I have been a prolific literotica blogger for a little over five years now, and the job has definitely come with pros and cons. While some of my esteemed audience takes what I write to heart to improve their intimate lives and sometimes relationships, others see my work as a catcall for every thirsty human to come get a piece of my ass. The advances came in e-mails, Twitter DMs, Facebook inboxes and in physical form, especially since I started making TV appearances in Kampala. Some of these were out rightly violent as I documented in a Twitter thread, shaking me to the core. I have been assaulted, body shamed, slut shamed, denied opportunities that I have earned simply because I refused to put out and everything in-between, simply because of my chosen art form. The ramifications of my explicit literotica have worked for me and come to bite me in the ass on several occasions, and if I were a glass half empty person, I would think that the negatives were the universe’s way of telling me to quit this “suicide mission”. Au contraire, it only emphasizes the impact of my work and keeps me going.

Still not

I can guarantee you that the life of a literotica writer is not as glamorous as it may seem; like I said, I was scared by the impact of my work. The good scared and the bad scared. But here’s the thing; if so many people are affected by the content, it means two things; first, people are consuming and interacting with your content, and secondly, they are eager (although sometimes misguided) to try out what they have picked up. The million dollar question therefore is, how do I, as a literotica writer, protect myself from such advances? Personally, I find that question offensive to the maximum, because in this unfortunate culture where rape and sexual assault against women is mostly sneered at and swept under the rug and in some instances applauded, glorified and encouraged (grab ’em by the pussy, anyone?), no amount of protecting myself will stop a pervert from attacking me. All I am left with is my content as my armor and my self defense skills as my sword against potential attackers. 

When I start to type a post, my intention is definitely not to put up a classified ad in search for a sexual partner or  several. My box is well taken care of; thank you for offering but no thanks. My motives have always been two; to educate and entertain. Nevertheless, some of my audience are pigheaded and blinded by lust, to them that is a clear indicator that I am “thirsty”; polite reminder – you are not living water neither are you Christ. Again, I say, I am fine. Many such writers have been forced to blog in anonymity or to altogether give up this beautiful form of literature simply because of the risks posed by a few rotten tomatoes that can barely keep their hands to themselves let alone their pants up. It’s unfortunate, but it is the sad reality. 

I don’t blame these rotten tomatoes though; I blame our society. The very fabric of it is rotten to the very core, firmly entrenched in less than human beliefs and appalling double standards, and very few of us are bothered enough to unearth this rot. This very rot has been made acceptable and normalized in the ugly form of male privilege and female oppression, and if we the female dare speak up, we are labeled insipid, rabid, frigid, sexless, unloved, ugly, bitter and angry, and every negative adjective used to describe feminism today. As women, we are not allowed to be sexual beings, we are not allowed to glorify our bodies in the way we dress and the make up we wear, inter alia. We must exist within the parameters society deems acceptable for women to exist in. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, in her book “We Should All Be Feminists” and quoted by Beyonce in “Flawless” says this of girls:

We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, “You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man.” Because I am female I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support, but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors, not for jobs or for accomplishments – which I think can be a good thing – but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.

Why am I quoting Chimamanda yet the topic is literotica writing and it’s repercussions, you may ask? It’s really simple. First of all, most literotica writers are female, and are prone to sexual assault as a result of the literature they put out. This, sadly, is the society we live in. This is how we are raising our daughters and sons, all the while avoiding the conversations that are regarded as taboo in our culture. As luck may have it, one of those conversations is sex; we leave the kids to go find out on their own how sex works and they end up misusing it, then we display our sanctimonious ire for all to see when things go awry. We also make it our business to shut those who speak openly about sex up – literotica writers and feminists –  labeling them and censoring them, stashing them away in boxes hidden in dank, dark basements. We want the system to work but nobody wants to do the dirty work. 


Fear not, however. There is a silver lining in all this. It is from literotica writing that conversations around sex and sexuality come to the forefront, and the more this information is out there and available, the better for the next generation, and the one after, and the one after. It is a domino effect; one of us steps up, speaks up and fights, the rest follow suit. Rome was not built in a day. So, to any literotica writer out there who may be afraid to pursue this art form, do not be afraid. Come forth with your art, share it with the world and do not be scared into silence. Use your art, use your voice, use your talent and use the platforms available to you. The rotten tomatoes will always be there, but let that be the gasoline to your flame.  And as Kemiyondo (@Kemi_stry), a favorite feminist of mine says, Trust the Process. Hold the Vision. 

Artistic Nude


I  stand before you,

With an apology,

You are going to think it is about you,

Why wouldn’t you?



As I master the perfect face,

Yours will hit “perfect” with Bolt speed,

I will sluggishly catch up,

My dire effort will simulate the picture of a broken, hurting man,



That cocktail of love, care and concern has a careless

way of slipping down one’s eyes.

To break you like I am about to,

is to punch a hole in the mix barrel.

I will hold my tongue.

You will think it’s my ardent fear of vulnerability.



The warmth of your lips will overshadow the coldness of mine,

Breath with the slightest hint of a tremble,

With your eyes you will search mine for an answer;

The right question.

That is all you will need.

You will keep asking if I am alright.



Beyond the surface, a struggle.

You desire me.

I should desire you.

I mean, we men always think with our cocks right?



To know what true love is, is to know what it is not.


I move a lot swifter,

Kiss a lot longer,

Fuck much deeper!

Oh I Fuck!

I Grab,





I cum a lot louder!


Between sighs drenched in after sweat,

I stare, I caress, I whisper, I cuddle,

Only if,

Only when

I Love.

Only then.


In times like these you will confuse this tumultuous thought process

hidden behind a focused stare, for Love in my eyes.




Poem by Khai (@Khai_UG)



He sat between her legs, his hand holding her ankles while he tickled the soles of her feet. She laughed with mirth, her breasts pressed against his back, arm slung over his shoulder and across his chest, and begged him to stop. He wouldn’t. He was having too much fun tickling her, and he liked to think that underneath that short denim skirt was nothing, her womanhood exposed between her parted thighs yet shielded by his back. And he liked feeling her breasts pressed against his back, her chest vibrating from deep within and her nipples rubbing him up and down ever so slightly as a result. He tickled her further, then stopped to let her catch her breath.  Leaning back, he rested his head on her chest, listening to the thumping of her heart while his own thumped. He was already aroused by her; her scent, her laughter, her warmth; he craned his neck and kissed her, holding her by the nape of her neck and thrusting his tongue in her mouth, darting whichever way her tongue didn’t. 


She had barely caught her breath and there he was, kissing her in that maddeningly delicious way he did, turning her on more like she wasn’t already. Seeing the bulge in his pants grow told her what she already knew, him kissing her only meant one thing.  She held his face, kissed him back, let their tongues play hide and seek in her mouth. She wanted to straddle him but before she could finish her thought, he broke away long enough to turn and kneel between her legs, then kissed her once again, her face upturned to his. She had full access to him, and without hesitation, reached for the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed her hand inside them. She held his already throbbing manhood. He was ready. She tightened her grip, rubbed her thumb over his tip and smiled against his lips when he reacted to her touch. She rubbed him while they kissed, and gently, he lowered his pants to his knees while she lowered herself onto the carpet and raised his t-shirt over his head with her free hand. She raised her knees for him, and in one thrust, he was inside her. She gasped into his mouth, at the delight of her flesh parting for his entry and engulfing him, feeling him sink into her. 

He felt glorious inside her. Her warmth and scent intoxicated him, driving him to thrust deeper each time he withdrew. He tweaked her nipples, felt her breasts through her vest then slid his hands to her bare bottom, lifting her up in order to thrust deeper into her. She moaned into his mouth each time he thrust, her fingernails gently digging into his back each time he went deeper. He needed to taste her. He broke their kiss and slid her top off, rubbed his face in her neck while he felt her smooth skin and felt her naked breasts in his hand. He sucked on her nipples, staying long enough to get them moist and erect. He went down, discarding her skirt as he did, sliding it off her long legs and leaving her stark naked, sublime in her skin. He knelt over her, looking down at his glistening and throbbing penis, drank her nakedness in, dipped his head, rubbed his beard on her thighs and kissed her clitoris. She gasped. He smiled. He kissed her again, sucking on it and teasing with his tongue, flicking, swirling and licking, darting in and out of her crevice every now and then. He felt her muscles tensing, then pushed two fingers inside her. He knew her orgasm was looming. 


It felt like she would go mad. He tongue fucked and finger fucked her at the same damn time. How dare he, this man with his head between her thighs! How dare he drive her insane to such lengths, giving her pleasure till she felt lightheaded and couldn’t breathe! Her skin felt tingly, her body quivered, and she felt it. She was climaxing. He knew it too, and flicked his tongue more vigorously over her clitoris and moved his fingers in deeper to rub her g-spot. She moaned his name, eyes closed, back arched, prepared for the orgasm that was about to wash over her body like a tidal wave. And then it hit her. She came so hard, squirting in his mouth, body shaking, chanting his name like a litany, holding his bald head and willing him to move up and let her be. He moved up but didn’t let her be; he thrust inside her and slammed into her incessantly, hard, fast and deep, breathing harshly, wrapping his hand around her neck. Her first orgasm was quickly succeeded by a second, shaking her so violently he was momentarily afraid she would convulse. But that thought was not dwelt on further; he exploded into her while she squirted on him, collapsing on her and cupping her bottom so he could spill his essence deep inside her. She was his, all quivering orgasmic mess that she was, and nobody else’s. 


“If I’m entirely honest,

and you say I must be

I want to stay with you all afternoon

evening, night and tomorrow

pressed into you so tightly that we don’t

know whose belly made what sound,

whose heart it is that is thumping like 


until I don’t know if the sweat on my

chest is yours or mine or ours.”

Yrsa Daley-Ward



I submitted my book to my editors over the weekend and to say I feel good about it is an understatement. I am fucking exhilarated. Thrilled. Divinely elated. Also, I am at a point in my life where I feel much closer to the divine, having walked through fire and come out unscathed, save for a few first degree burns. Writing it was quite the feat, but you’ll have to buy a copy to know what I mean. For now, I’m at a point of self acceptance. As a human being, a woman and a mother. With all my flaws, there could never have been a better version of me. Every experience, both positive and negative, was designed to get me to this very point, so I could move forward. I am the version of me that God put on this earth and continues to perfect during every waking moment. I feel comfortable in my skin; beautiful, sexy, flawless and perfect. I don’t need third party validation to know who I am or tell me how I should feel about my femininity and sexuality. I am unapologetically female and in love with everything about it, in love with being queen. My sexuality is divine. 


Lately, there have been conversations on female sexuality, both glorified and vilified. I too shared my experience on how as women, we have become objects of glorification and ridicule in equal measure, and how being female is increasingly hard in our supposedly “modernized” society. What I don’t understand is why we pretend to be the advanced race yet we act like barbarians, treating women, part of the human race, as mere objects! I wouldn’t even know where to start, honestly. Men, all over the world, seem to have forgotten that they once leased a womb without rent for nine months and came out of a vagina. All those body parts can be found on a woman, just in case you forgot.  Even the most powerful nation in the world put a pussy grabbing misogynist (who has had three wives so he really does love being in a pussy) in power. We have lost our minds. Women are harassed each day; from the handshakes that linger on to a point of discomfort to the catcalls while walking don the street, just because they are female. It doesn’t matter what you do, say or wear; the harassment is lurking in a corner somewhere, just waiting for you to show up.


When we celebrate our sexuality by reveling in it, society shuts us down by calling us names and shaming us in every way imaginable. When go up in arms and defend ourselves against these pussy grabbing men, we are labelled hateful, unloved, cold and unattractive. We can neither fight  for ourselves as a divine sex nor ward off attackers of our sex. We are stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place, and sometimes pushed into this position by our very own sisters. So I wonder, what makes you think that because I am a female and in touch with my sexuality, I am inviting your unsolicited advances? And when I reject your advances, what gives you the right to force your agenda on me? And you, patriarchy princesses, what makes you think that God created women to be doormats? Let me make some things clear; protecting yourself as a woman does not mean you stop doing the things that you love because a man will probably abuse or respect you.  We all deserve respect as human beings, at the very least. The female body is supremely attractive; women are God’s masterpiece of creation. That’s why we were created last and man had to be asleep for God to focus. I’m convinced God is a woman.


I am a woman. I will wear clothes that flatter and accentuate my curvaceous body. I will wear make up. I will wear my crown of hair as I see fit. I will enhance my beauty through body art, because my body is art. And when I wear that outfit that makes my breasts, hips and ass look divine, you can look but you can’t touch. When I wear that lipstick that makes you want to kiss me, if you’re not the person I want to kiss, keep your smelly mouth away from mine. If my naval piercing makes you want to run your tongue down my belly to my petals, keep that thought in your mind if my cookie isn’t yours to eat. And if my nude photos make you publicly outraged and privately desirous of me, miss me with your hypocrisy. Like I said, my sexuality is divine. If you can’t accept that, I pity you. I ain’t sorry.  



Remember the old adage “Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest?” I am sure you do, and that many of us have been in a situation where we want the proverbial forbidden fruit and we can’t quite resist it. You cannot resist the thrill, the rush, the adrenaline and the excitement that comes with this. Nothing beats that high. Be it drugs, a nasty habit, an illicit affair; the fact is that if it is labelled forbidden, you want it even more than you should. The desire to have it is so intense, it hurts like a fire in your belly. You have to have it at all costs. This is what fuels this insatiable need to have it. Sometimes, it’s so intense that you could jeopardize everything you have ever worked for just to get it. No matter the cost, you just must have it. And it is because of this same desire that you end up craving and needing it in seemingly large (and sometimes lethal) proportions, over and over again. 


I have been battling my own insatiable desire for forbidden fruit; that which is either so far away from me or unattainable to me quite literally, yet I want it so badly. I still am. The war inside me to stay away from this has been so strong and raging on for a while now. Sometimes all I want to do is hide from it and pretend that this desire does not exist, but I cannot conceal the fire in my belly. That’s just it; I cannot resist the urge. Maybe I can and I simply do not want to. But for now, I am unable to fight this inexplicable need. It is inside me. It consumes me. This inferno burning bright inside me could very easily raze a small city if I breathed it out like a dragon. It could also cause my own destruction, and with that, desolation. That is how strong the desire is. And how bad it could get. So I gave in to the fire and let it consume and purify me. I surrendered to my need and took a hit. Now I can’t get off it.


Here is what’s even more fucked up about wanting things you cannot have – if it is a substance or habit, it gives you that temporary high and gets you dependent on it; just to feel that rush one more time. If it is a person, they either want you as much as you do them (been there and it is oh so beautiful when the feelings are mutual) or they do not and they end up taking advantage of you, taking your feelings for them for granted and passing it off so cavalier. You give yourself to them in a way you have never given yourself to another. You would do anything for them. Anytime they need you, you are there. They are your favourite drug. Yeah, I have been there too, and it cut me like a hot knife through butter. When it happens and you realize the potential disaster, you do everything to purge them out of your system before it’s too late. You check yourself into rehab because they are your disease. But you are an addict. You cannot let go. And they will not let you. They keep drawing you in and holding you up so high on such a breakable thread. 

I do not know why it is like this, why it has to be like this and why we are designed to be like this. I do not know why we are hard wired to want what we cannot or should not have – I do not have the answers to that. I also do not know why these unattainable or forbidden fruits are the shiny objects that when dangled in front of us, we lose all sense of rationale and logic for the simple purpose of having that one hit that gets us hooked. It just is. Temptation is both so beautiful and so ugly; it is both the devil and angel on both your shoulders. Temptation is a beautiful disaster. It is the test of our will and resolve. See, God has a wicked sense of humour; He gave us this free will that we play with on a daily, and it causes us to put our conscience to the test so frequently. Then again, where there is a will, there is a way, they said. So does our will – God’s gift to mankind – pave the way to temptation? Is our will the very beginning and end of all traces of logic, sanity and order? Somebody tell me.



When we are babies, we are selfish. All we care about is our needs. When we are hungry, we cry. When we are sleepy, we cry. When we are in pain, we cry. If we need attention, we cry. And the world around us pays us the attention we demand, simply because we can not take care of ourselves. As we grow older, we learn to take care of ourselves; take baths on our own, feed ourselves, go to sleep on our own and so on and so forth. That is from our pre-pubescent age right through to the late teens, when we finally have some freedom (college freshmen) and have the autonomy to make certain decisions on our own. The true test of maturity, however, is when we finally learn to take care of others; to be truly selfless. 

Fire Goddess

Every day is a lesson in self discovery for me, and each learning is a key note into my journey to maturity. But in order to get to that point of maturity, I must grow. 1 Corinthians 13:11 says, “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a (wo)man, I set aside childish ways.” To set aside childish ways is a lot harder that one thinks; it is not only a matter of responsibility. It is a journey that requires one to ask themselves really hard questions; some of them unpleasant but still necessary. None of us is perfect and we never quite figure life out, but once we learn to take ourselves in our perfect imperfections, forgive ourselves and forgive others, be accountable and live in our truth each day, life becomes a journey worth living. Once all that is in perspective, we are not only driven by survival; our survival drives us to satisfaction but in truth, we should be driven by significance.

What is the point of all this, you may ask. What is Red up to? Has she been hacked? No, I have not been hacked. I have learned to embrace myself in my perfect imperfections, and I am learning to live in my truth each and every day. I am making a conscious and concerted effort to be better today than I was yesterday, and I need not use any particular persona for different reasons. I am MarieNate. I am RedLipsteeq. I am Nerima. All three personas make me the flawed woman that I am today. And I have embraced them all into me, Nerima, my parents’ daughter, child of God, mother of Nathaniel, Khaleesi.


For true rebirth to occur, there must be fire. If you watch Game of Thrones, you know that each time the Khaleesi walks through fire, she comes out of it stronger than before. More confident in her role as mother of dragons and freer of slaves, more convicted in her rightful claim to the Iron Throne. I have never walked through physical flames (the title “unburnt” does not quite suit me) but I have certainly been through the flames. They did not kill me; they made me stronger. Better. Am I better than I was before? To an extent, yes. Wiser? Undoubtedly. Surer of myself? Certainly more than I was years – or even weeks – ago.

I have not changed, and I have not rebranded. I have just worn my many little tiaras as one crown. I will still write my “controversial” blog posts; I will still throw a spanner in the works in the middle of your work day and I will still be me. I just need to do that on a different weekday; Thursdays have recently become insane for me. So no; RedLipsteeq is not dead. Neither is MarieNate. They are both very much alive… within Nerima – @MsNerima on Twitter and @missnerima on Instagram.  Wearing the same crown they always have, amalgamated into one. I may not be at the zenith of my self discovery but I sure as heck am on my way there. Are you?



  1. 1.
    permission for something to happen or agreement to do something.
    “no change may be made without the consent of all the partners”
  1. 1.
    give permission for something to happen.
    “he consented to a search by a detective”
    synonyms: agree to, assent to, yield to, give in to, submit to;

    allow, give permission for,sanction, accept, approve, go along with
    “she consented to surgery”

    Now that that is out of the way, listen to me now. This is real talk. There has been a raging debate on rape, sexual assault and all matters sexual in relation to consent. I find it ludicrous that there is a debate at all, with reasons as stupid as women’s dress code taking center stage in this circus that only seeks to validate misogyny and the continued abuse of women. That is a story for another day though; if I ever feel like talking about such rubbish! I am going to talk about a whole other spectrum of consensual sex; marital sex. When people finally decide to share their lives with a person of their choosing in holy matrimony, the foregone conclusion is that they have agreed to do this thing called life together, through the good, the bad, the ups and the downs and are in agreement most, if not all the time. Heck, marriage vows highlight all this. 


    Things get  a little murky when it comes to sex and submission of wives to husbands; if the wife is not in the mood to have sex for whatever reason, does that mean she is not a submissive wife? Is it within her husband’s rights to force her into sex anyway? Marital rape is a real thing guys, and because sex in marriage is expected, no one will ever listen to a woman who claims she was raped by her husband. The evidence will not hold in any court of law, because it is expected of wives to have sex with their husbands  by law and of course, by religion. Whichever way you look at it, marital rape is difficult to prove and prosecute, but the victims live with the burden and remorse hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives. They too, become rape victims, just that their cases are not considered as such because, well, they are married to these men and should therefore not deny them their right. Sad! 

    Plenty of things hurt women, but there is nothing as hurtful as being violated so intimately, especially by the person who is supposed to be your partner in life. The hurt, betrayal, shame, guilt and remorse are just the tip of what they have to deal with. Self loathing quickly creeps in, followed by questions that will probably never be answered. From the self loathing comes resentment towards the perpetrator, and just like that, a lifelong partnership has an ominous cloud looming over it. Imagine how a rape victim feels after the ordeal, perpetrated by a stranger. Now think about it if you have to share a bed, a home, children and a life with the person who violated you so intimately and hurt you so deeply. 


    Ephesians 5:22-33 

    22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

    25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26 to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, 27 and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. 28 In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.

    That said, consent is not only for people that aren’t married. Consent is for everyone. The Bible says that he who loves his wife loves himself, and it also says love is kind. Treat each other with kindness, and the same kindness will be accorded to you in full measure. Let us not ignore marital rape, and let us not stay silent. It happens, and we must fight as fervently for marital rape victims as we do for all the other rape victims. Rape is rape, no matter the circumstances. As long as there is no consent on one side, that, my friends, is rape. Don’t justify it by citing relationship status; it remains a crime. 



Yes, I’m back. 2016 has so far been quite interesting; it is the age of “sponsors” and “blessers” and whatever else the millennials call them. Just in case you didn’t know who / what a sponsor / blesser does, fear not. Many people don’t know what that job description entails. But, it really refers to an older man / woman in a relationship with a younger person of the same or opposite sex, that may or may not entail the exchange of sex for material and financial gain. Lets call them sugar daddies and sugar mummies version 2.16. 

Sugar Daddy

Lots of girls and boys today are all about that blesser life; and living for “the gram”. Well, that’s their poison. But what are you getting yourself into? You get into a relationship with someone old enough to be your parent or grandparent, who won’t settle down with you (highly likely) then when they are no longer there, you set unrealistic standards for the person you eventually want to settle down with and probably have kids with. You keep taking the gifts and money, blowing through it faster than Katrina blew through New Orleans and when the Vitz, apartment and all the fringe benefits dry up, you are back to square one. What next? 

I am not here to bash “blesees” or whatever they are called. Call me your fairy godmother. You are obviously doing this for the fancy life; if that is your grind, well and good. But, be smart about it. Keep in mind that such relationships are unsustainable, and even you will get tired of jumping from one blesser to the next (that is if you stay alive through all of them), and I am pretty sure none of you want to spend the rest of your lives being Becky with the good hair. Jesus did not die for this. Every time you raise your skirt / drop your pants for a cheque, think of a long term investment plan. Think bigger than that quick, unsatisfying and notably cringe-worthy romp.  Think of your future (if any) and invest in it. And stay safe; these people have been around much, much longer than you! 


Of course, it would be nice to have someone take care of you and all your desires. Of course, it feels even better to have it all from your own hard work and sweat. Shout out to all the ladies and gentlemen out here who earn their money by using their thinking organs. To you, little prostitutes, keep in mind that we are all prostitutes but for different causes. Some people are prostitutes for peace, success, clean energy, equal rights, basic human rights, access to clean water, education for all and all manner of noble causes. The difference between them and you is they prostitute their skills for good, while you do yours for Instagram and Snap Chat. Just remember that having an erection is NOT personal growth, and material things fade. Be smart before you die. You’re welcome. 




It has been so long, since I last wrote anything. For the most part, I am ashamed of myself and I apologize for the inconsistency. However, I was going through a couple of processes that needed my regular absence from you. But here I am, back on these very pages, pouring my soul into them and hoping for some sort of reprise or other. Pardon me; where are my manners? How have you guys been? How has life been to you over the past few months? Are you achieving your goals? Keeping your lovers content? Making peace instead of war?

I realize I had made war before I got to this point. There is some shit I am guilty of that I am not in the least proud of, and God knows making amends and making it right is at the top of my list. While there is no excuse for my behaviour, there is the intrinsic nature that tells me I KNOW BETTER and therefore, I should have done better. But here I am, trying to ask the internet for forgiveness but the truth is, the internet does not give a damn. People who matter to you do, so don’t go breaking their hearts and doing them wrong. 

I could have written more, but I will not. I just wanted you to know that I’m here now, and will be here every week. 



Last Thursday, Siima wrote an awesome post about staying out of her business and out of her  uterus. I share the same sentiments with her. Who made it everyone’s business what a woman does with her uterus? Is it not private property? When did it become communally owned? Who died and made you the global uterus prefect? I have been blessed with one child so far, a healthy, curious, energetic young man that I obviously dote on. The second I got married however, I was expected to be pregnant within 30 seconds of the honeymoon, and the pressure came from every imaginable corner. My parents seemed to be the only ones that had an inkling into the plans we had as a young family, but no one cared about that. Seriously, what the utter fuck?


This is where I have a problem with the “when are you having a baby / baby number two” question: how is my uterus (and anyone else’s for that matter) ANY of your business? People assume that everything fits just right like a glove and the second a woman of a certain age, or one that has already had a child (such as myself) gets married or announces that they are in a stable relationship, they are expected to start churning out babies like it’s going out of fashion. Here is one thing you forget; having a baby is as much a couple’s private business as it is God’s plan and desire for their lives. A lot goes into the baby making process with sex being the fun part, but that’s really as far as humans can go if you count prayer.

When you ask a woman when she is having a baby, this is what you are subconsciously saying to her: “When shall you prove your womanhood?” “Is that uterus you carry around working or is it broken?” “Don’t you want to carry on the man’s lineage?” “When do you plan to pay the man’s bride price?” “Are you having regular sex with your man?” “Did you use contraceptives so much that you can’t carry a pregnancy?” And so on and so forth. That one question is equal parts pressure and acute depression, because you don’t know what different people go through before having a baby is feasible. You don’t know their struggles with pregnancy. You are not God, so stop asking that damn question already!


Plenty of reasons are floating around as to why some couples do not have babies by a certain age and stage in their lives. It could be by choice or it could be a health issue; they are in multiples. A lot of factors cause the inability to have offspring very real for both men and women, and the conditions are not getting any better to favour issuance of progeny. Some of them are reversible, others irreversible. For women, some of these conditions include preeclampsia, hostile immune systems that cause multiple miscarriages, miscarriages that irrevocably damage the uterus, fibroids, recurring ovarian cysts, cervical, uterine and ovarian cancer, dual ectopic pregnancies; to mention but a few. Some men battle with low sperm count, erectile dysfunction, prostate cancer, obesity and a host of other problems. Some causes are unisex, like hormonal problems. In the face of these, it is both highly negligent and ignorant of anyone outside that particular baby making equation to go wagging their tongues asking about offspring that isn’t a product of their loins. Keep quiet.


Women are not baby making factories; they are human beings with goals, dreams, ambitions, plans and aspirations. You poking your noses into their wombs is the highest level of invasion of privacy known to woman. Let them be. If you are not the significant other and you are definitely not God, it is not your place or mandate to ask that question. It is absolutely none of your damn business. Children are a gift from God, and they come when HE deems the time and conditions are right. I mean, if Sarah and Abraham had their first son so late in life, who are you to question a late 20 something – mid 30 something year old woman? We have enough problems as it is; if you’re so keen on someone else having a baby, make your own. The next person to ask me that annoying question risks pulverization.