One of the many aspects that factor into a child’s happiness is the fact that the world seems to be pre-historically flat

It doesn’t have that roundness of different perspectives and views, it has the essence of completeness

The illusion that Mama and Papa are perfect; that playing in the mud for four hours is the epitome of fun; that the only thing that separates Brian and I is that we pee differently, that this shanty town is the best place to live in….

But as I grew up, my eyes became the needle pricking the bubble of my childhood delusions resulting in constant states of disillusionments and despair

Needle Prick 1 led me to discover that my society views women and men quite differently, and several times it was women that fell on the unfortunate side of this view

Explains why I had to cook and take care of the baby after school while Brian just did his homework and played with his friends.

And why when I tried to complain, my Papa replied that boys don’t do housework

After this and many such incidents, I learnt not to ask questions because I didn’t really understand the answers.

When I got my first period, I was terrified and my Mama almost fainted as I walked into the house with my blood stained dress. She hastily dragged me into the bedroom and I was given a sanitary towel and a stern lecture on how my cycle is a supposed to be a secret, even though it’s natural.

That was my first lesson of many where I became more and more ashamed of being a woman.

Next were the catcalls, and then my dressing, and then my demeanor and after that I stopped keeping track.

I would look at Brian and Co. in envy as they saunter around without my heavy burden, or at least knowledge of it.

Needle Prick 2 grew concurrently with my love for reading, so I guess I could call it bitter-sweet.

Apparently, I lived in the dark continent, where everything was sad and dreary and hopeless and poor.

Being African was nothing to be proud of, what with our malaria and our high rates of HIV/AIDS infection.

Most reduced us to nothing more than a charity case, with globally renowned celebrities ‘paying their dues’ to the less fortunate in Africa.

Some readings and articles led me to ask myself whether we were children of a lesser God, what with the way they thought we’d accept them describing us as a ‘land filled strife with disease and warring tribes.’

Some of it struck me as true, but I wondered why they neglected to show pictures or depictions of our beautiful cities, or our talented artists or our brilliant innovators.

Internal eye rolls became the norm whenever I was in an international setting and someone asked me about Namibia or Morocco, like they’re just next-door to the East African country I call home.

But they were better, some didn’t even acknowledge that Africa has countries and I had taken to saving a map on my phone so that I could point out my country when asked, ‘So, how’s it in Africa?’

Needle Prick 3 came quite later in life, but it helped with a lot of explanations.

My beautiful dark brown skin was considered to be dirty, and my kinky natural hair, untidy.

Studying away from home made me realize that I was black, something almost everyone at home was. I didn’t see the big deal at first, I mean, I’ve been black my whole life

But the hard glare of the white security guard as I looked through items in the electronics store

And the way my white roommate subtly dismissed me whenever I tried to help her with her homework. Or the conspicuous surprise whenever I articulated a complex concept in clear and correct English.

Made me realize that being black isn’t that forgettable.

Even back home as all the ladies flocked the beauty shops to buy ‘Fair and Lovely’ and copious amounts of relaxers that were meant to ‘tame those wild tresses.’

I realized that several aspects of my blackness weren’t things to be proud of

But the most important prick, Needle Prick 4, showed me that beyond everything, I have the power to define myself past the definitions the world seems to want to impose on me.

Even though it seems that being a woman, African and black are aspects underappreciated by general society, I have the chance to appreciate them and fight for the good in them

Limits and self-hate do me nothing but dig holes and bury my hopes and dreams

And finally, the thing that matters most is all up in the mind, I choose the world I live in and shape it with my perceptions and views.