breasts without matter...

i think i just found out what it is i detest in a breast bearing human. what makes me irk and itch all the way to the last nerve. it's you lady. it's you and the inability to engage your mind in an opinion. don't you want to be a part of long overdue change...a part of the movement. but instead she sat there with her 'ums' and 'well...i don't-know-i-thought-that-if-maybe-but'.

so i am back in the the motherland now, working in nairobi. they did warn me that finding a parsee would be no walk in the park. i am still hunting for at least one buddy that we could share a safe space where we can gossip about god, demasculinize a few men and maybe even get peer pressurred into going for a bikini wax.  instead i find myself going for a cup of malindi machiatto and a side order of horrible service from java house with me, myself and i.

for now...here is a toast to rediscovering self in search of my fellow african sisters that are married to their powerfully beautiful minds...cheers!!!!
                                                                                         

About being deflowered

...about being Deflowered 

by Umra Omar

Permission to Travel

Wangechi Mutu ©

After 4 months of studies it was time to leave Buenos Aires. It was not easy, as I had grown fond of my host family— but with all due respect, it was the laundromat across the street that I would miss most. For less then $2, I could send in a dirty pile of clothes and return to collect a flower-scented package of ironed cleanliness. So where to now? Our plan was to have no plan. My primary concern was whether or not I could get a visa at the point of entrance.

Chile...no problem. One does not require a visa if traveling in by ground. After 2 weeks of visiting a mutual friend there, we headed to Bolivia. Thirty dollars later, I was stamped in. We drove in, witnessing the public vans kissing one behind the other, with vendors pouring from the doors on the side of the Nissan minibuses cajoling customers—it was borderline harassment. I smiled so hard out of familiarity that I started drooling. One week there, and we were off again.

Another day, another border; another visa, another dollar! This time it was at the bootleg immigration office on the Peruvian side of the Bolivia-Peru border. Not only did I require a visa for Peru, but I would have to catch a bus back to La Paz since the Peruvian immigration did not offer the visas at the border! I batted my eyelids. No success. He took my passport and walked out of the room. I followed him to the closet of an office across the hall. All of a sudden, I felt like a criminal. As he was outside consulting with a group of colleagues, I went into his office and circumspectly took my passport from the table. I left, and without looking back, on the bus we sped off into the flat dusty plains of Peru. Now I was truly a criminal!

I did not think it would be an issue leaving Peru since I had planned to take the bus into Ecuador and just skip the Peruvian exit office. With a change in plans, I was to catch a flight out instead and head to Brazil. This time, they would not let me board the plane! Thanks to a sincere award-winning puppy face, as well as a little candy-coated truth about why I had not been stamped into the country, the official signaled me to cross through as soon as his supervisor disappeared from the corridor. And just like that I was onboard. With Brazil, I did not take any chances—I got my visa in advance while still in Argentina. And besides, any country that is bold enough to charge Americans $130 for a visa (in reciprocity for an identical fee that America charges), but lowers the rate to $20 for most of us foreign nationals, is well

worth advance planning!

Looking back at both the good and not so pleasant experiences, the lesson learned was how to journey light: in luggage, budget, and most importantly, in spirit. Only then do you realize that YOU are your permission to travel.

Kenya Indepence Day in Washington DC

“According to African traditions women must respect their men. I ask you women, can’t you discipline one of your own who has crossed the line!” – Former President Daniel Arap Moi in response to the activism of Nobel Peace Laureate Wangari Maathai

On Thursday the evening of December 11th we went to the Kenya Jamhuri Day celebrations at L’Enfant Hotel , Washington DC, to mark 45 years of independence, courtesy of the Kenyan tax payers’ money (thank you all because the plantains were super delicious).

Wangechi Mutu ©

I realized that it had been a while since I sang our Kenyan National Anthem. Before I could feel guilty of this fact it came to my attention that my inability to keep up with the tune was not for the reason that I had neglected these verses during my morning showers but because I was trying to keep up with a choir of fifteen lovely pasty children who were butchering the living daylight out of this national poetry. The challenges that they faced are not to be underscored; the poor kids were not only singing a foreign tune but they had to do it in Swahili, all the three verses and try to rhythmically move to the sounds of a beating drum at the same time!

Then we went into singing Christmas carols.

I looked over at my good friend Wangechi, we cringed, we frowned, and we sneered, all in an effort to express an emotion that was beyond words. On a serious note, this was the perfect annual occasion to show case Kenya’s cultural heritage, to mark a history of struggle and promote potential local success. But no, other than the Ketepa tea packs on our way in and the Tusker beer bottles on the bar, there was not much else that stood out as being conspicuously Kenyan.

Curious to find out what the logic was behind the arrangement of this event we approached our dear Ambassador after he gave his talk where he of course praised the man Kenyans love, Obama. We introduced ourselves with our concerns. His quick response was for us to go by the office and address the matter there. Fair enough, this was a social gathering and no place to file a complaint about what we thought was a compromise to the symbolism of Jamhuri day.

Just when we thought the discussion was over and turned to express our frustration towards one another, his so-called Excellency came up to us and held us by our hands insisting that we have to meet his wife. He introduced my friend and I as the warembos (beauties) who did not realize that he had a beautiful wife of his own, and then he went on to uncomfortably stare at and compliment how I looked. The Mrs. stood right in front of us, still and complacent. Totally puzzled and disgusted as to where these remarks came from, and her reaction, I corrected him and reiterated that we are two young ladies that were seriously disappointed at the poor performance that had just been displayed in the name of acknowledging the efforts of heroes like Dedan Kimathi.

Now it was no longer an issue of having foreign-looking and vocally-challenged kids who did not live up to my image of Kenyan Independence.

Millions of dollars are poured into ‘developing’ Kenya; millennium goals set by the elite, a 2030 vision by our beloved President, celebrities coming to self-inflate their egos in the name of saving us, and the list goes on. Of what use is all this, especially for women and the youth of our nation, when what really needs to be urbanized is the self-destructive mentality of stale leadership that is beyond what money can salvage; a headship that intrinsically trivializes the contributions and concerns of the young, their sisters, daughters and mothers.

How do we crush a mind frame of self entitlement and chauvinism that reduces a somber concern into a sexist slur?

One thing for sure is that complacency to such representation is not an option, it should be an allergy!

Before any other Kenyan leader steps up to the podium to stand for our beloved country, to take prerogative in the accomplishments of an icon like Barack Hussein Obama, take a moment of silence and reflect on your ethics and veracity towards promoting the interests of the youth and the women of Kenya. If your values are even slightly askew, please step back down.

Welcome to our world...

 

Wangechi Mutu ©

It is with thanks and love that I welcome you to my corner of solitude hoping to offer the same satisfaction. Join me in the birth of Breasts Over Matter, a tool to help with maintaining sanity and put into writing the illusion of the world through my breasted lenses! This is to all the phenomenal women and girls out there...plus of course the men that contribute to the process :)

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.