This Hear Me Out was written by Aladeselu Margaret Ayomikun.

Of all the things a girl could be in this world, I chose to be a 19-year-old feminist in Nigeria. I was 9 years old the first time I read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus. Even though I could only understand the book the best way a child can, I still remember feeling like I had discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

鈥淏eing defiant can be a good thing sometimes.鈥漈hese words stood out to me. Aunty Ifeoma was just a character in a book, but she gave me permission to embrace my 鈥渄efiance鈥�.

It seemed almost impossible that somebody could give ordinary words so much power. And the more I flipped through the pages, the more I felt as if Chimamanda was writing my mother鈥檚 story. Then, it occurred to me that many women in Nigeria are just like Mama. In that very moment, I knew I had to know more about the author.

I picked up my older sister’s phone and started my little quest for answers. It was during this process I discovered the word feminist, and when I knew what it meant, I knew I had found my identity.

I had found my identity. 

The world will always come up with new ways to objectify and sexualise women. I grew up wearing mini-skirts and thin-strap tops my mother bought for me at bend-down-select. I was called a slut for the first time when I was only 10. And as weird as it might sound, it was my own mother who called me that. According to her, people were starting to talk, my breasts were poking through the thin fabric of my favourite tops. One day, she looked at me with distaste and called me a slut.

As a Gen Z feminist, you must be ready to become the topic of every family meeting. You should also prepare yourself for endless unsolicited opinions. I have come to realise my feminism terrifies a lot of people; it makes them angry. If I didn鈥檛 have such a coconut head, perhaps, I would鈥檝e cared.

I鈥檝e always been vocal about my feminism. I would walk into a room and somehow, start talking about women鈥檚 rights. The world has a long history of despising 鈥渓oud women.鈥� The result of that is I鈥檝e had to sit through painfully long hours of my parents giving me “the talk” about how no man will ever want a wife who won鈥檛 submit. 

Several times, I鈥檝e listened to my brother try to convince me that identifying as a feminist would make people hate me. He suggested I try other terms like “gender rights advocate.” I鈥檝e seen my name become the butt of jokes about Nigerian feminists in my school. People have asked, “Oh, you’re a feminist?” I imagine they pity the person who would marry me. 

And I can鈥檛 forget my religious friends who remind me that feminism is not part of God’s plan. As a matter of fact, I鈥檝e been bullied in church because of my feminism. 

On a 鈥渟pecial Sunday鈥�, youth pastors were walking in circles, selecting random people in the congregation to answer questions. One pastor called me out and asked, 鈥淲hat would you do if your husband wants you to cook, do his laundry, do the dishes and clean the house, every single day?鈥� My answer was simple. 鈥淚 would tell him I鈥檓 his wife, not a slave.鈥�

I was walking back to my seat when a young man requested to speak next. 鈥淲omen like her are the problem of the church鈥�. Even though these words were coming from a complete stranger, they still stung. There is a common idea that feminists are 鈥渟trong鈥� and have a 鈥渢ough skin鈥�, but we鈥檙e only human. 

I was publicly humiliated at school once. I was in the middle of a heated argument about how Nigerian culture needs to be reformed until it acknowledges that daughters deserve the same respect sons get without even trying. There was a look of disgust on the faces of the men I was arguing with because I was suggesting something as 鈥渟acred鈥� as culture needed to be reformed.

Not just that, the only woman who agreed with me expressed her view in low whispers. I was still trying to make people see the sense in what I was saying when I felt somebody yank my wig off my head. The loud echoes of laughter that followed right after broke my heart. I cried horribly for days because that was the smallest I鈥檇 ever felt in my entire life. I didn鈥檛 tell anybody about the new level of anxiety and self-doubt it unlocked inside me. 

Memories like these leave me with questions I haven鈥檛 been able to answer to this very day. What鈥檚 it about my feminism that terrifies people? Why does it make people’s blood boil? Is it because I鈥檓 tired of seeing doors slammed in the faces of deserving women on the sole basis of gender? Is it because I believe women should not be denied their right to safe abortion? Or because I would never fit the 鈥済ood African wife鈥� narrative my mother has spent her entire life trying to fit? 

Society claims to appreciate women, but in reality, they only appreciate women who deliberately dim their light just to allow men shine. As a woman, you鈥檙e expected to aspire to be a good wife and mother, to never prioritise anything over your matrimonial duties.

On some days, you鈥檙e allowed to have an opinion, but it鈥檚 usually better to keep those opinions to yourself. You can speak up about gender-based violence, but when you do, prepare for the 鈥渕aybe you shouldn’t have gone to that place, or worn that dress, or said that to him鈥� speech that would follow right after.

You鈥檙e expected to dress the way women are 鈥渟upposed鈥� to dress 鈥� everything knee-length or baggy, minimal accessories and NO cleavage 鈥� any other type of dressing would be seen as defiance. You should also smile even when you have no reason to. I鈥檝e watched many women shrink themselves to fit that little, demeaning image society has created.

All my life, my mother shrunk herself just to stroke my father’s ego, and it鈥檚 never made much sense to me. Even though we all knew how hard she worked to raise our school fees, she would give the credit to my father because that鈥檚 what good wives do. Just like my siblings and I, my mother had a curfew because 鈥済ood wives shouldn鈥檛 be outside past 8 p.m.鈥� And if God forbid, she ever misses her curfew, he would punish her the way bad wives should be punished, by locking her outside her own home.

It鈥檚 very easy for people to ignorantly assume feminists are angry and unhappy women who hate men, and I鈥檓 tired of this misconception. You could spend your whole life educating people about the true meaning of feminism, and they would still choose to listen to those little patriarchal voices in their heads. I鈥檓 not naive enough to think the world would change overnight because of me, but I鈥檓 never going to stop clamouring for that change.

I was once the kind of feminist who only said the things men like to hear. Things like, 鈥淚鈥檓 a feminist but I still think a man should be the head of the family鈥�. I was at a point where I relied heavily on people鈥檚 validation for every aspect of my life. Even my feminism was tainted by societal stereotypes because I didn鈥檛 want my views to offend anybody. I would tell myself I could be a feminist and still be a 鈥淣igerian woman鈥�, the one who would master the act of compromising to seem nicer to men. A small part of me didn鈥檛 want to contradict everything the Bible says a woman should be.

But last year, I got selected for a women鈥檚 rights fellowship where I met 19 like-minded women. For the first time in my life, I had the opportunity to be in a room full of feminists, and they helped me realise that if I couldn鈥檛 be an unapologetic feminist, there was no point in being a feminist at all. I鈥檓 used to being hated now. As a matter of fact, it doesn鈥檛 bother me anymore because the kind of people who hate me for my feminism is exactly the kind I don’t want to be associated with. 

I have a clear vision of how I want my feminism to impact the world. It starts with calling bullshit on all the misogynist nonsense society likes to preach. And on days when I feel like giving up, I remind myself of the different ways society robbed my mother of her voice and happiness. Like many Nigerian women, she deserved better. She still does.

ALSO READ: 8 Nigerian Women Talk About Why They Became Feminists

Before you hunt me down on social media to cancel my ass, I bet you鈥檙e just as guilty of breaking your mum鈥檚 heart.

Think back to your many sins. Sure, maybe you鈥檝e never been arrested or you鈥檝e somehow managed to consistently call your mum once every week, but what about those times you broke curfew in her house? Hm? And let鈥檚 not forget the lies after: 鈥淢ummy, leave me alone. It鈥檚 not like I was drinking.鈥�

We鈥檙e not perfect. We鈥檝e likely disappointed our mums at least once. And okay, dads can come in. It鈥檚 Father鈥檚 Day tomorrow, so it would be rude to forget that their hearts are just as breakable. Which is what I鈥檓 here to say: You will break your parents’ hearts, and that鈥檚 not so bad. Trust me, I鈥檓 not shouting it. I鈥檓 more like stuttering because this is one of those times the truth hurts like a bitch.

Right now, I鈥檓 talking to all my young adults who can鈥檛 ignore the desire to go out into the world and do their own thing. This is for us twenty-somethings who鈥檇 like to party literally all night, take that unpopular job and figure God out for ourselves. 

So how do you grow up, even when your parents don鈥檛 want you to?

Build a fence taller than Otedola鈥檚 money. Breaking a heart always begins with setting boundaries. That鈥檚 why it feels like a gut punch when an ex blocks you on social media. It just so happens that this time, the people on the outside are also the same two people who bathed you for years, bought birthday cakes and prayed for you to 鈥渏oin a multinational company鈥� after university. Of course, it鈥檒l break their hearts.

I could tell that their relentless asking about my life, salary and every move was their attempt at guiding me, but I knew better. There are many ways to say it, but always, it鈥檚 the same thing: Your parents will only begin to recognise you as a separate and capable individual after you鈥檝e cut them off kindly.

Say 鈥渘o,鈥� and make sure they hear you. Till today, my parents can鈥檛 understand why I鈥檓 growing my hair out. Every time they ask, I fling some version of 鈥淚鈥檓 trying something new鈥� at them. Casually like that. I know the image of me they hold in their hearts and the son they see on the WhatsApp video call are worlds apart. Once, they sat me down and begged me to get a haircut. 鈥淟ook responsible.鈥� I said no.

When you stand your ground, your parents will get mad or sad or really quiet and confused; it鈥檚 all okay. Part of growing up is making your own decisions, consequences and all. This is what our parents want for us, whether or not they realise it.

Finally, make space for them. Because bless their hearts, they鈥檙e trying their best. It truly is not easy to watch a child grow and go. I can鈥檛 imagine how terrifying it must be to see your child brave the world by themselves. You know how babies are born and it seems everything on earth is somehow designed to end them? What if that feeling never goes away for our parents? I can鈥檛 imagine it, but I try. 

So once every week, I call from wherever I am to let them know I鈥檓 good and safe. I drive them to church on Sundays when I鈥檓 home, and we all take pictures together. I ask my dad what stocks to buy even though I already know the answer. Because I know my mum prays for me, and it comforts her to do so, I pray too. I even tell her when I鈥檓 travelling so she can pray extra, extra hard.

Growing pains, I think they call it. Emphasis on the pains because damn, it breaks all of us. I have this friend who 鈥� mid-laugh 鈥� says, 鈥測ou will heal鈥� to me whenever something slightly unpleasant happens. And just like that, we鈥檙e laughing at that same unpleasantness.

ALSO READ: The Very Nigerian Ways Nigerian Fathers Say 鈥淚 Love You鈥�

I love my closest friends, but my burner account will only stress you out.

@IfoghaleWilson. @The_Black_Prime. @iTITAN_X_. And most embarrassingly, @CyberLord_R9 鈥� my very first Twitter username. Still, none of those times I changed my Twitter username brought me the same satisfaction as when I opened my burner account.

We鈥檝e all got one. Whether it鈥檚 for posting racy photos or confessing long-suffering feelings for your ex from two years ago, we can all agree our burner accounts are our little kingdoms. Our private beaches where we can strip without shame. That鈥檚 why we keep it locked and anon. And yeah, sometimes, that means locking our partners and besties out too.

It鈥檚 only now, in my 20s, that I can look back at all the times I鈥檝e changed my Twitter username over the years and be like, 鈥測eah, I wasn鈥檛 insane.鈥�

I was reinventing myself, again and again. At 13, my brain said I was into Megas XLR, and I signed up on Twitter as @CyberLord_R9. At 14 years old, my brain said I needed to become cool for my crush, so I became @iTITAN_X_. @The_Black_Prime was me entering my mid-way into my teens. I wanted to be unknowable 鈥� 鈥渢his guy鈥檚 so mysterious and cool.鈥�

But I was 16 and dumb, not mysterious. And on and on, I wasn鈥檛 satisfied. Changing my Twitter username was fun, but there were still the limitations of my main account: I can be opinionated but not unhinged. I can share stuff about my life, but I can鈥檛 overshare. Oh, that guy鈥檚 tweet was dumb AF; I need to tell him he鈥檚 not wise. But what if I become the first person to die of insult? 

Yeah, there was no way I鈥檇 ever become the main character on Twitter. I gathered all my hot takes, horny tweets, embarrassing confessions and emotional baggage, opened a burner account, and dumped them all in. Do you smell that? 鈥� freedom.

Everyone with a burner account is looking to be free. This means everyone with a burner account is hiding something from someone they love. Hear me out. 

There are things we struggle to tell even our closest friends. This might be true in a relationship. Sure, you鈥檙e in love, but you鈥檙e still an individual with your dark and heavy thoughts. It鈥檚 a kind of mercy to want to spare your lover the stress of communicating every small, dirty, depressing thing your brain can conjure, even if your brain won鈥檛 spare you as it begs for you to let them out.

In comes your burner with its eight, maybe nine followers. People you know just enough to not really care what they think. Friends of yours mostly, but nobody you鈥檙e scared of hurting with your words. The followers on your burner won鈥檛 be worried sick about you, so you spazz.

I keep some of my closest friends out of my burner account. I love you, but nah. You鈥檒l be stressed by it. You鈥檙e going to go to bed wondering if I鈥檓 okay or where I learned to insult somebody鈥檚 child like that, and I won鈥檛 have an answer. I don鈥檛 want that for either of us. I want you to have peace of mind. 

Maybe I shouldn鈥檛 be afraid to approach my friends and lovers with my hideous and beautiful parts. Maybe I should trust them to handle these parts with grace, but it isn鈥檛 always about the fear of being judged (though this is half of it). It鈥檚 also that becoming aware of my less-appealing parts actually suck. Of course, it鈥檒l take some time before I share everything.

Okay, I don鈥檛 know about 鈥渟haring everything.鈥�  I鈥檝e got friends on my burner account who post pictures on their burner accounts 鈥� pictures they don鈥檛 want some of our mutual friends to see. They love our mutual friends, but I鈥檒l bet they love the privacy too. Bless the burner.

A friend of mine opened a burner to escape her bosses at work who follow her main account. She simply wanted to complain about work and be horny in peace. Bless the burner. It鈥檚 about privacy at the end of the day.

I鈥檒l admit that I owe the closest people in my life all my many sides and faces, and maybe I鈥檒l eventually get to show them. 

When I do, it鈥檒l be free from the view of the over 200 million other Twitter users. When I open up, it will be from safe within my burner account, where I鈥檝e got the keys. If you know, you know. Bless the burner.

ALSO READ:聽5 Nigerians Tell Us Why They Have Burner Twitter Accounts

I believe in having a healthy saving culture and putting some money away for when I ever need some immediate cash; it’s always good to have a backup plan. Take some of the money you get paid, put it away, watch it grow and spend it on whatever you saved it for. 

However, if I save money, I’m going to perish. I need my money now. I need to spend it now. If you’re like me, who earns just about enough to last a few days, you realise that putting some cash aside is easier thought about than done. 

Adulting comes with responsibilities like paying bills, saving for a master’s, thinking about your future, and for parents, your children’s demands. Luckily for me, I don’t have a lot to worry about. I live with my family, and most of my bills are taken care of (not like the people I live with have a choice). 

All the money I earn is mine, and it’s not shared except I’m feeling generous. But like I said earlier, it’s not enough for me, which means it’s not enough to be shared. My mum talks about the importance of prudence, why I need to have better habits and how I’m privileged to be earning even though all I do is complain about how I could be making more. She’s Nigerian and has the Nigerian “be grateful for what you have” mindset. Please, don’t get me wrong, though. I am grateful for what I have. 

A week ago, I realised I started using one of the in 2017. I told my sister about the app, and she got on it; she’s an avid saver. My sister went on to tell my mum about it, and my mum also got on the app, all of us saving for the rainy day. I opened the app to check how far I’ve come since I’ve been on this journey. It’s safe to say, all I’ve saved so far is my life. 

When people ask me what my mantra for making bad decisions is, I say, “I’ve been broke before, and I didn’t die”, and that’s a fact. This won’t be my first rodeo, spending all my money for my immediate happiness. I like to look forward to deliveries, and I love when I spend money on things I like. A new dress, some skincare, and occasionally, food (I’m a couch potato who lives with family, so I rarely have to worry about food). 

I know it’s unhealthy, but my happiness is tied to the things that cost money, the things I can’t save for. People who save money like to know they have a fallback; if they find themselves out of a job, there’s money somewhere, and if there’s a medical emergency, they know there’s money for it. It’s a shame to admit that my fallback option is “hello, dad”.

I have friends who pay rent, live by themselves, figure their shit out, and make enough to do all that, and sometimes, I feel like I’m not doing enough. I wonder how much I have to save and how many things I have to get rid of to be able to do that. Would earning more improve my saving culture if I balance my needs and wants better? I know myself. Earning more would make me want more things. 

No matter how much money I save, I won’t save myself from my current tax bracket. I can’t save my way to becoming the wealthiest black woman in the world. All I can do is push my wants and needs to a later date and deprive myself of things. Holding off on gratification doesn’t mean it still won’t be done, so why don’t I get it done instantly? 

I want to reward myself for a job well done, for a stressful week, for surviving, and I can only do that if I have money to spend right now. Don’t get me wrong, you can reward yourself as often as you like and still have some money left to save, but that’s not me. If I save this money, I will perish, and my happiness and productivity will tank. I feel good when I’m happy, I work best when I’m happy, I’m the best to be around when I’m happy, and when am I happy? When I have money to spend on things I like. 

At the end of 2021, I checked my score on the saving app I use. I saw a C6 and laughed because I’d attempted to save some money during the year to avoid getting that exact score. Many things happened in the first two months that made me stop. But it was the end of the year, and the score was there, and at that moment, I was glad I’d saved my life at least. I’d had Covid twice in one year, and surviving it was more important than saving some cash.

I’ve heard from several people about the importance of women having their own money. How it’s imperative that women save and have a fallout option, how women are more respected the richer they are. And I agree with those ideas; I believe them too. But again, how will I save what I don’t have? 

Maybe I’d eventually figure out how to earn more and save more. Maybe by getting a job in tech or selling one of my kidneys. Perhaps, I’d give up my wants, put the cash in an app and see how much it brings back to me. Invest the little I get into something fruitful and spend days leading up to a yield in a permanent state of unhappiness, knowing I have no deliveries on the way. 

All I know is that saving any money will make me unhappy, and I don’t want to participate.

Hear Me Out: Why You Should Eat Your Sorrows Away

Hear Me Out is a limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

If you ever manage to glimpse my YouTube watch history, I promise I鈥檓 not obsessed with Gordon Ramsey. Instead, zoom into those video thumbnails and see the image of my one, true love 鈥� spaghetti. 

We鈥檝e been skin-tight since 2021, Spaghetti and I. I鈥檒l have to thank my depression for introducing us. The bigger picture here is that you can eat your way to happiness. Hear me out.

Grab the closest skillet you can find. Fill it up with water and bring to a boil. Now, I wasn鈥檛 born depressed. At least, I remember being five and wanting to dance all the time. I loved Michael Jackson and practised his moonwalk non-stop. My parents fed me every day. I went to school, came home and did homework. As a teenager, I annoyed my siblings and hung out with my friends, you know, normal kid stuff. So it鈥檚 hard to say when I began to fall apart.

What I know for sure is that I lost someone I loved very dearly in July of 2021, and it stung like a bitch. Though, yes, most of 2021 was a shitshow, the grief from that one singular loss pressed down upon me like the heaviest blanket. 

Is the water boiling? Toss in a generous amount of salt. Go wild with the salt, you want that water salty. Open your pack of spaghetti, throw in your version of one person鈥檚 serving into the skillet and cover. 

My depression diagnosis came because I鈥檇 unintentionally hurt my friend when I disappeared from her life. I felt bad that I was making her feel bad, and so with her seated on my bed, I booked an appointment with a doctor. One online evaluation later, I was staring at two options: psychotherapy (too expensive) or medication (pills, ugh!)

Now鈥檚 the time to cook the Guanciale (cured pork cheek). Don鈥檛 worry if you can鈥檛 find that; bacon works fine. What you want to do is cut the meat into one-inch cubes and toss it into a pan or skillet under medium heat. Don鈥檛 forget to throw in a bit of butter.

Coconut head that I am, I told myself, 鈥淚鈥檓 only a little sad, I鈥檒l make some spaghetti and be happy again.鈥� Your comfort food tends to be personal. Maybe it reminds you of something from your childhood or just the act of eating itself grounds you. People stress eat, but that鈥檚 not what this is about. I鈥檓 talking about the bowl of [insert favourite food] that seizes your attention (and taste buds) for a few minutes. 

Spaghetti was my food of choice because it allowed me to be lazy. Inside the pockets of depression where I lived, I was always tired. Always sad and always numb. Check on your spaghetti right about now. You want to cook it until it鈥檚 al dent茅 鈥� not cooked all the way through.

Once your spaghetti is almost cooked through, turn off the heat and dump it into the pan with your cooking meat. Remember that everything is happening quickly. Grab about half a cup of your pasta water and pour it into the spaghetti + meat mixture. Turn your heat all the way up and toss vigorously. Put your elbow into it, your ancestors are watching!

Discovering Spaghetti Carbonara was an accident. My depression led me through a period when I lived on spaghetti and ketchup for weeks. That ugly splash of ketchup across the spaghetti strands looked like depression in a bowl. After I ran out of ketchup, I made a list of the items left in my fridge and threw them at Google for something, anything, to eat. 

Enter Gordon Ramsey and his Spaghetti Carbonara recipe. Filmed on a mobile phone by his daughter, the video was fast-paced and had a lot of jokes. The best part? How every second of the video left no space for thinking 鈥� just cutting, tossing and good vibes. It was perfect, delicious and easy enough that I nailed the recipe on my first try.

In my saddest moments, I start with a skillet of boiling water and run along the steps it takes until there鈥檚 a creamy dish in my bowl. I love the way my brain stops circling the dead thing it carries and shifts its attention towards making the best damn bowl of spaghetti. Comfort food won鈥檛 kill our sadness and it won鈥檛 reverse our grief, but it will give us the space to consider anything else but the grief.

With your tossed spaghetti in the pan, meat soaked and pasta water combined, turn off the heat completely. Very quickly crack two eggs and separate the yolks into a bowl. It鈥檚 traditional (I mean Italian, which is where the dish is from) to grate some Parmesan Reggiano into the egg yolks, but you have my permission to skip this.

Lightly salt the eggs and beat until homogenous. Pour the egg yolks into your spaghetti and toss very quickly, allowing just the heat from the spaghetti to slightly cook the eggs. You don鈥檛 want the eggs to scramble, and this is why we turned off the heat.

Serve in a bowl, dust it off with some black pepper, and there you go 鈥� happiness. 

It鈥檚 beautiful, isn鈥檛 it? 

I鈥檒l usually open a bottle of beer with mine, but please, you do you!

For however long we spend cooking and eating (just eating is also fine), we can learn to live beside our grief, instead of being crushed by it. My friend is even more stubborn than I am and does not believe in my spaghetti therapy. If I do end up on antidepressants, someone please tell me I won鈥檛 be too numb to still make spaghetti?

ALSO READ: 7 Meals You Can Eat on Sunday Instead of Rice

Hear Me Out is a brand new limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

As a woman, people tell you stuff you don鈥檛 care to hear, especially things you didn鈥檛 ask for. 鈥淪mile more鈥�, 鈥渨ear this鈥�, and 鈥渢his is how a woman is expected to be鈥�. Unsolicited advice masked as concern isn鈥檛 only given to women in underdeveloped countries. In the countries we assume are advanced, women still suffer from hearing unsolicited advice that helps no one. 

Women are frequently seen as people who should be handheld and guided. We鈥檙e supposed to be meek, assumed to be like sheep who need a shepherd. Women are taught to ask 鈥渉ow high?鈥� when the rest of the world tells us to 鈥渏ump鈥�.

As a, one of the most annoying forms of policing I get is what every other person assumes I鈥檓 supposed to wear. 鈥淲on鈥檛 that outfit show your belly?鈥�, 鈥淒on鈥檛 you think you should dress according to your body type?鈥� and so many other questions that irritate me when I hear them. Is my belly an accessory I can leave at home? If the dress was made in my size and fits me, why do you think I鈥檓 not dressing according to my body type?

Hear Me Out: It鈥檚 Time to Give Up Trying to Gain Weight

Women are told to smile more and wear their hair straight and sleek. I once had a guy try to toast me by telling me he hated dark-skinned, fat women with natural hair (all the things that I am) but was willing to make an exception for me. Although this happened a few years ago, I still wonder what he assumed that information would do for me.

You assume the theories of what women should look like comes from the men till you meet women who spend all their time telling other women how to 鈥渨oman better鈥�, how femininity should be done in a way that pleases men. Like women don鈥檛 look in the mirror or know how to think for themselves, go to the salon for themselves, admire themselves when they go out, or women don鈥檛 like to feel and look good for their own confidence.

Beyond telling women how to look, women are also expected to get married at a certain age, dedicate their lives to caring for children or be forced to have children they don鈥檛 want. When women bring up wanting to get rid of children they don鈥檛 wish to have, people bat an eye and twist their lips to say the worst things about the woman and her decision. Women are expected to listen to what every other person thinks they should do and not what they want for themselves. 

Hear Me Out: Being an Adult Doesn鈥檛 Mean You Should Be a Parent

When women get battered, hurt or killed, we hear people ask questions we don鈥檛 expect to hear anymore. Questions like, 鈥渨hat was she wearing?鈥� The onus is on women to protect ourselves, preserve our honours and always listen because it鈥檚 assumed everyone knows more about our realities than we who live our day-to-day lives through it. 

Constantly telling women what you expect them to do and how you expect them to look and behave is very harmful. These ideas and ideologies are passed down generations, raising women who don鈥檛 know what to do if they鈥檙e not told. It breeds women who are used to living a version of themselves that was created by others, who aren鈥檛 confident in themselves and their abilities. 

If the first thing that comes to mind when you see a woman is to tell her your thoughts on how she should be a better woman, maybe you should take a minute to check yourself. Check your projections, sit with yourself and ask why it鈥檚 so important to share your question or opinion. Put yourself in her shoes by giving yourself advice or sharing your opinion with yourself.

Of course, there are situations where you need to stand up to someone. Where you need to explain to them why you think their choices are harmful when you know they aren鈥檛 exactly seeing reason. That鈥檚 where emotional intelligence comes in. Helping a woman shouldn鈥檛 come with insults and degradation. It shouldn鈥檛 be wrapped and served the way harmful and insulting advice is.

The most important thing to do before speaking to a woman and sharing your thoughts on her appearance or action is to find an empty room and talk in it. Let your words echo back to you. If you need to police anyone, please, join the police force in whatever country you reside. 

READ NEXT: 16 Things Nigerians Need to Stop Saying to Fat Women

Hear Me Out is a brand new 91大神 limited series, so you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

Everybody get wetin dey do dem, and what is doing me is that I’ve been skinny for my entire life.

I鈥檝e gone through periods of weight gain all my life, only to quickly lose it again. It鈥檚 exhausting having to ride these waves, and should we?

COVID came to me like a gift or a jug of iced tea after almost five years in the desert of 鈥� let鈥檚 name it 鈥� skinny land. I hated skinny land.

Skinny land is where I first noticed how my t-shirts slacked on my body. Oh, I didn鈥檛 like that. Even worse were the passing comments on how I looked sickly. Yes, hahaha, you could, in fact, probably lift me over your head; I am not amused. But the thing I hated most about skinny land was realising in university that I was not a fan of my own reflection in the mirror.

For all my time as an engineering student, sitting through long classes and squeezing sleep in during the short nights, I wholly abandoned the one rule my dad set as he dropped me off every semester: make sure you eat.

The lie was that, not-so-deep-down, I knew I’d choose school activities and my responsibilities over food every single time.

I would come home looking like a third of myself, and my mum would panic. “Foghale! Are they stealing your money? Why are you starving yourself?” Then she’d cast a mountain of rice on a plate for me, complete with three chicken laps.

I was willing to put on some weight, so I welcomed it. It was easy to lie to myself. I told myself I would be consistent with my meals: three times a day with snacks in between. As my dad dropped me off at school in my third year, leaving behind his one rule, I thought, “This is the semester I will gain weight.” The lie was that, not-so-deep-down, I knew I’d choose school activities and my responsibilities over food every single time.

That’s why I adored 2020. When COVID came to Nigeria, we were all stuck at home for almost the entire year. Life slowed down, and I began cooking 鈥� a lot. I learned the secrets of curry sauce and egg-fried rice. I made alfredo fettuccine, spaghetti bolognese and carbonara drizzled with parmesan reggiano. I noted the foods to avoid: skimmed milk, low-calorie fruits, low-fat everything. All of this because I wanted to gain what I called 鈥渉ealthy weight鈥�.

The changes felt slow, then all at once. After about seven months, I smiled at how my neck filled up its opening in my t-shirts. Two months after that, my jeans began to sit perfectly around my waist without assistance for the first time. I, a formerly skinny person, had finally gained some healthy weight.

The problem with this 鈥� hear me out 鈥� was that I saw this as something I needed to cling to. What I should have done was allow myself to recognise the free time, the unhinged access to all kinds of food, and my lack of travelling that helped me gain weight, while holding space for a phase of my life where any of those things would be absent. And that phase did come.

Picture this: it was hot in June of 2021, and NYSC decided to ship me off to Benue state for what I could only imagine would be 12 cruel months. After much wahala, I finally accepted my posting. I packed my bag, took one last look in the mirror 鈥� muscles, lean; neck, thick; watch, not helplessly dangling at the very edge of my wrist 鈥� and left for the bus stop.

From inside my cheap hotel in Benue, I wrestled three villains. First, it was homelessness. I couldn鈥檛 cook a single thing, so for over a month, I was eating once a day. Usually small portions of street rice and too many bottles of coke. It also didn’t help that my PPA had me making several long-distance trips on foot. (Exercise? Fuck my life.)

Then there was the food poisoning in July that lasted for almost two weeks. However little I had been eating up until that point, I now ate far less. Don鈥檛 get me wrong, I was hungry a lot of the time, but mostly I was weak and tired. I chose sleep over food. Between the homelessness, falling sick and whole days on an empty stomach, I lost more weight than my pandemic gains, and my confidence went down the toilet. 

I hadn鈥檛 been in Benue for up to two months.

It’s not a crime for my body to respond to circumstances. Still, it was definitely not okay that my self-esteem suffered for it. I thought I was angry at having lost weight, but it turned out I was disappointed with the seemingly endless cycle of gaining weight only to very quickly lose it.

We shouldn鈥檛 live our whole lives latched to the idea that we鈥檙e somehow more attractive because we occupy a specific point on the body image spectrum. And nobody should ever have to wake up every day to a spreadsheet telling you, in precise numbers, how many calories to consume in order to gain X kg every damn week. 

The cycle is brutal, and I want out, which is what I鈥檓 doing. Or am trying to do. People like us, who have been skinny since birth, will likely lose weight based on pure circumstance. Desperately trying to gain weight is simply not worth risking low self-esteem if those gains should evaporate 鈥� as they just love to do.

The trick then is to do the best with what we have and accept 鈥� no, observe, then try to love 鈥� all the changes our bodies go through. Granted, we should put in reasonable efforts to eat regular, healthy meals, but you see that thing where we devote hours of our lives to self-loathing, as we hold up an image of what we think we should look like? Yeah, let鈥檚 not do that anymore.

Funny, I鈥檓 leaving Benue state the very day this article is being published. I鈥檇 say I鈥檓 on the horizon of a new phase in my life. I鈥檓 headed back to my father鈥檚 house. Will I have access to more food? Will I stay in one place long enough for me to eat consistently? Yes and yes, most likely. After all, that is the origin of my pandemic gains. Today though, I鈥檓 still very much skinny, and I can already picture my mum freaking out.

NEXT READ: Ten Cooking Hacks Only Your Nigerian Mum Could Have Taught You

Hear Me Out is a brand new limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

Let鈥檚 talk about parenting 

If there鈥檚 one thing this week has done, it鈥檚 strengthened my resolve to not have kids. In the last week, I鈥檝e spent time with my sister who has a three-year-old and a five-week-old. The newborn doesn鈥檛 require much, all he does is eat, sleep, pee, poop and cry. I don鈥檛 have to tell him to stop jumping or get up or sit down or drop this or that as often as I have to tell his older brother.

When you鈥檙e the last-born, like me you get easily irritable when toddlers don鈥檛 calm down. You wonder why they misbehave in public and quickly blame the parents, meanwhile, the child is a crackhead whose actions are not a reflection of their upbringing. 

I鈥檓 team and I care very little about what my ovaries can do. My siblings think it鈥檚 a phase, but I am a woman in her mid-twenties who can very much make up her mind about things. Kids are not a gift pack that comes with being an adult. They are not accessories you get when you cross a certain age. 

I don鈥檛 tell a lot of people about my not wanting kids. Ever since I told my mum, she鈥檚 been sneaking it into her daily prayers whenever she calls me. The most recent one was her asking God to take away any modern ideas from me. I asked her what the modern ideas were and she said something like 鈥淕od knows my heart.鈥� 

It鈥檚 the year 2022, and although a lot of us claim to know better and want to do better as adults and as parents, we still have to go out to touch grass. We need to accept that we are in the minority of people who have unlearned and relearned what parenting means and how parenting should be done. 

Personally, I think psych evaluations should be conducted before people are allowed to be parents. While educating people about sex and teaching them safe sex, it鈥檚 important to let them know that children can also be a side effect of sex. You can go from having an insane orgasm to taking care of someone who doesn鈥檛 know their left from their right. 

Lastly, children are very expensive, very noisy and they take more from the table than they bring. They are cute for a few years and you have to care for them from the day they are born till the day you die. 

I enjoy slandering children and I’m sure I’ve already done a lot of that, but now, I want to applaud adults who take the bold step to have and love those crotch goblins. 

Having children is like buying a product. Sometimes you get another one for free. The problem with this product is that you can鈥檛 return it.

For real tho

Do not have kids until you are sure you are ready for them and when I say ready, I mean it in every capacity of the word. No one really knows what kind of parent they鈥檒l be, but you need to know the basics. Financial stability is the most important thing so you can pay for therapy when your kid fucks up your life or vice versa. 

Until next time, it鈥檚 fuck them kids on these streets. 

ALSO READ: 10 Ways to Know You鈥檝e Become Exactly Like Your Parents

Hear Me Out is a brand new limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

I like the idea of phone sex because I often find myself pitying long-distance couples. If you spend hours talking on the phone with your partner, have virtual dates and parties on Zoom, should phone sex seem that weird?

On a Sunday morning about six months ago, I got three separate voice notes from a friend on Snapchat 鈥� a three act narration of her phone sex experience. I don鈥檛 usually consider myself an amebo, but I was eating this gist up like ewa agoyin and then asking for more.

What had started out for my friend as a lonely evening in a hotel bed in Abuja with an admittedly big bottle of wine in the space beside her, had turned into a restless need to be touched. When it became clear her usual people were too far away to come over, she decided to browse through her FaceTime contacts for some company. That鈥檚 where she found him.

Honestly, she didn鈥檛 even consider this guy to be a friend. He was someone she knew a long time ago who had indicated interest in her. Nothing else was special about him. At that moment when she needed to feel something, to have someone watch her and desire her in the watching, his face on her phone screen was good enough. By the time she sent me those voice notes, my friend鈥檚 wants were  satisfied.

Phone sex, before anything else, satisfies a special kind of horny. It’s for that urgent horny. The horny that believes it鈥檚 strong enough to defeat the wahala of Nigerian networks.

I get it 鈥� I do. I鈥檝e found myself far away from my love interests for most of my life. At first, it was university whisking me away from my secondary school love, and later, work. Most recently, it was NYSC. Because of these, phone sex was simply where my life naturally arrived 鈥� but why exactly did I turn to it?

Phone sex, before anything else, satisfies a specific kind of horny. It鈥檚 for that urgent horny. The horny that believes it鈥檚 strong enough to defeat the wahala of Nigerian networks and doesn鈥檛 care for all the awkwardness of purely talking someone else to the point where they satisfy their needs. And it can get awkward, I鈥檒l admit.

In my first experience, there were moments where we both fell silent because I didn鈥檛 know what to say. When I did speak, I was a little worried I was saying the wrong things.

The thoughts in my head  went from 鈥淚s this what she wants to hear?鈥� to 鈥淪hould I fake a moan? Would that be obvious?鈥� and finally, some minutes into the thick of it, 鈥淪o I can join Twitter moaning competitions like this?鈥�

Later, when I wasn鈥檛 lowkey cringing at how thirsty two people can sound when they鈥檙e horny, I thought about how I was forced to open up. I had shared entirely new things with my partner, and this brought us closer.

Our conversations became vast and more fluid. We鈥檇 moved past the phase of trying to figure out what we couldn鈥檛 say in the relationship, and suddenly we could talk about sex without holding back. I felt like our relationship had reached the next level.

My desire to keep my partner interested forces me to become vulnerable. When I fear I鈥檓 about to kill the vibe, the only thing left to do is to become explicit about what I want to see, feel or hear. My least favourite thing about phone sex 鈥� the part where I worry about saying something so boring, my partner starts to roll their eyes  鈥� is also the part I need the most.

Another great thing about phone sex is the way it can turn just about anybody into a listener. If you鈥檙e worried your partner isn鈥檛 paying attention to you, let me tell you about the give and take energy in phone sex.

Like with all sex, there鈥檚 very little fulfilment if your partner is not interested. Though, the stakes are much higher with phone sex. It鈥檚 tough to fake interest behind a screen from many miles away; you鈥檒l really need to listen to what your partner enjoys.

I was curious about whether I was the only person who sometimes found it awkward, and so I went around asking.

Someone told me on WhatsApp: 鈥淚f I鈥檓 not comfortable with the person or not in the mood, then shit, it鈥檚 probably going to suck. There鈥檚 no point.鈥�

And another friend on iMessage: 鈥淚 was sometimes confused about what he was saying, but it wasn鈥檛 all bad once I got into it. The problem was that I wasn鈥檛 always into it. But video calls and voice notes work like magic!鈥�

The cool thing about phone sex is there are so many ways it can happen: over texts, voice call, video call, whatever you and your partner find most comfortable. Just because they鈥檙e not in the same room as you doesn鈥檛 mean you have to pocket your desires and go to bed.

Thinking back to those three voicenotes, I remember my friend swearing that the best part of phone sex is the hunger.

鈥淚 love that my partner thinks my body is such a turn on, even if they can鈥檛 touch me at that moment. Sometimes, it helps to build momentum for when you actually get to see the person.鈥� I agree with this, especially when I remember the times my in-person sexual experiences started off over phone calls.

I鈥檓 single now and about 16 hours away from my current love interest. Whether or not they鈥檒l eventually love me back (don鈥檛 ask me about this) is uncertain, but I plan to bring up phone sex if we ever take things forward. Because I know for sure that I might be on the move again soon, and my horny will likely come along with me. If you鈥檙e like me, young and unsettled 鈥� hear me out 鈥� you might want to read this again.

Hear Me Out is a brand new limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.

There鈥檚 music and there鈥檚 reawakening music. The kind that helps you wake up and jumpstart into the best version of yourself. And if you’re planning to become a bad bitch, your awakening music should be 鈥� Hear Me Out 鈥� Sad Girl Music. 

When I listen to sad music, I want the songs to capture all my feelings. I want to feel the stress of dating as a Nigerian woman living in Lagos and the stress of being an adult. I want the songs to make me feel everything. 

I鈥榤 in my late twenties now. The weight of my heartbreaks are different, and I also have to deal with the daunting sadness that comes with being a full-blown human.

I grew up listening to , thanks to my older sister who must have been going through it. I sang Westlife鈥檚 Fool Again throughout the year I turned 10 with so much passion. If I could pinpoint why I was so into a song that pretty much called me a fool, it would be that the boy I had a crush on from Primary Two to Primary Five left for secondary school that year. My first heartbreak. 

I鈥榤 in my late twenties now, and the weight of heartbreaks hits different. I also have to deal with the daunting sadness of being a full-blown human. Music, especially sad girl music, is how I manage to navigate these emotions.

Picture this, an evening after a long day of dealing with a man you鈥檙e not in a relationship with who chooses to stress you or the babe you were willing to risk it all for leaving you for another woman she told you was her bestie. Your thoughts are all over the place, but you know there鈥檚 a song for that moment. One of the songs for that moment is Amaarae鈥檚 .  I respect Amaarae鈥檚 dedication to reminding us that sad babes are bad bitches who also love money 鈥� her song is a perfect bad bitch activation song. 

One thing sad girl music is going to do is call you out for being silly enough to fall in love in the first place.

Becoming a bad bitch can directly be linked to the kind of music you listen to. You might argue that it’s not in the music, but ask a baddie when they had their awakening, and it鈥檚 always linked to a sad song. You assess your choices and choose the path you鈥檒l follow. Are you going to be the player or the played? You think of those things and decide the kind of person the world is receiving. 

One thing sad girl music is going to do is call you out for being silly enough to fall in love in the first place. Sad girl music is going to ask you why you let a Tobi tell you those sweet words when you know he moisturises his lips with lies. Sad girl music is going to drag you for thinking the babe you鈥檇 introduced to all your friends won鈥檛 break your heart. 

A few songs into your favourite sad girl playlist are going to leave you questioning all your relationship and life choices and vowing to do better. The effect of sad girl music isn鈥檛 immediate, though. You cry first and then spend time reflecting on how foolish you were (which is what I鈥檓 sure happened to Mariah The Scientist when she made ).

The best thing about sad girl music is how unrestricted it is 鈥�  it transcends sexuality. It鈥檚 an insane genre of music that reminds you you’re the shit though it also makes you cry at the thought of the person you fell in love with.

I haven鈥檛 unlocked my full potential yet because I keep getting heartbroken left and right. I鈥檝e refused to learn. Don鈥檛 be like me.

Regard the message, but ignore the messenger.

Till next time, it鈥檚 still Ibukkss. 

READ NEXT: We Should Have More Phone Sex

Hear Me Out is a brand new limited series from 91大神, and you can check back every Saturday by 9 a.m. for new episodes from Ifoghale and Ibukun.