Ain't I A Woman Collective

Centring the Voices of Women with African Ancestry

Category Fiction

Tangled

Written by Damilola Odelola His hands are tangled with her hair; he knows she can feel him but she’s lost in something with a strong bass. Her head is heavy on his lap, she’s somewhere between sleep and wake. The definition of each curl rubs against the pads of his fingers, they twist and loop with each other, this has always reminded him of dancing. He’s careful to untie the knots

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My Mother, the Tea Drinker

Written by Carly Bates   My mother, the tea drinker, boils a kettle full of water and steeps a whole pot of tea every morning. Every morning, while the kettle stands on fire, she empties the cold remains of yesterday’s pot in a white mug rimmed with porcelain blue and heats it in the microwave. She leaves the kitchen to shower and get ready for the day, then returns to a

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Lovers II: No Walls

Read the first part of Lovers here. TW: Sexual violence By Yovanka Perdigao She paced furiously in her room. “I knew it! That son of a ….” she thought. She felt it coming, the anger so devastating, controlling her by the neck. In that sense she was like her father, unable to control her emotions. She sat on the edge of the bed sweating in fury. Now the boy would

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Soulflower

By Marcelle Mateki Akita   Pastel yellows, pinks, and mauves flash in kaleidoscopic patterns across the blank canvas of her lids, she smiles that beautiful smile and sinks. Vibrantly her vessels bump a deep gravelly bass of colours, rich and flagrant, into her wiring. Her lids dance trying hazily to keep up with the flashing pastels. Glitters sprinkle and she squints. The sun rises, a throbbing citric orange explodes against the

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Fiction: Symbiosis: A Mother’s Song

By Marcelle Mateki Akita   Let me tell you a story about a girl who was not particularly popular for all the right reasons, but for all the wrong. A girl who constantly fought social stereotypes by consciously obliterating behaviours recognised as the conformable norm (or straightforwardly put: racial prejudice – innit!). This girl, well in actual fact she’s a woman now, is not specifically remarkable. But since she is my

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Fiction: Lovers

By Yovanka Perdigao   She had fallen in love with the professor. Suave gentleman known through campus for his impeccable manners and style. He was everything she had expected in a man. He was a true connoisseur of Jazz, spent considerable time drinking coffee whilst reading Chinua Achebe poems, and carried neatly  folded handkerchiefs in the back of his pockets. He was a complex man, sometimes arrogant and egocentric, and

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