I feel safe here.

a review of https://www.topic.com/the-palestinian-sperm-smugglers

i am deeply moved by this story. and this also begs the question of my knowledge of the impacts of the Palestine-Isreal conflict. *mental note to research further on this*

this reminds of the 6th season of OITNB where Blanca is trying to get pregnant (in a prison, that does not allow conjugal visits) for her lovely boyfriend Diablo, before she enters menopause… they have to resort to desperate measures like: Diablo masturbating into nylon sachets in dingy prison bathrooms, and Blanca getting her fellow inmates who have no knowledge of obstetrics and gynaecology to help…


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image by Vladislav Lisov

TW: depression and suicide ideation.

i like to believe it’s no coincidence that the day i pick to end my life, i fall ill.

my head throbs and i feel strength leaving my body when i make it out of the sheets — i am unable to carry out my plan. it is the third time i am falling sick during the pandemic. none from the pandemic virus. i am still adamant enough to reject food and insist i do not need the medicines. i am convinced i can will my own body into death.

it…


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I cut off six inches (one year’s worth of hair growth) from my hair on Sunday, the 25th of November, 2018. My host had gone for “Christ, The King” procession, only to return to find an "absorbed Amanda furiously chopping off her hair in front of the dressing mirror." (He would later admit to being scared for me.)

My natural hair turned Three on the 1st of March 2019, counting from the day I had big-chopped all the way down to my scalp in a barbershop in Enugu. I was recovering from Autoimmune and I felt there was nothing left…


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"what is the thing that has remained consistent about you over the years?"

i cannot think of anything. my weight, maybe? i am not sure.

"you're not thinking deep enough."

i am just 22. obviously, not a lot has changed about me. there's no single correct answer.

"you say 'just 22' like you mean 12. you're an old woman."

an old woman that has seen things. i know. i know.

"well, can you think of something random but true?"

alright. my love for P’. it’s definitely my love for P’.

"what is P?"

who. who is P'.

"who is P?"


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Boy on the street

Up and down

Here, there

Fixing

Mending

Here, there

Up and down

But for little tokens

(c) Amanda C. Madumere


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Within this cave, there’s a man gnashing his teeth against the walls. There’s blood —Oh! The blood! And then there’s the sound, unlike any sound you have ever heard —nor should ever hear. The sound of bone against solid earth. It echoes and becomes modified by the reverberations.

At the mouth of this cave is another man, tapping his feet along to the sweet, sweet music coming from within the cave. He wonders why on earth a violinist with such sweet music would play from the inside of a cave.

That’s the thing about pain and poetry.

(c) Amanda C. Madumere


Nwalili told us about boys like you. The devil’s boys with fangs made of gold, who grin to girls like me from a distance, so we could squirm and giggle — mistaking your fangs for fine, human dentition and say, “Oh! Look at that boy with the golden smile”.

But Nwalili also taught us how to mine fangs of gold, how to refine them and put them to good, personal use.

Look! Look at my bracelets!


When did girl friendship lose its magic?

Why has girl friendship lost its magic?

Or were the grains of gold I though I had always seen, been mere dust particles forgotten on my lashes?

Why has girl friendship lost its magic?

— Amanda C. Madumere

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