Thoughts. Ramblings. Heavy-hipped. Mango-obsessed.

You've Gotta Luv 'Um...

Me: What did you just call her?

Him: I call her bitch all the time.

Me: Not in front of me, you don't.

Him: Sorry, Miss.

(an exchange I had with a student today)

Eye Yoga: What I Saw Today…

1. a black couple walking with their cute little girl. The mum was helping her walk across a little wall and when she reached the end, the dad carried her on his back.

2. another couple - white - getting on the bus at Bow with their little daughter who looked about 4. The girl flying into a panic when one of her little shoes drops on the pavement as she gets on. And the dad shouting 'Hold on, driver!' while mum, dad and daughter get off the bus to look for the shoe. They find it, then get back on.

3. Me, looking at the girl, and thinking 'aaah, I'd like to have a little girl'. At the same time, a funeral car drives past in the opposite direction.

4. a woman wearing a fluorescent-pink hijab. I'd never seen that kinda pink before. It was so vibrant, so beautiful. She looked beauty-full in it.

5. A white woman sitting next to me on the bus and me thinking: how many people fought for this?

6. a little girl in her pink pram, looking in her pink bag.

7. a little Asian boy, holding his mummy's hand, looked at me as he walked past. Beautiful little boy. (I wanted to tell him he was amazing.)

8. a black man in a white singlet casually standing outside his front door.

9. a white woman – a teacher – in a hijab. A black hijab. It lit up her face.

10. a group of black students talking about High School Musical and Africa and sand and plantain and green banana and jollof rice, and the librarian telling them to shush every 5 minutes.

And today, for the first time in a long time, I loved London inspite of its contradictions and addictions, inspite of its blooming crime rates, its diss-connected government and disillusioned scape-goated youth.

Her Own Truth...

When I look in the mirror,
I see a goddess,
with mangoes for earrings,
and armpits
shaped into    the map of Nigeria,
Fela Kuti   pulling & swaying her hips
to her own truth.

Her truth ain't produced by
mechanical smiles on TV who blah-blah about
wrinkles & shaving creams & grey hair

Her truth sits knee-deep
in the knowledge
that she was born   already enough.

© ebele - 2007