In the company of these eleven women were tears, laughter, love, and a genuine interest in everyone’s faces as a sister spoke her truth and another arranged her words. We were twelve women on that table. Pelumi said she was intentional about that number. And twelve, according to divine knowledge, signifies completeness, a kind of discipleship, a number that says “Here is this mantle, here is a wing, here is a foundation, run with it!”

I was blessed by everyone’s honesty, how it was clear that this gathering was no mistake and we were leaving with more. I mean, look at me, my last blog post was 5th January 2024. More than a year ago, but here I am writing my way through, because I needed to get out of my own way and just document this wholesome experience. It’s honestly a win in my books.

On that table with Pelumi was Yvonne, whose lovely trousers and petal earrings I must steal and whose hair had me wishing I could grow mine out for a day. Yvonne, who I think is as stunning as her poetry and who had the most charming smile.

There was Emmanuella, whose pink kimono and Bantu-style hair made me squeal in aesthetic delight. Emmanuella, who I consider incredibly gifted and hardworking. Emmanuella, whose documenting put us at ease because we felt adequately photographed and knew we would revel the evening through her lens. 

There was Nwamaka, whose dress had red flowers on them—flowers that looked like roses. Nwamaka, whose powerful tattoo warmed my Igbo heart because it read “Onye kwe, chi ya ekwe” which loosely translates to “When a person agrees, their god agrees too” or “When a person says yes, their personal spirit says yes too” it reminded me that my success or failure is not just about fate, but also about personal actions, choices and determination. That I can be the architect of my own misfortune or I can be determined and committed, and my  chi will support me.

There was Zoe, who had an aura of peace, power and gentleness. Zoe, whose beauty was just refreshing to witness. Zoe, whose first impression for me was a woman who listens and sees, so I was not surprised to learn about her podcast, Matters of the Heart. She is a woman with depth!

Then there was Abigail, who I consider such a force, a woman who is incredibly brilliant, and knows how to own a room. Abigail, whose pointy black shoes and lovely black dress were both chic and elegant. Abigail, who put law and coding in the same sentence and it did not sound impossible. Abigail, whose voice I consider very lush.

There was Jane, who was to me a quiet wonder, beautiful in an ephemeral way. Jane, who gave me major builder vibes. A woman who knows how to make awe tangible. A woman who loves to see and does not waste the sight. A woman who is precious about vision and does heartwork.

There was Asesosa, whose dress was as colourful and stunning as I perceive her heart and person to be. Asesosa, who embodies such a pristine brand of courage. Asesosa who was a delight, who felt to me like a woman whose presence is balm, Asesosa, who I consider such an ebony queen!

There was Salome, who has a strength to her that I can’t fully articulate in words. Salome, who is gorgeous in a very intercontinental way. You know when beauty transcends. Salome, who I just perceive is a creative genius in all the ways that matter.

There was Rukayat, whose cowrie-beaded locs I find very stunning. Rukayat, who has a kind of defiance—one that I suspect has held her through both hard and thrilling days. Rukayat, whose entire demeanour is a masterclass on the beauty of wearing one’s heart on their sleeve. Rukayat, who I can now trust with my taste buds because she shares my sentiment on avocado and is owing me an avocado powder recipe!

Then there is Gladys, who has a full laugh. Gladys of good joy. Gladys, whose energy and animation is contagious. Gladys, whose leopard print heels and locs complement each other like slay. Gladys, whose face card I consider timeless. Gladys, who drove through the night to drop me and some other women off at home. Gladys, whose kindness I will not forget for a very long time.

I should stop here, but my whole heart of gratitude to Pelumi Nubi for being the catalyst for this very transformative gathering, for affording me the chance to meet these amazing community of women, for sharing so honestly her heart and intellect, for showing very clearly with her own life that the limits and boxes don’t exist. May life always be kind to her and hers.

Amen.

Ps: All typos & punctuation errors belong to my alter ago, she writes mostly at night and hates editing her own stuff. 

 “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

What I am constantly thinking about are the ways in which I must tell these stories, especially since a certain kind of readership and relevance is important to me. 

It's been months since I last wrote on this blog. I created my blog spontaneously and it is this spontaneity that has sustained it ever since. Of all the 58 posts I have written on here, only few of them were actually ‘planned.’ There is a surge before any post is written. I am not one of those writers who sit down and draft and plan, it just never works for me. Some of the best ideas I have gotten, even outside the writing space, did not come from planning and scheduling. It is usually me mindlessly scrolling on the internet or watching something till I have an aha moment that sends me to google doc or my notepad or WhatsApp( yes I text myself like myself is another person) Sometimes it's a dream. I have dreamt a poem before. I woke up and wrote it and it was fire. Sometimes it's during my Bible study or prayer time, I may be inspired to write a poem about grief because I read about empty jars in the Bible. The mention of fine fabric in the Bible may inspire a short story about warmth. I am going somewhere. 

There is a creator I recently started following on Instagram, Keyede, and I really love her content. Her video on procrastination made me wrestle with my thoughts a little bit. She spoke about the sudden 3:am resolution we have to get our lives in order after wasting valuable time doing something unimportant and how it is not sustainable.  In her words,

“ If you are honest and self aware enough, you will admit that these spontaneous intervention schemes, they don't work”

Don’t they?

She also used words like habitual and repetitive, both words I cannot fully associate with my writing process. Is my writing habitual, is it repetitive? If I am to be a successful writer should it be?

I listened to Adele talk about songwriting in an interview with Apple Music and she said,

“Whenever I have a successful writing session or it's not really a session, it always comes at a really akward point in my day. I always try and pinpoint what it is exactly that has made that song end up being finished and me thinking it's good enough to be on a record to play to people, and I always try to work out what it is so I can sort of jar it and then use it whenever I wanna write a song but I never can.” 

She goes on to talk about how her ideas come spontaneously, often in the middle of the night. Now read Adele’s words again in the context of your writing experience, replace song with story and ‘on a record to play to people’ with ‘published in literary magazines for people to read.’  Stay with me. 

I started actively submitting my writing to lit mags & presses when my writer friend sent me a message on WhatsApp, during our writing workshop together. I had read one of my poems in the workshop and according to her the poem was so good she tried to find more of my writing online but there weren't that many pieces,  but then she found my blog and saw that I wrote a lot here. She wanted to know if I did it on purpose. If I was one of those writers who only preferred to publish their own pieces without caring about the visibility that submitting to literary magazines could bring. My answer was no. I just had not been fully indoctrinated into the world of submitting to magazines and saying "attached below are five shorts,” or  checking if my work has changed to ‘in progress’ on submittable or waiting as long as six months to get either a rejection or acceptance. We talked about it and I started actively submitting. Like crazy. Like everywhere. 

In that same interview Adele goes on to say that being an artist comes from deep within us and it is a necessity that we have to put it out. She feels as though art has become a transaction, a trade. On one hand,  I understand but on the other writers, artists and creatives must eat. Is it even possible to draw a line between passion and trade when you desire to make the passion a source of livelihood?

I confess that the reason I stopped posting on my blog as much is because I am fighting. I am debating a lot of things. When I get a writing idea, I am immediately thinking about which lit mag to submit it to, if it fits their aesthetic, if I would get an acceptance. I would observe something and want to spontaneously make a blog post about it and just remember that there is a submission guideline I read that somehow suggests my observation would be a good fit. I legit used to write full blown short stories on this blog before and it was amazing. I don’t think I can anymore. I am constantly thinking of places to submit them to, almost like I feel my stories are more credible if they are published elsewhere. The thing about being in this unhealthy headspace is that I am getting nothing done. The urgency and spontaneity that fueled  my writing has been slowed down by the desire to have a certain type of status as a writer, and this type of  desire can quickly become a bland burden because it is no longer about what I want to share out of love for my craft but what is best suitable for a world someone else has created. I  like to think my writing flows from God to me and that the flow will never stop, that I write from a place of abundance but I keep contradicting myself by rationing my writing at the expense of status and visibility. All I do these days is bookmark open calls  and watch as their deadlines come and go. I am not actively blogging or submitting to lit mags, so Adele might be onto something with all this talk about trade. 

Sometimes I wish I could jar the things that made up one great story and recycle it to make more and better stories that will grow wings and fly into the world by themselves so I don’t have to do the choosing and waiting. Leave me and my wishful thinking(insert tears)

If at this point you are waiting for me to arrive at one big teaching moment or to hear what I am doing to navigate this, I am doing nothing. Okay this is something; this spontaneous purgation of  emotion that has become this blog post is something. I am also trying to just write without thinking of a home for the work. I think it’s a big mistake writing to appease an audience. As much as writers want to be read, Writing for readership is a risky thing. Readership cannot be the only foundation for which your writing stands. It is not solid to write solely for readers who might see your work and decide to go a separate way. It is safer to write first for yourself. Let the fulfillment be innate; for you first. Like Toni Morrison so graciously put it, 

“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it”  

As selfish as it sounds, let it be you first. Write whatever feels like purpose to you. Tell the stories you want to tell, stories that matter to you.

This is a note to self really. I hope to look back at this post a year from now and be proud that I had the courage to stop seeking validation and just create. And I hope this is your testimony too if you can relate to this. If you read up to this point, thank you. And as always this post was all over the place. But I hope you got the drift. Bye