boy said? This boy said and I quote “Yeah well, I tell my best friend everything. Hashtag bestfriend code”

raw (3).gif    This was literally me at this point

This boy was a freaking joke. Hashtag bestfriend code? What is this? Primary 2? Sha, obviously there was no going back from that. V moved on and blocked the both of them. But it wasn’t easy getting over him. She cried for weeks. She even started crying in the voicenote she sent to me. She felt so deceived and embarrassed. I felt so bad for her man.

Anywayyy, where do I come into this story? Let me tell you. The night of the Superbowl, V kept calling me but Beyonce was performing at the time and if you know me, you know Beyonce is literally my MOM; it would have been disrespectful to not wait until after her (AMAZING) performance 😂. So I called back after the performance, and the conversation went like this:

Me: *acting like I hadn’t seen all the missed calls* HEYYYY GIRRRL WHAT’S UPPPP

V: *solemn voice* Hi Chioma

Me: *confused because she called me “Chioma” and not “goat” or “bitch”* Ahh V, are you okay?

V: Not really

Me: What happened?

V: Chioma, remember what I told you about ID and Uche?

Me: Yeah, omg what happened?

V: *long silence* I made it all up.

Me: ?? I don’t get

V: Yeah, I made it all up.

Me: That doesn’t make sense. Like why?? ??

V: Because you’d told me about the bad thing that happened to you, so I just wanted to say something heavy too so we could bond

raw-4   …At this point, I realized I’d been friends with a psychopath for 18 years…

Me: But that STILL does NOT make any sense! What I told you was more than heavy enough to “bond” over. Why did you feel like you HAD TO add something on top?

V: I know, Chioma, I’m so sorry. I’m such a horrible person.

Guys, I couldn’t believe it. I was just remembering how she cried in the voicenote she sent. Like this couldn’t be real life. So I was there lost in thought and confusion, trying to just make some sense out of the matter and then, a high-pitched male voice started talking to me on the phone.

BF: Chioma

Me: *trying to shake off my shookness and be cheerful* Hey BF! What’s up? How’ve you been?

BF: *even higher-pitched voice* L-l-l-let’s just cut to the chase here! Did you hear what your friend said?

Me: *thinking “Nigga damn, can you bring down this voice a few octaves?”* Yeah I heard, but I’m so confused

BF: Exactly! It doesn’t make any sense. I told her that if YOU her best friend didn’t believe her, then there was no hope that this could possibly be true!

And friends. That was when it hit me. Ya girl was in a boiling pot of stew.


So what happened was BF had gone through V’s phone and read our messages/listened to all our voicenotes. Therefore, he’d found out that she had cheated on him with ID, and she had been considering leaving him if she got her money up. He confronted her, telling her to get out of his house but she’d told him the excuse she told me (that she made up the whole story so we’d bond/I’d feel better). He obviously didn’t believe her but he made her call me and put me on speaker so he could hear my reaction.

I had messed up, messed up bad. But I still tried my futile best to help. I put on my bad bitch voice and started shouting at BF:

Me: “Hey hey BF, yo you need to calm down. I don’t know why you’re shouting at me. If she says she made it up, then she made it up!”

BF: *ten octaves higher* WHAT!? So you believe her?

Me: Of course I believe her! Idk how your relationship is set up but I know she’d never lie to me–so I believe her, and you should trust that she wouldn’t lie to you

(I know this was very unethical of me but guys, GIRL CODE! Actually HASHTAG BEST FRIEND CODE** 😂 I had already messed up, I had to at least try). Anyway, V took back the phone telling me she was sorry for dragging me into this mess, and she’d talk to me later. Omo I felt so bad for her. Her own had finished–there was no possible escape from this. It was game over. The referee had blown the final whistle.

The aftermath of this was heavy, truss mi. But sparing y’all the details and keeping a long ass story short, V and BF are still together till date–I even spent a day with the both of them when I went back to Nigeria for the summer. By this point, I knew my 2016 was being produced by Tyler Perry. Ya girl was dead in advance for the rest of the messiness it was preparing to unleash…

On a scale of 1-“Ah God, are we fighting”, how bad was your 2016? (3)

This post is definitely going to be the most difficult to write in this series, not only because the events I’m writing about are very sensitive, but also because I only like putting my stupid antics out there. I dump the serious stuff in my diary, on my friends’ heads, and on the Big Man Upstairs. So I apologize in advance because I’m sure you’ll be able to tell that I’m biting my mouth and being intentionally obscure in this post. But let’s dive–rather, waddle in with caution…

The weekend before work started, I was visited by a dear friend. My relationship with this friend has been very up and down over the past two years, and right now, I’m not even sure where we stand to be honest. We barely talk these days. I’ve been trying of late but he isn’t reciprocating my efforts–which is fair because I had been the one on the non-reciprocating end of things for the past few months. I’ve resolved not to raise this issue with him because we might just end up going through yet another cycle… so I’m glad he’s never going to read this, as he doesn’t even know this blog exists. I don’t blame him for the way he’s acting right now though–I understand him. I feel like I’ve come to terms with the fact that at this point in life, we’re two very different people on two different frequencies. And “love” doesn’t automatically make everything right–it doesn’t automatically eliminate significant differences or automatically make timing right.

It was really nice to see him though, as always. It was quite a spontaneous visit that involved rerouting his flight back to school, and that gesture alone made me rethink so many things. During his visit, I let out all my pent-up frustrations at him (you know my ass, I will always eventually explode 😂 ) and after we spoke about everything, we transformed into the people we were the year before. Happy, comfortable, silly, and just content being in each other’s presence. Unfortunately, this was short-lived. The month of January continued, and our transformation reversed.

At the end of the month, something happened. Wow, just read that sentence and it’s literally the laziest thing ever written by mankind, but I’ve tried and tried in vain to come up with something better. It’s just that this “something” (which btw was totally unrelated to my “dear friend”) was an all-or-nothing type thing; it’s hard to tell the tale half and half. But it left such a horrible impact on me emotionally, mentally, and physically to an extent. I had never felt so vulnerable, broken and violated. I was confused and torn; I had so many questions but I didn’t have the answers. Usually, when I’m in a tight spot, being a worrier/relative pessimist, I tend to obsess over everything that’s going wrong (as evidenced in Part 2 of this series)–but even in such moments, I know in my heart that those tight spots would eventually become distant memories. But for the first time in my life, I could not see the dark cloud over my head passing away.

I could not overcome the negative emotions I was feeling–the truth is I didn’t even have the strength to fight them. One night, I wrote in my diary:

“God, I can’t even say I can’t do this alone. The fact is I can’t do this at all. Please do this FOR me”

I was a walking bucket of tears. Not just any bucket, but a bucket that was filled to the brim–easily triggered to spill. And it showed, no matter how hard I tried not to let it show. One day at work, my Associate Coach called me into an empty Partner’s office. She’s not usually one to show emotion but I could see the concern in her furrowed brow as she asked, “Chioma, is everything okay? You’ve been seeming kind of off lately.” I replied saying that I was good, that it was just some emotional stuff, but I tried to brush it off like it wasn’t a big deal. I knew she wasn’t sold but she didn’t want to pry so she let it go. That day, I cried in the bathroom at work.

I was a mess, but not a complete one. At times, I felt happy and thought I was okay, but before I knew it, I’d be back to square one. One particular night, I cried myself to sleep, but that was fine. What alarmed me was the nature of this crying. As I cried, I felt like my chest was tearing apart, like I was suffocating. Looking back, that week was without a doubt one of the worst weeks of my life. It was like I was trying to get my shit together but failing miserably. By the next few weeks, I was much better! 60% of the time, I could talk about what happened without feeling a lump in my throat. I was still going through ranging emotions–from anger to shame to indifference to disappointment to betrayal to amazement. Sometimes, I’d just burst out laughing–like you know when something is so maddd that you don’t even know how to react lol it was a crazy couple of weeks/months.

I didn’t drink any alcohol or go out for a while. I was just trying to enjoy life gently-gently, going through the motions–working, eating out from time to time with my sis S, gisting with friends, watching my numerous TV shows, touching up my remaining grad school apps, practicing my dance movezz in my room mirror, snapchatting like I always doezzz. And life was good. I was GENUINELY happy. The cloud was gone, and I was beginning to see things in a completely different light. God was working. He was taking His time, but I didn’t mind–He was carefully putting me back together piece by piece. But obviously, at this point, I’d already started giving 2016 major side-eye. So much had already happened in just the first quarter. I became anxious about what other things the year could possibly hold for me.


P.S. Damn, these last two posts were quite soul-dampening. Don’t worry, will be bringing the messiness and drama in the next. Talk later.

On a scale of 1-“Ah God, are we fighting”, how bad was your 2016? (2)

The New Year carried on. Didn’t let that “small letter l” (shouts to Baba!) get me down of course. I had just moved into an apartment in Spanish Harlem–my independence was back! It was lit! I couldn’t wait to see all that the year held for me.

I found the apartment quite last-minute in a Facebook group. It was a four-bedroom, two-bathroom. Quite spacious (for New York, at least), and literally ONE block away from the subway so it was ridiculously convenient location-wise. Since it was Spanish Harlem, groceries were cheaper. I had two grocery stores 10 steps away from my house, and they both sold plátano which was a huge plus for me because plantain is quite hard to find in most parts of the city (Side note: Am I the only one that just never says “dodo”? I can’t do it. Same way I call eba “garri” 90% of the time–I guess it’s the igbo in me 😂)

Since I found the apartment on Facebook, my three roommates were total strangers. I was living with a caucasian French guy, black French girl (MOUNINA MY FAVEST SIS, LOVE YOU BEBI!), and a caucasian American guy (he was quite cute, but I’d later find out this one was a potential rapist, thankfully not from personal experience! But that’s tea for another day 🐸). Obviously I didn’t tell my parents there were two guys living in the apartment, but I lowkey never outrightly lied. (Parents: How are your roommates? Me: They’re fine! “They” is a gender neutral pronoun. Not my fault they automatically assumed that all the members of the ‘they’ were female 😂)

Mounina and I instantly got along. Within a week, I knew I’d made a friend for life, and I kid you not, this is truly the story of my life. About to go off on a tangent but… a “small circle” is nothing but a myth to me. At times, I obsess over it and wonder if I’m being too naive or too trusting with way too many people–but other times, I like to think about it as a blessing. I’ve been blessed with so many good people in my life whom I’m eternally ready to throw hands for–call me at 3am? No wahala, I’m ready. Let’s pop off! 😂

Anyway, my internship was supposed to start very soon but I was yet to receive my OPT work authorization. (The international student struggle is actually so real) I was particularly frustrated because I had done everything right. The previous semester, I’d gotten all my documents ready for the first day I was legally allowed to apply for the authorization. I went to my school’s international student office with my file of documents in hand, but the Director told me they were not collecting any documents until after the OPT workshop. When she told me this, I literally wanted to knock her head because I had a feeling this thing would come to bite me in the future. But since I wasn’t trying to get deported, I jejely went my way, came back two weeks later and submitted my docs literally the second after the workshop was over. Yet, I still found myself in the position I tried not to be in. My authorization still hadn’t come in and I was scheduled to start work in a couple of days. I was irritated but not too worried because I knew my firm would understand that the situation was out of my control.

So the day of my internship orientation came by, and I went in for two reasons: (1) To demolish the poppin’ free breakfast (2) To tell the recruiters about my situation. My recruiter tried calling USCIS (United States Citizen and Immigration Services) to check the status of my application, but she didn’t get any new information. I’d also contacted my International Student Services Director, but she couldn’t help me either. I was completely at the mercy of the Department of Homeland Security. As if the devil hadn’t poured enough sand in my garri, my recruiter informed me that they would have to rescind my job offer if my authorization didn’t come in 14 days.

Since I didn’t have the authorization, I wasn’t legally supposed to be at the orientation so they gently asked me to leave. And that was when the tears came. I held them back till I was out of sight but once I went underground, I let them quietly flow. It didn’t help that I was (/am) such a worrier. What if they actually take back this offer? It’s too late to recruit. If they take back this offer, does that eliminate my chances of a full-time offer? I’m already locked into a 5 month lease – How am I going to pay this Manhattan rent? What am I going to be doing between now and May (commencement)? Do I have to edit all my grad school applications to reflect this new development? Also, what the hell do I look like right now on this train – Chioma, surely you know better than to cry with make-up on?? 

This was a very trying period for me. I spent my days checking my authorization status every 30 minutes, calling USCIS, vigorously cleaning the whole apartment, praying novenas, worrying and crying of course (one of my apparent favorite pastimes 😂) I was angry at myself for stressing myself out. I was angry at the Director lady, the firm, U.S. Immigration, Obama, everybody and they mama! I was angry at God too ngl, but thankful to Him at the same time because He and my friends & family were the rocks that helped allay my fears during this period.

Because my life is so dramatic, I finally received the authorization in the mail literally the Friday before the Monday that marked the END of my 14 day grace period. It was too movie-esque to not be God. Call me extra but I instantly got on my knees, thanking God with tears of relief. He had come through again! Ya girl wasn’t going to be sleeping on the streets. She had been set free from the shackles of unemployment. The new Caucasian work clothes she bought to stunt on ’em weren’t going to waste! The amazing year I’d planned for myself was back on track… Or so I thought.

On a scale of 1-“Ah God, are we fighting”, how bad was your 2016? (1)

I actually had no idea 2016 was a ridiculously crazy year for almost everyone else as well until like a couple of days ago on twitter. Son, this year was truly a rollercoaster for me–not just any obele rollercoaster but a Kingda Ka type rollercoaster. However, thinking about my year now as I type, I’m beginning to invalidate my setbacks as I often tend to do. I didn’t lose anyone dear to me this year, and that in itself is an amazing blessing, you know. For this, I remain grateful to the Most High… but still, let’s dive in!


I started my year off at Falucka Lounge, some hookah bar in West/Greenwich Village(?) with my babes, I, T, and O. Not-so-fun fact about me: I don’t smoke hookah, and I really hate the smell (I actually prefer the smell of cigarettes). “So why were you there then?”, you may ask. Well, the first time I went there, the music was SO poppin and there were TALL, dark and handsome guys. Plus that day, my sis S got a table, so ya girl was the rihhh amount of lit uno but LOL I digress. Anyway, after our first two NYE moves of the night didn’t turn out as planned, I decided to just brave the Falucka smoke and go and enjoy myself.

Once I stepped in, I made eye contact with this BEAUTIFUL human being. He was dark-skinned, cute, chiseled bod (even on top his dark camo jacket, his spring-break-bod physique was just shining thru), looked about 6’5″. So guess what I did? … I removed my eye and forgot about him–Okay I lied, we made eye contact like twice again, but after that, I forgot about him. Let me tell you why. In life in general, I keep my expectations mad low to avoid disappointment (if this sounds very unhealthy/unfortunate to you, I promise you it’s because I’m not explaining this statement in detail–might write another post about this later!) so when I saw him, I was like “Omo this one pass me”. Plus I’d already prejudged him: “See his muscle and earring. This one is probably an Alpha, very cocky–he doesn’t do the toasting; girls toast him instead”, so ya girl wasn’t trying to start the year off with a hot L.

So my girls and I walked into the lounge proper, and skillfully placed our coats on some couch even though we didn’t buy the table (literally have a PhD in this 😂) in preparation to hit da dance floor. As we were dancing away, one of those sweeet Jamaican songs came on so I shouted my regular “Ayeeee” and started feeling the music. The next thing, I felt a human being’s hand on my waist. I looked back, RBF on, ready to “appraise” the individual 💀… and fam, I was shook. It was the beautiful young man. I was literally so surprised but hyped at myself at the same time like Chioma is that you yea??? The discomfort of this dress done paid off unoo LOL jk but yeah it was a very crush-y moment.

So we danced to a couple of songs (he had rhythm! Wasn’t doing the most or being an Azonto/Milly Rock warrior but he was rhythmic) and then I went back to my friends. I actually loved dancing with him because standing 5’10” tall as a proud member of the Tall Girl Gang, I’m not usually “privileged” to encounter guys that proper tower over me, younaamean? Anyway, my friends being my friends all “congratulated” me in shared astonishment 😂  At this point, I was like oh truuu? I’m already enjoying this 2016. But the night got even better…

So I’m talking to my friends, and beautiful-young-man (BYM) touches my arm.

BYM: Hey, excuse me?

Me: Oh hey! What’s up?

BYM: Are you Nigerian by any chance?

Me: Yeahh! How could you tell?

BYM: Oh I heard your accent when you were talking to your friends. I’m Nigerian too!


Me: Stopp! You’re kidding–what’s your name?

BYM: Well, my name is B****, but my Nigerian name is Shuhmerr (Chimere)


Me: Ohh cool! I’m Chioma.

BYM: So you’re igbo! Nice to meet you **HUGS ME**

(Ya girl was melting inside, ngl 😂)

So he asked if my friends were all Nigerian, and said hello to them, chatted with us for a little bit and then retreated to his spot in front of the bar. (Side note: there was this one babe that worked at the lounge that kept flirting with him RUH LENT LESS LEE–couldn’t even be mad at my girl tbh, this boy was HOT haha)

Anyway, after a while, he moved towards the door area of the lounge, but he didn’t leave yet. He was just standing over there, nodding his head to the music not dancing with anyone. But we were STILL making eye contact. So I was like uno wot? Chioma, shoot this shot before this boy leaves. New Year, New Me. Last last, catch a liddu L but I’ll never see him again once I leave this place. So I walked up to him, and we started talking and dancing. Summary: Born and raised in the U.S. to Nigerian immigrant parents. 24 years old. Did his undergrad in Pharmacy at Howard, lived in Jersey with his family, but was currently living in North Carolina because he was getting his Master’s in Pharmaceutical Sciences at UNC. (MY GUY WAS SMART TOO) Wasn’t an Alpha because he wasn’t about that frat life (NICE FOCUSED BOY), and loved to come to Manhattan to party (WOW! SO MUCH IN COMMON 😂).

Anyway, the conversation was great–not awks at all. The music was really really loud so it was a struggle but I wasn’t even mad because since it was so noisy, he kept placing his hand on the small of my back and leaning over me “so he could hear me better” (LOL I actually hate myself as I write this). He asked me for my number, and texted me so I could have his, and when I was leaving, he hugged me like we’d known each other for forever😂 and was like “Really nice meeting you. Get home safe!”

I’m going to save you a longer story than this one already is and just let y’all know that this turned out to be an L. I’ll spare you the details (10% because of the length of this post, 90% because I don’t want to completely expose the ela I received 😂) but from the moment mandem saved my number in his phone as “Chioma New York”, ya girl shoulda known! But yeah that was my first L of the year–the most painless one actually. Wish I could say the rest were similar…

(hope I have the resolve to continue this series! 😩)

Academia, Love Me Back


My name is Tiffany Martínez. As a McNair Fellow and student scholar, I’ve presented at national conferences in San Francisco, San Diego, and Miami. I have crafted a critical reflection piece that was published in a peer-reviewed journal managed by the Pell Institute for the Study of Higher Education and Council for Opportunity in Education. I have consistently juggled at least two jobs and maintained the status of a full-time student and Dean’s list recipient since my first year at Suffolk University. I have used this past summer to supervise a teen girls empower program and craft a thirty page intensive research project funded by the federal government. As a first generation college student, first generation U.S. citizen, and aspiring professor I have confronted a number of obstacles in order to earn every accomplishment and award I have accumulated. In the face of struggle, I have persevered and continuously produced…

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The art of Savagery

*Cue Rihanna’s Needed Me*


The scene is set in a group chat titled ‘bad bitches’. Miss X, who will later be known as said savage referenced above, hits up the group chat to give them the latest update on her relations with bae a.k.a poor unsuspecting guy who is trying his best to not only impress but also express his feelings towards Miss X (see what I did there? 🙃). So Miss X goes on to tell the group chat about how ‘moist’, ‘soft’ and how much of a ‘pushover’ bae is and how after 5 months of him putting in his best efforts, wine’ing and dining, showing care & love etc. the whole shebang, at their just concluded date, he asked her to be his girlfriend and she said and I quote “ You’re nice and all but honestly not the…

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