I am convinced that being a woman in Africa is a curse, living your life not for yourself but for the rules and regulations that you ought to follow to get validation most definitely is.

I want to be able to buy a car while single without being questioned, judged, hushed or perceived as a runs girl.

I really want to club with my female friends alone and not have any man come over to our table.

I certainly want to have multiple sexual partners for pleasure without being termed a slut!

Oh how I love to have great sex without strings without being termed a wierdo.

I would love to have domestic help without being called a bad wife.

I most definitely would want to get birth control without being called an ashewo.

I would want to own my sexuality and bask in the pleasure of my orgasms irrespective of it being gotten from sex or a intimacy gadget.

Why am I so frowned at by wanting the above?

Maybe having a vagina is a curse that makes one less human... Just maybe, I wouldn't know but you might.

I remember you, maybe a bit faintly but I do. Your shy smile, your eyes…
Those eyes that make me feel like I can love again, like I can tell my deepest fears and secrets to you and not be the least insecure.
When I saw your message after such a long while, it was only logical to smile but I didn’t smile.
That smile and those eyes sent me into a panic attack because I knew it was going to be the death of me.
This little heart of mine that I have shielded for so long was tugging insistently to be released.


We took a while to catch up, you seemed so pleasant over the phone, we promised to meet up to see a movie and we ended up meeting at your place. Nothing ever prepared me for how you looked.
The lean muscles in your arms, your beard neatly cut, your perfectly carved lips and those eyes… Damn those eyes! As I laid on your bed with your face a breathing distance from mine, I knew they would be my undoing.


Those eyes that showed me your raw desire for me as you traced kisses down my spine, those eyes that silently asked me if I wanted you just as much as you wanted me…
Those same eyes I looked at as I climaxed time and time again in your warm embrace.


Will those eyes be my death or my redemption?
Oh my darling! I fully intend to find out.
I am seated right here; wondering, pondering and hoping.
Still I’m torn between two worlds.
Would you be my second chance at love or just my nemesis.


Read more: oestrogenthoughts.

I am tired of trying to explain my worth, tired of demanding that I be seen beyond my curves and beauty. I just want to be heard as human first and not defined by my hair, the shape of my face, the shade of my lipstick of even the miracle of my womb.

I stay up at night sometimes wondering if I would even be seen as actually angry for a “real” reason and not just “hormonal”. I wonder if marriage would eventually cease to be dinner conversation directed to hunt me. If truly I was brought to this world against my will for a purpose… I wonder if the stereotype of being a woman would hinder me from achieving this goal.

Would my life mean more than my kitchen prowess or my sexual skills or my ability to shut my legs properly while sitting? Maybe I’ll one day be expected to be more that just a female whose goal in life is just to raise a family.

Maybe I’ll eventually be seen as human and not a pair of breasts and buttocks, maybe on day I might be called intelligent and not “beauty with brains” *shudders* how I hate that word and how it makes me seem like it is an exceptional situation for one who is beautiful to be perceived as brainy.

Wonder why a man is never addressed as “handsome with brains” or why a man isn’t judged by his ability to cook delicacies for his family or his willingness to halt his career to build his home…

I spent my whole day wondering and frankly, every woman in me is exhausted.

https://oestrogenthoughts.