Being A Writer with a Mental Illness

About a week ago I got a surprise email from Lisa asking me to participate in a blog meme. I love Lisa’s blog, and I love Lisa. We met in June 2010 at both our first VONAs, and have remained friends since. I love her art and her writing and her sewing and and. Lisa is talented in a…

Churros for Highlighters

The yellow highlighter I was using before. Its diameter, the thickness of my thumb. Smooth and slick. I turn it around in my hand, putting it between my fingers as one would a cigarette. My fingers travel up the round thick barrel to the cover. The cover feels smaller and grooved like a small version of a churro. It sits atop the round barrel. I tug at it. It comes off easily and falls to the ground rolling away towards a cushion. It stops at the edge of the red silk cushion lying next to the pen. The red silk cushion beckons to me. I reach for the cushion, accidentally jabbing it with the highlighter forgetting it was uncapped. I suck air through my teeth for the second time as I drop the highlighter and reach for the stained red silk cushion. It slips out of my reach.

Amakka-Part I

She was a first year PhD student from another school a few miles away in Nsukka, who was considering transferring to my school in Enugu. I flashed my award-winning smile at her and pulled out a chair for her at the table my friend, Chinukwe, and I were seated at. “Welcome.” I said. Chinukwe, quite…

Chocolate Barbie

“Kafui!”  Grandmother yelled from the living room. “Yes Ma!   I’m coming!”  She responded with a little bit too much emphasis on the last word. “Wo nua no wo hen?” “I think my sister went to Selassie’s to rehearse for the church play,” Kafui said. “Are you sure?”  Grandmother asked.  “ARE you sure?”  She probed as…

1390 Market Street, San Francisco, CA

Sitting out on 1390 Market Street Plaza two Sundays ago reminded me of the many times I have walked Market. I also could not help but think of my friend Maseilla. See, she lived off Market down near the Castro, and I rode the F-Market there often. I preferred the F to any of the…

A Encounter of the Christian Kind

I was 26. I had never been to a Protestant Church before. I didn’t even know they were Christians. After the event, I knew they were more Christian than us Catholics would ever become. They said Jesus’ name more times in the four-hour service than I had ever heard in a few dozen Catholic masses….