SISI MAG

ISSUE 003: THE LOVE & SEX ISSUE editor's note

At Sisi Mag, we work hard to try and represent the views and experiences of Black women and non-binary folk that often go untold.

We hope that this ode to Black sexuality helps more of us get in touch with our truest, sexiest most authentic selves. tayo bero EDITOR-IN-CHIEF C O N T E N T S

My mother warned me to avoid men like my father; I 0 4 finally understand why.

My Female friendships hold the truest meaning of 0 7 love.

Finding true love with myself — and more than 0 9 one man.

Pain without fear: How BDSM taught one woman 1 1 to honor her desires.

Shame, trauma and self- love. What this sex educator wants you to 1 4 know about yourself.

I S S U E 0 0 3 C O N T E N T S

As a Black woman, interracial relationships can be tricky. Here’s 1 8 everything I’ve learned.

Unlearning the misogynistic “rules” for women and embracing my 2 4 sexuality.

How venturing into the history of my Zimbabwean 2 7 people helped me accept my fluid identity

Growth, me-time and other lessons: 3 Black women on dating through 2 9 a pandemic

When was the first time 3 3 you felt sexy?

I S S U E 0 0 3 PAGE 4

MY MOTHER WARNED ME TO AVOID MEN LIKE MY FATHER; I FINALLY UNDERSTAND WHY

B Y A L E X M I L L S

our family (financial difficulties, death, depression) became a yellow flag I noticed in men as I began to As a child, I always had a ready-made hero for date, and a red one once I began to date seriously. my Show and Tells and career days: my dad.

Reflecting on those tough years, I realize that while Tall, handsome, and a respected firefighter for the my mother had a penchant for making me face the city of Detroit, I was convinced that my dad was the truths I really didn’t want to hear, she also had the coolest around. We did everything together; book sage gift of providing me with the advice that would reports and science fair projects, Saturday afternoon carry me to healing and self-awareness. roller-skating, and trips to the Upper Peninsula to camp and fish. He was my rollercoaster buddy, my These past few months, her lessons have become parent chaperone for my first out of town trip to even more of a comfort as I dealt with my latest Chicago, and the guy who made the perfect heartbreak — one that came a mere six days before chocolate cake for every birthday. While a lot of kids Valentine’s Day. When my latest guy, Theo, dumped wondered whether or not their parents had a me with a dismissive, “I like spending time with you, favorite child, everyone knew that I had a favorite but think we should stop seeing each other,” I parent. definitely felt more foolish than wise. Dating throughout this pandemonium (pandemic) has not But at the age of 11, I discovered that my hero was been easy. battling a drug addiction and he checked himself into rehab. I think it was then that I truly began to The ups and downs of the process have been see my mother in a new light. No longer was she the nothing short of maddening, as I find myself diving fussy woman who made me double check my into the deepest parts of my insecurities. Self-care homework or rewash the dishes. In a blink, she had has become priceless, as I explore new versions of transformed from the parent I avoided, to the one I happiness through therapy, classic Disney movies, confided in most. Over time, my father’s sudden lack and of course, a circle of girlfriends who of emotional awareness when things got hard for encouragingly remind me that I hold value, whether single or paired up. PAGE 5

As I worked to come back to myself, I also created a As a teacher, Monday evenings off are a rare feat for weekly standing appointment with my mom, of all me, so Mondays with my mom always called for a people; a budding relationship that I have come to victorious glass of wine. But what I also noticed with accept with both an incredulous and understated every visit was, despite being off from work, my appreciation. The tumultuous relationship with my father was never home. While I often joked that he mom started to shift when she lost her own mother, was a stereotypical Scorpio with all his secrets, I my Nana, to a combination of COVID-19 and a body knew that he was also a creature of habit; usually in already frail from heart disease and dementia. My our basement, tinkering with his model airplanes or mom, having been appointed her legal guardian, watching the latest heist movie. Still, I was was balancing her job as a college admissions beginning to realize that I had no idea who my director, her role as a wife and mom (and dog- father was these days, and it appeared my mother mom!), while also trying to find herself again in the didn’t either. face of tremendous loss. Still, as my mother fought to hold onto both her life and my Nana’s, I knew for a When I pressed my mom about this, she gave a fact that neither of them were okay. I also knew that small smile and said, “Your father has his life and I something else was not right: my mother’s have mine. We do our own things and enjoy our own relationship with my father. time.”

Whenever I’d visit, my mom would meet me at the As a hopeless romantic, that’s definitely not what door with Beyoncé, our cocker poodle, who we you want to hear about the status of what was your adopted when I was in the 8th grade. first real example of a relationship — a twenty-five- PAGE 6

year investment seemingly heading down the tube. It seems that while I was careful to avoid these Surprisingly enough, of all the things that my major flags with my father, I was still running into mother could be sad about, my father’s emotional the stop signs. Why was I still allured by men who detachment wasn’t one of them. “Your father is a desired my “just-so” but were never able to provide solitary man. He likes to keep his own company, my “just-so” in return. Selfish partners often led to especially when he has down time. I’m not like that, me sacrificing aspects of myself to keep a man so I let him be.” Taking a sip of her own wine, she happy. This was certainly the case for my mother, also added, “Your father doesn’t handle emotions who, when my father turned to drugs, admitted well. I’m glad we raised you to deal with your own through tears that she felt like she was living two truths.” And it’s true; they did. different lives: one of chaos with my father, and one of peace and control without him. Such was the My mother and I often talked about dating people wonder of her parenting that my younger brother who were honest about their feelings, while being and I never witnessed this turmoil. My mother not transparent and consistent with their actions. only managed to keep our household afloat, but she Perhaps most importantly, she emphasized did so while obtaining her MBA. When I asked my choosing a partner who would be able to give and mother why she didn’t leave my dad permanently follow through with a sincere apology. It’s funny that (they separated for a while in junior high school), she while these were traits she made sure to instil in me, replied, “I love your father. I need to see it through.” I sometimes found myself attracted to men like my Though such a declaration may seem sweet, it was father: handsome, intelligent, seemingly great on the complete opposite from the feminist who often paper, all while avoiding all the serious work of any stated that marriage was about partnership, not emotional engagement. projects.

Like many men, my father took pride in being able On one memorable Monday catch-up, my mother, to “handle” things with money and gifts, and when again through tears, expressed, “I’m so glad you’re on all else failed, platitudes. When those failed, which your journey to loving yourself, Kai. You are a they often did, gifts were replaced with anger, beautiful, educated woman. You deserve to be able indignation, and sadly, a lack of empathy or self- to communicate your emotions — all of them — out awareness. This dynamic often mirrored itself in my loud and have them heard, and met with action, in relationships, as quick accusations and manipulative return.” Joining her, my eyes welled up because I conversations often led to me apologizing for almost knew that when she said this, she was also speaking every interaction; a pattern highlighted during my to herself. Still, if there’s anything that can short time with Theo. When I told my mother this, counteract the demons of my father, it’s the she shook her head and remarked, “Still not avoiding warnings of the woman who loves him — and me. your father, I see.” PAGE 7

When I had my first heartbreak at 19, My conceptions of the word ‘love’ I didn’t know what to do with myself. were informed, in early adolescence, More accurately, I didn’t know what through an enculturation project that to do with the pain. It was typical valorized and romanticized a certain young love—we started college type of love; a heteronormative, together, and as these stories transgressive and futile love. Which My Female sometimes go, by the end of it all, we is to say, my conception of love began had grown apart. My understandings to grow in step with my own personal friendships of love, informed by novels and reckoning and development. I didn’t ballads, were limited to conceptions want to be rescued, I wanted to be hold the truest of joy and happiness and light. I was seen. It is a painful bloom, confused. No one ever told me that confronting the realities of the world, meaning of love evoked pain, or perhaps a better for they are not what they can be, but phrasing here is, I never took heed of nevertheless I began to love love the pain. Then again, I never once I began to love me. love understood love. When I had my first heartbreak and OMNIA SAED In All About Love, bell hooks writes, the world felt like it was ending again “To return to love, to get the love we and again and again, it was women always wanted but never had, to have who loved me. I remember sitting on the love we want but are not the floor of my college dorm at 2 am prepared to give, we seek romantic crying inconsolably. relationships."

www.sisimag.com I had just lost my bedroom sheets to a dry cleaning accident and I spent the next weeks walking hand I had nowhere else to sleep. Tired and mourning my heart, I in hand with friends down College clung to the phone cradled in my right arm, as my sister gently Walk. I would cry on the shoulder of consoled me from miles and miles away. I returned her words another as she braided my hair. I with loud shattering heaves. My heart was broken and the would eat cookies till dawn, cackling simplest tasks felt all the more difficult. and giggling at our misfortune, and I would smile understanding and I heard a knock on the door and watched as one by one my believing in the world we loved, a friends walked in carrying snacks and treats, a blanket, new world that was tender, generous and sheets, and a pillow. They made my bed and sat on the ground kind. My relationships with women with me, holding together the world I was mourning in defiance. have expanded and informed my worldview of survival and freedom, extraordinarily so, amidst catastrophe.

It was Audre Lorde who would write in Sister Outsider, “The love expressed between women is particular and powerful because we have had to love in order to live; love has been our survival."

As I’ve grown older, my friendships have become markers to the type of love I believe in. It is through them that I have learned to define love as a care that we are all entitled to. Love that is fearsome as it is sweet. Love that is honest as it is bold. Friends who share songs that remind them of you.

bell hooks ends that earlier quote by saying, “True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved.” Like hooks said, in many ways, love is indeed redemptive.

But I have had to actively redefine my definition of love to understand the question. Redeemed by whom? By defining love as care, I see it for what it is: a liberating and revolutionary force amidst pain, amidst joy, amidst vulnerability. In turn, I recognize that love is everywhere. This, of course, is a long-winded way of saying that I now dream of a world where the love I have for my friends and the love they have shared with me is the greatest liberatory force of all.

www.sisimag.com

PAGE 9 FINDING TRUE LOVE WITH MYSELF — AND MORE THAN ONE MAN

B E R N I S H A T H O M A S

My twenties should have been some of the So, how could I be in a relationship with most carefree years of my life. I dated, had just one person when I wanted so many fun, and made love; but I also spent a lot people who had nothing in common of time being more cautious than twenties besides me? I was a round peg trying to are meant for. As a child of Trinidadian fit into a square hole. When the parents, who was baptized Catholic, I grew relationships ended, after all the up hearing about all the ways to get a changing I had done, I was left with little man: avoid being a “slut” or risk repelling more than heartache, time, and myself. the interest and respect of men, don’t be Being alone made me miserable because “too easy,” dress modestly, and no sex I had done so much compromising of who before marriage, because men will never I was, that I no longer recognized the want to marry you if you’ve “been around.” person I was alone with. I had spent years I tried to color inside of the lines of becoming who my partners wanted me to respectability so I could find and marry a be, only to have them change their mind good man. Now, I write this as a 38-year- about what they wanted in a wife. old woman who has never been married and may very well be one of the few For all intents and purposes, I was the happily unmarried women that I know. grand prize, being treated like a participation ribbon. The moment I I tried traditional monogamy for years and realized that I loved my partners the way I have been grossly unsuccessful. I spent did, I would reach back into my mental two years in a relationship where I did archives and pull out everything I had everything I was taught, and at the end of ever learned about getting and keeping a it, he broke up with me for not being man. When it came to sex? Anything they perfect. He then proceeded to tell anyone wanted to try, we tried. I truly did not who would listen that we were never in a mind the fact that sex was not relationship and I had made our “close particularly satisfying for me because my friendship” out be something that it partner was happy and that was supposed wasn’t. I sacrificed who I was to please my to be the goal. After all, everything I had partners and although I looked happy, I been taught told me that a woman who always felt like I was wearing my shoes on could not find a man to marry her was the wrong feet. I was a bisexual woman not much of a woman at all. whose taste in men varied as much as my taste for food, on any given Friday night. “Being alone made me miserable because I had done so much compromising of who I was, that I no longer recognized the person I was alone with.”

But I have always had an inquisitive mind and because of that, there was always something nagging at me about everything that I had been taught. I could not reconcile why men were not taught to behave in a way that would earn them the respect of women, but women were being raised to earn and retain theirs by constantly bending to men’s moving desirability goal posts. I also could not reconcile how, if the goal was to settle down and be happy with your partner, these rules could be applied to women who were interested in other women. For something that was made to seem so “catch all” and final, why could it not be applied to any situation involving romantic relationships? Asking myself these questions at the age of 21 was the first step in my sexual radicalization.

By the time I was 26, I had (barely) survived my first real heartbreak. I had been devastated by the break up and spent countless hours trying to figure out where I had gone wrong and what I may have missed that caused him to leave me. When I finally started dating again, I was so frustrated with the way men were using me to satisfy their emotional and physical deficits, I decided to mirror their behavior to teach them a lesson. I did the one thing no one had ever taught me when they gave me the laundry list of things to do to get and keep a man: I dared to be happy on my own terms and prioritize that happiness. I have dated several men since this awakening of mine. I’ve fallen in love several times and it has been beautiful and transformative each time.

I have had romances that lasted for years and others for just a few days, but all were very real. Now, I do not hold my feelings in, I let them be whatever they are. I tell the men who are interested in me that they are not the only ones, giving them the opportunity to make an informed decision about pursuing me. The result is, I am loved in ways I had never imagined possible. My heart is handled carefully, my mind is stimulated constantly, my sex is passionate and satiating, and I am affirmed daily. Recently, a woman told me that she envied that I was able to have men fall all over me without compromising who I am and what I need, and asked me what my secret was. I smiled, because I remembered that once upon a time, I also believed that to be impossible. Finally, I shared the secret with her: “Honey, I am the Sun in my galaxy and the Sun never asks anyone’s permission to shine.” PAGE 11

PAIN WITHOUT FEAR BY How BDSM taught one woman to FARAI TIGERE honor her desires.

When Ana, the Black, 20-something submissive I found on FetLife reached out about the interview, I immediately started preparing our discussion. Reviewing the social media platform for those interested in BDSM, it was often described as the first stop on most new kinksters’ journey. Once we met, Ana’s account of her time in the community was smooth. Her words flowed as they do from someone filled with passion, as she described what it meant to be a submissive bottom and what those designations had done for her confidence.

Submissive: one who voluntarily relinquishes control to a partner for a set time

Bottom: one who is the recipient of a sensation i.e. in wax play, a bottom is the one to have the wax poured onto them

The Starbucks we met at was operating at limited capacity, and following Ana’s gaze, my eyes landed right on a trio in the parking lot, just outside the doors. It appeared to be a mother, daughter, and what might’ve been an older uncle, or grandfather, standing—arms outstretched—for a hug that wasn’t coming.

There was a definite look on the woman’s face as she turned to the teen, already halfway back in the car, but we were too far to hear anything, and the man dropped his arms. PAGE 12

“When I say the foundations are rotten for a lot of vanilla relationships, that’s what I’m talking about. Can you remember how many times you’ve engaged folks in ways you didn’t want to, just because you were too young to be heard?”

Vanilla: A word first used to describe non-kink oriented sex, and/or relationships

Our eyes met, briefly, before she continued. “How many times did you hear ‘Don’t be rude’ before you understood your body isn’t yours? That your discomfort isn’t an issue to resolve, but an inconvenience to dismiss?”

I felt myself shifting in my seat, the silence that hung over only being interrupted when she eventually blurted out, “Did you read the glossary?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, skimming the file I’d received. I stopped the screen mid-scroll and read a quote from the entry on ‘Consent’ which had held my attention most: “You aren’t a killjoy for acknowledging violations.” I looked back up in time to catch Ana nodding.

“That was written with kinky folks in mind, but honestly if I leave you with nothing else, let it be those 7 words. A ‘scene’ is really just 2 (or more) people coming together to…do kinky shit, and it can lead to sexual contact, but it really doesn’t have to.” Ana’s tone was playful but frank. “So, since interests vary among those who practice…the baseline for any scene is just a negotiated and agreed-upon beginning, middle, and end. Everything else will work out in the wash. But, and I really want to emphasize, all must be discussed and agreed upon before anything starts.”

Suddenly I was back in the bed—back in the shower—wondering about the times when my ‘no’ didn’t count. Encounters that had stolen the bass right out of my voice. Barely noticing I’d cut Ana off for another question, I pressed, “Isn’t that unrealistic?”

Feeling her eyes, I chose instead to focus on the notes now swimming on my screen. My voice shook as I continued, “Expecting guys to stop once everything gets going, I mean.” I remembered the last time I couldn’t find words for something I knew I didn’t sign up for. I considered how my #MeToo advocacy never accounted for the death by a thousand violations, sprinkled throughout my own history. I asked if she ever felt that structure made things boring. Following up with something about spontaneity, but her laughter broke through first. “I enjoy playing with melted wax, or being spanked, and research shows I’m probably about to throw restraints into the mix. This isn’t to be vulgar, but rather for context,” the smile behind her mask still showed in the creases of her eyes, “because of all descriptors, ‘boring’ doesn’t really fit for me.”

As I asked for some final words, Ana’s phone twirled in her hands. “There are no safe scenes without Safe Words. That’s a negotiated word that anyone can use to pause, check-in, or end the scene. PAGE 13

And even in a “simple” session with a long-term partner, they can, and should be used. Traffic lights are my go-to,” she continued at my blank stare, “Using Red, Yellow, Green to mean stop, slow down, and full speed ahead, respectively. It’s just good practice. It ensures everyone knows that if need be, anything can and will stop. Sorry, just calling my ride. Ooh, a Tesla…” the phone stopped mid twirl, running through the motions of a ride-share, then twirling once more.

“Honestly, more than anything else, I want more of us to honour our desires—whatever that looks like. Researching your interests is a good thing. Sitting with yourself to understand what you like, is a good thing. Directly stating what roles you expect your partner(s) to fill, is a good thing. BDSM forced me to speak up for myself more explicitly than I ever thought I could and there is so much power in that. You asked about boredom, right?” I nodded, watching her repack the clutch she had shown up with. “I’ll put it to you like this: a life with the…unpleasantries I’ve experienced, makes it much easier to cultivate pleasure right alongside safety. To push it a bit further, I don’t think it’s fair for non-men’s only options to be “excitement” or “safety”. Yet that’s all we ever seem to be offered, but we deserve more. We deserve so much more.”

Ana strode through the Starbucks’ doors, and as she slid into one of the many musk mobiles, her words kept running through my mind. As I returned to my notes, I began to review the book recommendations she’d left me with. The quotes and teachings within them helped me grapple with the new information that had been presented to me. Within it, similarly to Ana, I began to find a new confidence with which to navigate this new world.

“[W]e believe that, contrary to the opinions of the uninformed, consensual sadism, dominance and topping are primarily empathic activities.” ― Dossie Easton, The New Topping Book

“We bottom in order to [reach] within ourselves and with our partners that we cannot [reach] without a top. To explore these spaces, we need someone to push us over the edge in the right ways, and to keep us safe while we’re out there flying.” ― Dossie Easton, The New Bottoming Book

“Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.” ― Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

My eyes lingered on the last title a bit longer, recognizing its author—the shame lady? The book had been a gift from one of my first therapists and seeing such a ‘vanilla’ title in the line up made our chat feel a little more real. The emphasis in Brown’s writings on the risk and reward of clearer, more vulnerable connections, even beyond romantic pairings, also crystallized the points we’d been discussing. Without knowing everything about BDSM yet, the transparency it seems to mandate, did appeal to me, and felt very much like Brown’s own teachings on the harm inflicted by shame and the freedom that actively working against it could offer us all. PAGE 14 Shame, trauma and self-love what this sex educator wants you to know about yourself

BY TAYO BERO

For Black women, the conversation about sexuality is often a fraught one. Between navigating the cultural stereotypes attached to their sexuality and unlearning generations of internalized misogyny, it can feel like there are very few spaces where Black women can fully and unselfconsciously explore their sexuality.

Our sexual agency is constantly filtered through the male and/or white gaze, creating a complicated relationship between us and our own sense of sexuality. That's where Rashida Ahmed, a sex educator and intimacy coach based in Toronto, comes in.

Through group classes, individual coaching sessions and speaking engagements, she hopes to help women and non-binary folk on their journeys to self discovery and healing from the sexual shame and traumatic experiences that may be hindering the full expression of their authentic sexuality.

Sisi Mag sat down with Rashida to talk about sex, trauma, healing and the freedom that comes with tapping into our most authentic selves.

As a sex educator and intimacy coach, what exactly does your job entail? I work primarily with women and women- identifying folks to help them to overcome PAGE 15

sexual shame and trauma, healing from traumatic experiences, overcoming body shame, and becoming more intimate and intuitive with themselves. I do that through education, intuitive learning, journal practices, and really diving into some of the deep questions that maybe we don't necessarily want to ask ourselves.

What first drew you to this particular line of work?

I have to say that it's two parts; I would say about 70 per cent of my own life experiences, and 30 per cent educational experiences … brought me into this line of work. Being a woman of color, I didn't find very much representation in this space for myself growing up and there were a lot of questions that I really didn't have the answers to. That led me to various paths that maybe weren't necessarily in my best interest. So through relearning and rediscovering myself, and sort of reteaching myself things that I didn't necessarily know, that is what led me to this path. And then realizing the impact that this has on so many others in my space personally, and as well as on the broader, more global scale, is really what helped me to really push to be motivated to take this as an educational pathway, and then a professional pathway.

What kinds of conversations are you having with Black women around sex and sexuality?

I think the most common themes are being unable to express themselves sexually in a way that feels authentic to them. It's healing from shameful and traumatic experiences that may have happened to them throughout their lifetime—whether that be during childhood or during adulthood—however relationship and personal distress impacts them. Also, another big theme is them really not understanding their body, how their body functions and interprets sexuality, how their body interprets pleasure, and how their body interprets pain.

Are any of these issues specific to Black communities specifically?

I don't think they’re specific to the Black community, but I do think they are unique in the [sense] that we also have racial stereotypes that sometimes prohibit us from expressing our sexuality in the way that we want to, that other race groups don't necessarily experience or understand. For instance, some of the archetypes of being extremely hypersexual or non-sexual at all, leave us to try to find where we are in that spectrum; understanding what that means to us and how we can identify ourselves in whichever way that feels natural to us. As well, some cultural and religious hang-ups can get in the way of us expressing ourselves in the way we want to. There are conversations that are not necessarily had in some of our households with our parents or our caregivers that allow us the safety to express or speak about the things that are going on with us in our bodies.

How would you say we, as Black people, can establish more safe spaces to have conversations about our sexuality?

Sometimes it's difficult for us to have a conversation if it makes us uncomfortable. So, I think the first step would be for us to identify our own sexual biases and hang-ups and misconceptions. And then moving even a step further from that, is to allow space for honesty and vulnerability. That includes allowing even conversations that are against what we personally believe, or we personally identify with, and allowing that to be open and honest, creating an environment where we can discuss things that are maybe hurtful or things that are damaging to us, allowing the space for that to be there and for us to be heard and to be seen, without judgment, and without any sort of reservation.

How can we shed the shame that often comes with sexuality and possibly traumatic sexual experiences?

Confronting our own individual chains and individual misconceptions and how we feel about sexuality, I think is one PAGE 16

of the first key steps. I always say that shame thrives in silence. So once we shed light on the things that we feel shameful about, then you're confronted with the choice to either deal with them or to continue to move in the path that you’ve always been.

And so I think it's allowing yourself to really take a look at yourself for all of it—the good, the bad, the indifferent, the ugly—and take responsibility for the choices that you've made, [and] the choices that were made for you, as well. I think that's also something that we need to allow ourselves; to take accountability for our behaviors, and then forgive ourselves.

I think the final piece is once you really decide to let go of shame and let go of how your body or mind reacts to trauma, we have to learn to forgive ourselves for the things that we may have done when we were moving in that space. This sometimes is the most difficult piece, because I find, especially within the Black community, there are a lot of ideas that we have to hold on to things; we need to be strong, we can take everything and just suck it up, smile and bear it. But I think we have to allow ourselves to know that when we were in that space, we may have done things that were not to our own personal, highest good, and then forgive ourselves for that, so we can move differently.

Are there any specific ways that we can ground ourselves physically, or give honour to the body that carries us through so much?

Whoo! I think you can be fun with it. I love to take pictures of myself, and when I take pictures, I take sensual selfies —whatever that feels like to you. I love lingerie, robes, I like soap, I like lace. Do what feels authentic to you. I like to look at it as ‘I want to honour and worship the body that I have been created [in], I've been given, I've been blessed with’. So I spend time in the mirror, I talk to myself in the mirror, I will record myself saying affirmations and listen to my own voice. And that doesn't mean that I don't listen to other guided meditations, because I do see the power in getting support from your community. But I do understand that my own words, and my own thoughts are equally as powerful. And so I allow myself to sit in that. I do a lot of journaling, I pray. I'm a spiritual person, I fast, I do the things that I know will help me to become more intuitive to me and I am very intentional about finding joy in my life. So that could be cooking, that could be spending time with family, it could be going out for walks; whatever it is that helps to find joy. For some people it's art, singing, it's dance, it’s movement. But being intentional about finding joy helps us to be connected to our bodies, because that's where we feel joy the most.

You can find more about Rashida’s work at www.rashidaahmed.com and on Instagram at @iamrashidaahmed.

K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E As a Black woman, interracial relationships can be tricky. Here’s everything I’ve learned

B Y D I A N E K O N È

I am a single Black woman living in All my life, I have lived in mostly white Montreal. West African, raised in France, communities and was raised by my mother’s and born again here, this is where I came second husband, a white man. So from a into my own. My idea of love is tainted by very young age, I was witness to the stigma European passion, North American glibness, attached to their relationship and the fact African devotion and restraint, performative that they were dating outside of their races. I social media PDA and Jane Austen’s myself have never been in a committed cheekiness. So, like most of us, I know relationship with a Black man; I have nothing about the subject. But still, I have actually mostly dated outside of my race. something to say about dating and being And from what I’ve learned about interracial married as a Black woman (I have been relationships: love is a struggle you actually divorced for four years now and single for need to prepare for. almost a year).

PAGE 17 PAGE 18 K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E

It seems counterintuitive to speak about love successful. You give space to the other to be in terms of readiness. We have learned who they truly, fully are, it works out. through books and movies that love is However, I’ve found that there are things in a spontaneous and conquers all; it’s the relationship that we cannot compromise. ultimate leap of faith we need to be open to. Things that we can’t push aside or “mitigate.” And, it suggests that a connection with Things that are rooted so deep in ourselves someone will have us reform our ideas of that they can’t be ignored or negated. So, I’m individuality. We think about love and offering a guide for affirming and relationships in terms of adventures, reaffirming ourselves when dating outside projects and plans, concessions and our race, a readiness plan, an outline based compromises. You compromise, you’re on my own experience.

THE “NEW TERRITORY” BRO

“I’ve never been w ith a Black woman before”

After a divorce or break-up, you get to explore, experience, paint the town red. I downloaded both Tinder and Bumble and I had no preferences except for age and location (no one wants to have to run across town for a little bit of affection). My phone was buzzing, I was answering, starting meaningless conversations, mindlessly swiping right and left, daydreaming and projecting insecurities on strangers. And then, I swiped right on one man, who was white. He had a picture with a car in it and he was wearing a nice suit, giving major frat boy vibes. I should have known— my own prejudice whispered that he did not date women like me.

Frat boy: Yo! Me: Hi! How are you? Frat boy: Good. You? Me: Great! Quick question, just curious: why did you swipe right? Frat boy, turned “New Territory” Bro: Well, I have never been with a mulatto before, seems to be fun!

And there it was! You would think that he would have at least tried to hide his intentions. But apparently, hiding behind a screen makes it okay to tell a Black woman that you want to try her out, check an item off your bucket list, validate your assumptions or bang a stereotype. Here I was, my entire existence reduced to an experiment. PAGE 19 K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E

I do not care to understand why this man would have thought it acceptable to make such a statement. What I’m interested in is what you face when that happens. It was a first for me and I was 27. From that moment, I had to confront the possibility that men could be interested in me only for my complexion. But it was not just my skin color, he did not say that he liked a good tan or that he had a preference for women of different cultural backgrounds. He mischaracterized my race, used the derogatory term “mulatto” in 2016, and engaged on the fact that sex with a Black woman would be fun. Blocked, I guess...

I had been aware of the stereotypes. We’re the lionesses in bed, yet we’re subservient and we would do anything for our men. Nothing phases us, we’re down for anything. We want a white man, it’s a great honor. We’ll smile and be sexy or bestial, or we’ll be sassy and “ratchet”. We’ll twerk on you and you’ll have something to laugh about with your friends. We’re “fiiiiiiiiine” but we’re not beautiful and delicate. You don’t have to respect us because we do not respect ourselves.

It was like being hit by a ton of bricks. Now, you get to think about all the interactions that you’ve ever had with white men. How genuine could they really have been? If he mentioned Nicki Minaj in the first five minutes of the conversation, could he have been looking for the full “Anaconda” experience? And then, is that why he never called back?

Now I always ask, defiantly, boldly, a warning, ready to extinguish and burn you to the ground, and I swear to God, we will have this conversation before anything else:

“Have you ever been with a Black woman before?”

TOP SHELVED COLOR BLINDNESS

“Because it doesn’t matter and we love each other”

Fun fact: I realized that I was Black when I was 11. Don’t get me wrong, I was “aware” of my melanin and my culture way before that, and it was always part of my identity. But, I had not fully internalized my Blackness until that age, when I began facing prejudice and internalized racism by members of my own race. In French Guyana, where everyone looks like me, being African was considered a flaw, a blemish that gives you less legitimacy than others. I realized that I was Black because I expected from them a recognition, a sisterhood, a metaphorical comforting handshake, a PAGE 20 K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E sameness, a “my people”-ness, and I did not get that. I was finally in a place where I did not have to explain my hair, my lips, my ass, the fact that yes, I can tan and that I need to cover my entire body in lotion, not just my face, and yet.

So I packed it inside, my Blackness.

And then years later, I moved to Montreal where I met my ex-husband. He had been with Black women before and I had never been with a white man before. For 7 years, we did not talk about race, just like before. I still introduced him to my West African culture and he introduced me to his. I felt accepted as I was, so why would we talk about race? We did not care.

And yet, I was braiding my hair in a closed door office. I was keeping daily microaggressions to myself, reserved for a journal at the bottom of a drawer in my office, under a stack of bills.

The danger of color-blindness, on both parts, is that your race still needs to express itself somehow —it’s still part of your identity. Instead, it is relegated to an office, a closet, a hidden bag of hair extensions on the top shelf of your laundry room.

When I was younger, it was easy; I could just go home. There was a place for race there, in my multi-racial home. We talked about prejudices and history, while watching Love Jones, as mom braided our hair.

In a relationship though, if we do not give it space to live amongst ourselves, we suffocate it. And then what? We raise our children to do the same. The hair extensions become relaxers or straighteners. Top shelved or bottom-drawered.

Years later…

“There is hair everywhere!” He said, standing in our living room. I’m watching TV, I have completed half of the left side of my head. My fro is vibrating. My hands are not tired, I can keep going and The Witcher is on. I smiled at the blue eyed and blond specimen in front of me, “I’ll clean up when I’m done.” PAGE 21 K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E

THE UNCONCERNED

“That’s not really my problem”

I’m enraged. I’m trembling. They killed him. I want to scream, I can’t cry. I want to bind them, strangle them, I want to burn their houses to the ground. But I’m sitting on the sofa and I’m watching George Floyd’s execution on the news. He, on the other hand, comes home, and he’s annoyed. The protest blocked the road and it’s a hassle to get home. He is the first person I talk to. He does not understand that I need to discharge my pain. He tells me “I’m tired, I’ve had a long day. I don’t feel concerned. I’m not like this, this has nothing to do with me.”

My mom is a big fan of Black love, and I grew up on titles Love Jones, Soul Food, Boyz n the Hood, and The Best Man. And then she brought home Sanaa Hamri’s movie Something New, about a successful Black woman who was navigating the Black dating pool, finally finding love with a white man. This romcom is intriguing, with race playing a big part in the on-screen relationship. I will always remember one particular scene when both characters are grocery shopping and Sanaa Lathan’s character references the fact that she is being discriminated against at work. “The white boys on the plantation are getting on my last nerves, that’s all”. And her counterpart replies, “Can we put the white boys on hold for tonight?” An argument ensues and they break up. I have always sided with Simon Baker’s character, her love interest. He was tired of having the same argument. He was accepting and aware so why talk about it again? He was white too, but not a racist, and so he felt attacked. He couldn’t carry the weight of his race's centuries of wrongdoings. I was empathetic. And in my mind, she was strong but always complaining.

I was wrong. He was tired that day, but she was exhausted all the time. Now, I am exhausted all the time. I need to talk about it and I need my partner to understand, to let my rage flow freely until it regains its place at the pit of my stomach, where it is when that old white lady clutches her purse when I’m walking behind her. I resented my partner that day, for the privilege he had of being able to complain about the roads, when a Black man was dead. I explained that he should be concerned, how this could have been me. We talked about having boys. It could be them.

In relationships, we can postpone conversations about people making fun of how we’re dressed. We can postpone conversations about what we will be eating for dinner. We will be able to compromise and we’ll take each other's suggestions into consideration. But this, we can’t compromise on, and we can’t postpone. This is a one way street. He walks it alongside me, concern in tow, or he doesn’t at all. PAGE 22 K I T C H E N 0 8 | L I F E S T Y L E

THE “WOKE” BRO

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched Malcolm X”

I love a good ally, it’s sexy. I think it’s cute when they take offense at the N-word in rap songs or when they feel invested on the subject of cultural appropriation. We all want a “woke” bro. He knows things. He will see and fiercely defend us against microaggressions. He wears his openness and his “wokeness” on his sleeve, or on that bright flag he unsheathes and waves every time he is around POC. No doubt it can be performative, and translate into the social media activism we have seen unleashed that past year; but I try to give the “woke” bro the benefit of the doubt.

Well, here’s the thing: I should not be grateful for any of this. In a perfect world, we are all “woke,” and my race shouldn’t be the dominant factor in my interracial relationship. I am a Black woman, but I am also a woman, a person. As silly as it may sound, it needs to be reaffirmed. We love the fact that the “woke” bro is interested and concerned and aware, but why is he shocked when I know less than him about the Maasai’s Enkipataa ceremony?

We need the “Woke” bros to let us define our Blackness.

*****

So, this is my readiness guide for Black women who are considering the swirl. You might think: “Why would you be willing to go through all this trouble, live through these cringey situations, when you could be with a Black man—someone of your own race, someone with whom you don’t even have to have these tough discussions?”

Ultimately, we are all looking for love, in all of its shapes and all forms. I love my Black men, I love my white men, and I can love anybody that’s going to accept me for who I am, and the teachings I can bring to the table — I just need to be ready for what our differences may entail. I have met someone whom I like, a white man. It is a casual affair, but I address this with him still. I talked to him about this article, actually. And he listened. PAGE 23 Unlearning the misogynistic “rules” for women and embracing my sexuality B Y R O N N Y M A Y E

From the moment we are born, women are groomed for marriage and motherhood. Quite often, we are taught to center our lives around the qualities that can garner the attention of men, and potentially render us worthy of marriage. Even while we may be seen as kind or nurturing towards our siblings and peers, it is often taken as a sign that we can make a good partner.

In my Southern American upbringing, wearing red lipstick or nail polish was deemed a rebellious act. It was a silent, yet enticing symbol that a woman was a “lady of the night.” For years, I donned god-awful clothing to appease my grandparents and church elders, who believed that wearing short skirts, especially without slips, gave off the wrong impression. Meanwhile, form-fitting clothing, which I secretly viewed as sexy and empowering, would bring about temptation from lustful, wandering eyes.

The pressures within my own household were only amplified when paired with the constant bombardment of social media pages dedicated to teaching women— often through dated tropes—how to be the perfect doting wife, how to serve a man, and how to run the perfect household.

While inherited gender roles arguably did more harm than good, as a teenager, I began to notice that boys were clearly free to do whatever and whomever they pleased, with impunity. Gone were lessons preahcings of abstinence or of Instead, I became the bold, liberated and brave having a respectable number of sexual partners. woman that I used to secretly admire. I stopped And missing too, were the lessons on life skills and subscribing to gender roles and ideologies about what lectures about fashion choices that could make made a good wife. And once I began to feel more them a less than desirable partner. comfortable in my skin, I congratulated myself with one hell of a “ho phase.” Several, actually. The way I And within a seemingly endless list of rules, there saw it, if a man could do it, so could I! Though I still were some things I began to observe early on. maintained one sexual partner at a time, I found For starters, if I wished to be chosen, I absolutely freedom and joy in casually dating multiple men, could not do the things that men did. I needed to simultaneously. carry myself with respect, otherwise men would not respect me. I could not be too opinionated, It came as no surprise that some of the men I too powerful, or too strong, because that would encountered were intimidated by a woman who emasculate my partner. behaved exactly like them. For some men, there was the flawed notion that “a ho cannot be turned into a housewife,” meanwhile others were just relieved to “I became the bold, have an impermanent relationship. But through these casual and fleeting rendezvous, I learned more about liberated and myself, and it landed me at the reality that, no matter how “perfect” I attempted to be, there was no brave woman that guarantee that I would ever get married. Sure, it was I used to secretly in my life’s plan, but in the meantime, why waste so much time being groomed for a reality that may never admire.” come? I wanted to live my life on my own terms and refused to let it diminish who I was. And while I struggled desperately to “fall in line,” I also found myself, both privately and publicly, Recently, I had a full circle moment when the “Buss It” passing judgment onto the women who chose to and “Silhouette” viral challenges created an uproar on do otherwise. What I would never admit was my social media. While many enjoyed the playful and secret desire to be just as bold, liberated and creative posts, it wasn’t long before the think pieces brave as they were. It was an emotional struggle began to pour in. Somehow the 30-second clips were between who I was raised to be and the woman I enough to diminish a woman’s character, values, was desperate to become. goals, and accomplishments. In the eyes of many, the women who partook had to lack self respect or Somewhere in my early to mid twenties, however, common decency. The same men who enjoyed these I finally decided that enough was enough. I videos enough to view and repost them also made refused to adhere to a repressive system that remarks like, “this could not be my girl” or “I do not placed weighted biases on our shoulders, just to want my daughter to see stuff like this.” find the right man.

24 Unsurprisingly, I also saw several posts from women who thought that such content should only be between a woman and her partner, and being “naked on the internet” was not a symbol for empowerment. In their mind, 30 seconds was enough to judge the character and worth of a woman because she no longer fit into a box that patriarchy deemed acceptable for her.

Perhaps, what's most interesting about these debates is the fact that women are expected to have their own sexual agency, confidence, and power. These are often the very traits men list when describing their “perfect” mate. That is, until we redefine what these terms mean to us, removing the satisfaction of men from the equation. For me, unapologetically owning our sexuality in its various and intricately woven forms is one of the greatest things we can tap into as women. Black women are not a monolith, and the ways we choose to define and perform whatever makes us feel empowered, will vary.

“Unapologetically owning our sexuality in its various and intricately woven uniqueness is one of the greatest things we can tap into as women.”

Being empowered is the freedom to live life on your own terms, without the fear of judgement or need for approval from others. How we, as women, choose to be empowered is a personal choice, and a right we are all entitled to.

25

HOW VENTURING INTO THE HISTORY OF MY ZIMBABWEAN PEOPLE HELPED ME ACCEPT MY FLUID IDENTITY BY MATIPARUVA HWACHA

With the dawn of an independent Zimbabw e in 1980, a new national identity was born. In an attempt to distance itself My childlike mind could not grasp what I was questioning at the from a colonial past, a clear distinction was drawn between time, but I understand now that I was grappling with the relics of Western rule and those which were African. As part binaries imposed on me because of my gender. of this “new identity,” homosexuality was framed as a remnant of the western world and unaligned with a post- On one occasion, I thought I had found the answer to my colonial Zimbabwe. However, the oral traditions left behind questions in one of aunt Sisi Gladys’ many tales. One night, in a tell a different story, and rather boast of same-sex rituals dimly lit room, a stale ball of sadza sat in the palm of my hand. which bestowed magical powers of strength and prosperity Sisi Gladys, who was sitting across from me, began to tell a upon those who performed them. story. “Paivepo,” she said. “Ddzefunde,” I responded. And she continued. “There was a well in a faraway land, where little As a preteen living in independent Zimbabwe, I mused with boys turned into little girls, and little girls into little boys.” As if the question of my own sexuality, though it had already been she sensed my distraction, she stopped singing, sighed, and decided for me by the state and church. Often, I said, “Mati if you do not stop fiddling with your food, I will take contemplated why mother insisted I wear dresses to church. you to this well.” I picked up the sadza with hesitation, and Why did we have a football team for the boys and only a cheerleading squad for the girls? Why had grandmother looked up at Sisi Gladys to say, “I think it would be easier to be decided to teach me how to bake and not brother? Why did a boy.” Thinking back to this moment, I now know that my the girls at school get upset when it was their turn to play desire to be a boy was not a rejection of my femininity, but dad? And why did all the girls like Barbie and not Ken, even rather a rejection of what society expected a Zimbabwean though he had just as many clothes? woman to be. sisimag.com | May 2020 26 During pre-colonial times, Shona women in Zimbabwe maintained a level of respect through control of the home, food resources, and fields. But this respect would be lost when the colonial government introduced laws that prohibited the movement of Shona women—demonizing them with labels such as sexually deviant, lazy, and adulterous. These laws prevented women from working in the mining and agricultural sectors outside of the rural area, and forced them to be dependent upon their men for wages. If a Shona woman did manage to get work, it was often as a sex worker, petty trader, or retailer for liquor and food supplies. With their respect in society lost, Shona women were left with no choice but to turn to the Victorian ideals of proper femininity, that were preached by the missionaries. According to Victorian doctrine, a good woman was submissive to her husband, loyal to her family, and most importantly, was a woman of faith. As I sat that night with Sisi Gladys, while she shared folkloric tales, I thought of a life for myself as a woman in Shona society, and it was from within these colonial confines that I wished to escape; I just knew that it would be easier to be a boy. That night, I prayed to the Christian God, and asked him to take me to the well. He did, but only in my dreams.

“…IF WE ARE CREATED IN THE IMAGE OF MWARI, THEN SURELY, WE TOO CAN BE FLUID ENTITIES, NOT CONFINED BY BINARIES, RIGHT?”

Menstruation is widely considered a key signifier of womanho od. So, without warning, at the age of twelve, I became a woman— the end of my childhood and the loss of my innocence. At least that is what I was told during the countless calls from the women in my family. I recall my grandmother sitting me down and sa ying “Iye zvino wave mukadzi, uye semukadzi unofanira kuzvibata” (You are now a woman and as a woman, you must learn to control yourself). It was clear that the colonial imagery that painted Shona women as sexually deviant had penetrated Shona culture.

The Judeo-Christian institution was key in imposing male supremacy in Zimbabwe when it introduced a new deity, the Christian God, who was wholly masculine. But before the advent of colonialism, the Shona deity Mwari (God) was not a deity confined to gender binaries. Instead, the Shona viewed Mwari as both female and male. The terms Dziva Mbuya, meaning grandmother, and Zendere, meaning young woman, were used to describe Mwari as a feminine entity. And titles such as Nyadenga (Lord of the Sky), Musikavanhu (Creator of People), and Wokomusoro (The One from Above) were used to describe Mwari as a male entity. The history of the Shona people shows that Mwari is not gendered, but is, instead, a fluid entity. So, if we are created in the image of Mwari, then surely, we too can be fluid entities, not confined by binaries, right?

This realization set me on a course to discover instances in my cultural history where the queer existence was the norm, and not a sin. In my research, I discovered that traces of queer history were, in fact, left behind in Southern Africa. A rock painting, dating back to 8000 B.C., was found in Guruve, Zimbabwe and depicted men engaging in homosexual activity. In 1606, in the Kingdom of Motapa (modern-day Zimbabwe/South Africa), Christian missionaries encountered cross-dressing men, known as the Chibadi. It was even found that amongst the Shona, women who chose not to marry men, claimed to be possessed by spirit mediums, as the spirit mediums were known to partake in homosexual behavior. More interestingly, women possessed by the njuzu (mermaid) spirit were known to abstain from sex, all together. The above oral and drawn historical depictions serve as a stark reminder that at one point, sexuality was not always viewed as unchanging or rigid for the Southern African people. My people.

I grew up in a binary world—you were either Black or white; a man or woman; saint or sinner; straight or gay. And it was only through venturing into the history of my people have I come to accept my fluid identity and truly love myself: Mati, made in the image of Mwari.

sisimag.com | May 2020 27 GROWTH, ME- TIME AND OTHER LESSONS: 3 BLACK WOMEN ON DATING THROUGH A PANDEMIC

B Y S T E P H A R T H U R

Sophia, 36 (Toronto), Fabienne, 38 (Montreal) Jasmine, 31 (Miami)

For those of us going through this global panorama single, it’s meant, at the very least, a year of serious self-reflection, a lot of time spent re-evaluating life goals, plans, timelines, needs and wants, and sometimes, even braving the elements, quite literally. From physically navigating a dangerous disease, fighting dating burn-out (yes, that's a real thing now), to the now forced and mostly awkward shift to creative forms of digital dating, it seems like we’re all in a desperate search for some semblance of joy, mental stability and, well, company.

Compounded with closures, curfews and a Canadian winter, what was already a daunting and often precarious dating landscape pre-panini, now feels ten times worse. And any last hope of fatefully bumping into your soulmate at a coffee shop, bookstore or day-party (remember those?!), have been tossed out the window with yesterday’s N95.

It’s been...alat. To hear some insights into what it’s been like to ride out this last year solo (while also trying to keep the dream alive), I sat down with three single women to talk about their experiences.

S I S I M A G . C O M | 2 8 “PROBABLY BECAUSE THERE’S SO MUCH ELSE HAPPENING IN THE WORLD … MAINTAINING A CASUAL CHAT WITH A STRANGER I’LL LIKELY NEVER MEET IN PERSON, JUST DOESN’T TAKE PRIORITY THESE DAYS.”

What has being single the last year been like for you?

Fabienne: It's the first time in my life, throughout this past year, that I realized just how rough and lonely being single could be. [...] Especially with the lifestyle I had before COVID, I was always on the go, attending events, spending time with friends. I just didn’t feel the lows as much as I do now.

Sophia: If I had to describe the past year in one sentence, it would be: the loneliest year of my life.

And, how would you describe dating during this time, in particular?

Sophia: [...] like being stranded on a deserted island that has unlimited Wi-Fi and a Netflix account. There are other islands all around with single men on them. but in order to get to them, you need to put in the effort, find the materials and build yourself a boat. It’s a lot of work when you’re constantly emotionally drained, and have every season of The Office at your fingertips.

Jasmine: I’ve tried to really make a schedule for myself to keep my mind busy. [...] A good week I can be on cloud nine, and then whenever something in my love life gets a little shaky it throws everything off—queue the wine, Netflix series, anxiety and sleeping in. Maybe it's the Pisces in me, but I’m truly living by my emotions.

What have been some of the more difficult parts of shifting to online dating?

Sophia: Lately I’ve found that I really need to psych myself up before even opening the apps. Maybe it’s the people I’ve been chatting with, but the conversations don’t really seem to go anywhere. Probably because there’s so much else happening in the world … maintaining a casual chat with a stranger … I’ll likely never meet in person, just doesn’t take priority these days.

Fabienne: I’m the kind of person who connects with people easier in person. [...] Since the world shut down, dating apps have been the only way to connect, [but] I quickly turned those off. I wasn’t attracted by the profiles I saw, the conversations I had, [and] I felt it was very time consuming. I just couldn't connect through the screen, not really.”

Jasmine: The worst part is navigating people's intentions. While I'm grateful the pandemic hasn't impacted me too much, I am always super aware and mindful it hasn't been that way for everyone. [...] More than ever I find myself having to juggle people's emotions a lot more carefully.

S I S I M A G . C O M | 2 9 “I’VE ALWAYS BEEN SOCIAL, BUT THIS PAST YEAR I LEARNED HOW MUCH I NEED HUMAN INTERACTION AND PHYSICAL CONTACT.”

Have there been any upsides to it? Any happy surprises or shifts that you noticed in adapting to the circumstances?

Sophia: Not having to explain to friends and family that I haven’t met anyone new. That’s been nice. [...] I feel more at ease letting people know how I’ve been coping, staying healthy, and am open to hearing their experiences and opinions, as well. These types of conversations are so common that I’ve found establishing boundaries happens much more organically for me than it used to, which I’m grateful for.

Jasmine: [...] I feel that I have really become in tune with communicating how I feel, [my] needs and desires. I’m in a “what can you lose?” state of mind.

What about lessons? Have these “unprecedented times” brought on any major realizations?

Fabienne: Yessss. [...] It’s forced me to slow down and learn how to spend more time with myself. Take some “me time” and to do the things that I never really took the time to do, for me.

S I S I M A G . C O M | 3 0 Sophia: I’ve always been social, but this past year I learned how much I need human interaction and physical contact. It goes without saying that being isolated takes a real toll on you, after a while. But you never really know how it will affect you until it happens. This past year has taught me to cherish and appreciate every in-person conversation I have, whether it’s from a distance or safely with the few friends in my bubble.

What about moving forward? As we start to see a light at the end of this COVID tunnel, have you reflected on long-term impacts—for better or worse?

Jasmine: I think this past year has impacted me for sure. Personally, I would say for the better. But when I think about my 2, 5, [or]10 year partner and family goals, the jury is still out. I have even played with the idea of doing the mom thing on my own. [...] I [do] wonder how much this will change those dreams. To be honest, my dating experience, this past year, has mentally closed me off to wanting to meet new people too, so I'm just very confused overall.

Sophia: I’ve been single for long stretches before, and it was fine. But this past year I learned just how much being alone can have an effect on your mental health. [...] I started resenting couples, to the point where seeing two people holding hands, while walking down the street, became triggering. [...] The old me would have felt embarrassed to talk about how hard this is, but now I know that talking about it is what's helped me stay sane. [...] There is already so much to think about in the middle of a pandemic, being single adds a whole other level of loneliness to the already physically distant world. IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING THAT BEING ISOLATED TAKES A REAL TOLL ON YOU, AFTER A WHILE. BUT YOU NEVER REALLY KNOW HOW IT WILL AFFECT YOU UNTIL IT HAPPENS.”

Ultimately, do you think it was for the best, or worth it?

Fabienne: Before the pandemic, I knew it was important to prioritize yourself, whether you are single or in a relationship, but I didn’t put it into practice. Now I really know the meaning of it, and why it’s so important. I would say that being single and alone in a pandemic, and having to make the most of it, makes you realize that.

Sophia: As difficult as this past year has been, I like to believe that it was for the better. I learned a lot during this time. I know what I won’t tolerate from a partner. I learned that I want a family, and I’d like to have that family sooner rather than later. I believe that I deserve love. All of these things I couldn’t have said with such certainty a year ago, so that’s one good thing I can look back on.

As we head into what may very well be another summer in lockdown, while aching for this vaccine roll-out to roll the fuck out already, it would seem that 2020 wasn’t without its own (twisted) blessings, after all. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and apparently that includes riding out a global pancetta, solo.

S I S I M A G . C O M | 3 1

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When was the first time you felt sexy?

PAGE 33

As simple as the question is, it’s kind of loaded.

Growing up as a first-gen Nigerian, I think I can speak for many when I say that topics of love, sex, and relationships were seldom spoken about in my household. If we did partake in such taboo conversation, it was often reserved for the occasional rebuffing of someone else’s—usually a woman’s—sex life.

Lessons on chastity and value were inherently tied to my virginity. And in my household, these lessons were taught through the banning of secular music, male friends, or girlfriends deemed too “saucy.” Though it wasn’t as awful as it sounds (or maybe it was and I compartmentalized it), my upbringing very much fell in line with the Madonna/whore dichotomy. It’s a very common binary that society places on women where she’s either a saintly woman to be respected and revered (the Madonna) or is...well, a whore—a woman not worthy of respect, care or concern.

"As I moved through college and graduate school, I began to form my own feelings and thoughts around my sexual agency, and what being a woman meant to me.”

For Black women, this concept is even more complex when we think about in relation to the stereotypical tropes assigned to us: the jezebel, the mammy, the sapphire, and the welfare queen. According to my parents, their goal was to ensure their first daughter never became the next jezebel, and remained as “pure” as possible. As a result, there was no conversation about the birds and the bees. Instead, I was chastised against wearing makeup, or wearing trendy clothes; revealing, form-fitting, or otherwise. It’s no wonder that by the time I left for college, I was a complete blank slate about what sex and sexuality meant. My knowledge existed solely within the very rigid and religion soaked misogynistic framework.

As I moved through college and graduate school, I began to form my own feelings and thoughts around my sexual agency, and what being a woman meant to me. I can thank my Afro and Gender & Women’s Studies courses and professors for making sure I was fully engaged with the material. Once I was presented with these new ideas, I started to analyze my life through a Black feminist lens, and subsequently spent my early 20s interrogating how I had been socialized to view my sexuality. PAGE 34

As a fat, darker-skinned Black woman, who’s not thick in the hips, butt, or thighs, sexy is not a word I was used to hearing others use to describe me—blame society’s unattainable beauty standards, and how we continue to perpetuate them. But in confronting this term, I realized that I had internalized everyone else’s idea of what sexy was, and decided very early on that I simply just didn’t “fit in.”

Recently, my sorority sister, Mel, introduced us to her fiancée, a sex coach, who offered group sex therapy sessions at her virtual studio, Misha’s Room. One day, after randomly dropping a sign-up link into our group chat, she encouraged us to register, if we felt comfortable. I figured, “why not?” I didn’t have anything to lose, and I was definitely curious.

I wasn’t really sure how to prepare for a group sex therapy session, but once I made it to Misha’s room, I was committed to the experience. With the initial nervous jitters out the way, we jumped right into talking about sex: what we were taught, what it meant to us personally, and how we navigated our sex and dating lives.

The group session was initially quite awkward, which wasn’t surprising. Despite how ingrained sex is in modern American society, it’s still taboo for some to discuss freely; especially amongst women. At first, I’ll admit, participating in the conversation took some warming up to. But, thanks to Misha’s candor, I loosened up, and before I knew it, we were put into breakout rooms. Two other Black women joined me in my room—let’s call them Lynn and Maya. Our question: “When was the first time you felt sexy?”

After I read the question aloud, there was a very pregnant pause between the three of us. I even heard an awkward chuckle as we thought about this very simple, yet very loaded question. Lynn decided to tackle the question first. Her answer, in short, was when she first began to wear lingerie. Makes sense, I thought. Lingerie is sexy; the French word personified sexy, and images of women in lingerie were usually very sexy (see: any SavageXFenty model).

“I noticed they both talked about what they wore as a means to feeling sexy, but for me, I simply couldn’t relate.”

Maya went next and talked about her sexiness, in relation to her gender presentation. Growing up in a conservative household, she was forced to wear “traditionally” feminine things: dresses and skirts, and colours like pink and purple. It wasn’t until she traded in her skirts for less form- fitting, more masculine-presenting clothing, that she remembered feeling sexy. PAGE 35

Then it was my turn. I noticed they both talked about what they wore as a means to feeling sexy, but for me, I simply couldn’t relate. To this day, I’ve never purchased lingerie. Not because I didn’t want to, but because nothing fit. My bra cup is a triple G, and as most fuller busted femmes would know, it’s hard out here in these trenches. Even the aforementioned SavageXFenty barely ever has pieces my size, and the extended sizes they do have are slim to begin with; a big critique of mine since the brand launched in 2018.

I found myself thinking back to middle school when I started developing these tig ol’ bitties, and how, at the young age of 11, I began getting objectified by my peers—both boys and girls, but especially the boys. Catcalling, crude comments, unwanted touching, and “hot or not” lists, were a part of my daily nightmare. I specifically remember an incident where a male classmate called me a “butterface,” because I had a fine ass body but my face wasn’t it.

In retrospect, perhaps that’s when others began to label me “sexy” (well, sexy enough to objectify). But what about myself? I thought back to my first relationship, which ended a year ago last May, and lasted just as long. Surely, I had to feel sexy at certain points while I was with my ex, right? As I racked my brain, I couldn’t pinpoint a single moment where I remembered feeling “sexy.” Sure, he complimented me, and called me pretty or beautiful, but sexy? I couldn’t think of a single time he’d said it, or a time where I truly felt it. It would seem that for as long as I could remember, I've always struggled to identify with that adjective. As I explored the origins of this feeling, I realized that a lot of it had to do with my upbringing, and the added social pressures of who we deem to be “sexy.”

“Sexiness is more than putting on lingerie (or taking it off) ... it’s a feeling.”

Talking this through with my group members for about 30 minutes allowed me to begin to see sexiness as a complex concept and not just a concr ete state of being. Sexiness is more than putting on lingerie (or taking it off), and it’s more than simply being told you are. Yes, ‘sexy’ is an adjective we can ascribe ourselves and others to, but more importantly, it’s a feeling. A feeling I thought I couldn’t experience because of my upbringing, my lackluster dating life, or the fact that I wasn’t the right kind of thick. I let everyone define what sexy meant and failed to examine what I wanted (or needed) it to mean for me.

Though I still can’t specifically pinpoint the first time I felt sexy, I can say that it’s a word that doesn’t feel so foreign to me anymore. Sometimes I feel sexy in sweats and a hoodie, while other times it’s when I perfected my wing liner (a rarity, given my astigmatism). But most all, I feel sexiest when I affirm it for myself.