Religion and Class


We were talking about intersectionality in my class today, and we looked at social locations (like as race/ethnicity, indigeneity, gender, class, sexuality, geography, age, disability/ability, level of education, occupation, migration status and religion) and how they shape the way a person interacts with the world and the way the world interacts with that person.

The reason why many white people go “what the hell are you talking about?” when you tell them that they have white privilege is that they may be disadvantaged in many other ways at the same time. If an able-bodied, straight dark-skinned African woman with a PhD tells a white, differently-abled, lesbian who only has a high school diploma and is working in a factory that she has “privilege”, she might take offence, like “what privilege?” There’s a good chance that the white woman would not be followed around a store or racially profiled by the police, PhD or not. There’s also a good chance that the black woman would be able to attend certain meetings and functions at the University of Toronto that the white woman may never get invitation letters for. 


The fact remains that a person could be privileged and oppressed at the same time- privileged in some areas and disadvantaged in some- based on the several different social locations that they fall into. I didn’t choose to be black and you didn’t choose to be white. It would be very wrong to guilt trip you based on your race, and if I say that H&M is terrible when it comes to hiring, I’d expect you to understand where I’m coming from.

What stood out to me, however, was religion. My mind drifted off and I had to try to bring myself back to the setting because I focused on it intensely- religion.

If you do not practise Christianity or Islam in Nigeria, you could very well be looked down upon in different social settings, and that is a fact. If it is not Christianity or Islam, it is demonic, and it must be cast and bound. One could wear a hijab or wear a necklace with a cross pendant in most parts of Nigeria without any problem, but as soon as they come out with an opele ifa or wear their ide to main settings, there would be a problem.

With the “you and your generation will go to hell” threats and all sorts of harassment and fuckery, you almost have to hide in a way. I see it now, that religion is very related, not just to culture, but to class, hierarchies and discrimination.


What Happened Today?

I did a quick spread before it was time for me to take the bus, just to know how my day was going to be. It was around 1.20 pm or so. I hoped that a reference would be made to the test that I was about to write, and whether (or not) I would do fine.

When I flipped the first card and got the 8 of Spades, I got very uncomfortable. I don’t like seeing spades in my spreads so much. The 8 of Spades is a card of disappointment, illness, imbalance and restriction, depending on the context, and it wasn’t what I was looking for, but since it was a 5-card spread, I flipped the rest of the cards to see what it was about. I got the King of Diamonds, the Queen of Hearts, 10 of Hearts and the Jack of Clubs. 
I knew that I was the Queen of Hearts immediately. The reading was about me and my day, so I appeared as the middle card.

“Who is this King of Diamonds?” The 8 of Diamonds is also an “unreciprocated love” card [imbalance, remember?] Since the King of Diamonds wasn’t facing me, I considered an unreciprocated love situation. Mtchew. “That’s not going to happen”, I thought. I have been through so much emotional turmoil in the past months that I don’t see myself falling in love with any man anytime soon. It had to be something else. 

“Who is the third person that is being represented by the Jack of Clubs?” The King of Diamonds could be a doctor- a professional. The Jack of Clubs could be a young male or female. The Jack of Clubs could be an active person, since clubs are “active” cards. The 8 of Spades could be a medical exam. ‘Oh, wait!” I began to hope that the Jack of Clubs was not my brother, and that the man- the King of Diamonds- was not a doctor performing a medical exam on him. My brother engages in sports (clubs), and I was invited to his school a year or two ago to take him home when he had a kink. The 10 of Hearts made me assume that it was my brother, since it’s the “happy” card, and I do share happy times with my brother. I don’t have an active sister; I don’t even have a sister.

“Come to think of it though. The Jack is so far away from the 8 of Spades. They should be side by side if my brother is going to have the wound. It can’t be my brother.”

Matt 1

I positioned the cards so that the 1st would mirror the last, and the 2nd cards would mirror the 4th, to make life easier for me. Could it be that I would come across a man who would be suffering from a sort of imbalance, and that the Jack of Clubs would have something to do with it, since the Jack of Clubs was mirroring the 8 of Spades? 

I couldn’t tell, so I chose to wait. The question I had asked was so broad that I couldn’t understand what my guides had told me. 


The King of Diamonds turned out to be my professor. He was so hurt and unbalanced in class today- so emotionally upset (8 of Spades). I was looking at him and he was trying to look away because he was crying, which explains why he had his backed turned to me.


It was because one of my classmates had passed away. He fell into a coma [mental imbalance- 8 of Spades] after he had a car accident during the weekend, and he crossed to the other side a few days after. The 8 of Spades mirroring the Jack of Clubs meant that my classmate was the reason for my professor’s hurt.

The 10 of Hearts is happiness, amusement, victory. My professor’s class is usually very fun, but that he was turning his back on “happiness” today and facing the 8 of Spades meant that something was going to/had gone wrong. The 10 of Hearts card between me and Matt, his name was Matt, meant that we had shared happy times in class. We had enjoyed my professor’s class when he was alive. 

I cried; I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t close to him but I’m still very visibly shaken by his demise. It’s 3.30 am and I feel very weak, physically and emotionally. He was such an intelligent, peaceful guy, and he had a very dreamy way of looking at a person whenever they were contributing to the discussion in class. He didn’t really say much when it was his turn.

Oh, his eyes! His eyes were so beautiful. I only got to know today that he served in the military a few years ago, so he was a “clubs” guy- active.

Matt, I will miss you. You were so precious; you will always be.

Matt Vintinner

Matt V.


She Took the Midnight Train Going Anywhere


…and she let out a mild giggle as she looked out the window [😂 the one on the other side of the train, smartass]. Yes! It was finally happening. 

She breathed the air in slowly, and although it was not as fresh as she had dreamt it would be, it was not that bad, plus it did not smell like human’s sweaty and dirty body, and his musty clothes. 

“A bitch has no collar. A bitch has no owner. A bitch has no name. A bitch’s not the same. A bitch has no soul. A bitch is, at last, on her own”, she muttered, before closing her eyes.

She thought about going to doggo’s house, kissing his butt and licking his ears, then lying down, with her back on the ground, and as soon as he came closer, releasing hot urine into his face. She giggled again. 

“A bitch is free. This bitch.”


The Man of My Dreams

Many times a week, after we stopped talking, I would have several dreams of him- terribly stressful dreams that would make me cry. In those dreams, I would anxiously wait for him in the church that I grew up in, that we grew up in- where we first met, or in an unknown, deserted place, but he would ignore me.

He never remembered our initial meeting when we first began to talk, as much as I tried to get him to, but I did, very clearly. He was with his friends, and since they were so tall, they looked intimidating to me. He stretched his right hand out towards me and I put mine in his briefly, before asking my question. The question was about a creative-arts program that was to be held, if I remember correctly. I thanked him, and walked back to my guardian or friend, I cannot remember which.

The dream that made me cry the most was the one in which I was talking to him but he was avoiding eye contact and walking away, leaving me in an unknown place.

I had a very similar dream before we stopped talking, and I narrated everything that I could remember to him. I had not been in contact with him for over a week at that time and I was beginning to worry, and as soon as I remembered the dream, after he texted me, I gave him the details. I did not understand that it was a prediction then, and that a little excuse for walking away was all that he needed. We had a little, insignificant quarrel, and he milked the argument so much that my heart lost its perkiness.

Nine months after, just when I thought that I had moved on, that my soul was healed and I was free, although I had occasionally, very intensely hoped that he would text me, I saw him again. It looked like a children’s program was being held at the church. I sat and waited for him in one of the seats at the back, and I saw him pass me by. He did not notice me.

He looked very sad, and his hair was so full and unkempt. I had never seen that much hair on his head. I watched him sit on one of the chairs at the front of the hall. I wanted to walk over to him to say hello but I could not. In the first few dreams, I did the talking. In all the other ones, neither of us spoke to the other. I only watched him and hoped that he would talk to me, but that was it.

After he sat, I went over to the speaker who had the microphone and whispered something into her ears about the children she was addressing. The few sentences that I made were acknowledged- she nodded. I walked back towards my seat and out of the hall, hoping that the distraction would make him notice me. I made sure not to look at him this time.

Ileke idi

I went into a little room with a sleeping mat on it and I laid down. Immediately I dozed off, someone banged on the door. I jolted out of my sleep and screamed his name. I looked up to see if it was him, but it was not. It was my younger brother. He made fun of me the way he does every time any reference to him- the him- is made in my home.

I woke up, and asides the perspiration and tiredness that I noticed, my muscles were sore. My whole being was sore; I cried like never before.

This is me coming to terms that it is over, that he is not coming back, that I have left that church, that he does not love me as much, or at all. This is me letting go off the broken karmic tie and resigning to fate. This is me dying, accepting that my yin will never be balanced with his yang. This is me at the funeral of our attraction and love that died long ago. This is the ninth month, and when I had the dream at around 8 pm today, I birthed my stillborn.

Winslow Homer - The Gulf Stream


Let Your Compliments Complement

“Classical Study No. 37,” from 1979. Credit Eldzier Cortor, Michael Rosenfeld Gallery, LLC, New York

“Classical Study No. 37,” from 1979. Eldzier Cortor, Michael Rosenfeld Gallery, LLC, New York

You don’t have to belittle yourself to successfully offer a compliment to someone:

One person screams “dahuuumm, girl! This your highlight is brighter than my future. You’re so peng”. The other girl laughs.

Ah! Jesu Oyingbo must hear of this.

I’m sitting there, looking at the highlight, looking at the girl that offered the compliment, looking back at the highlight, not knowing whether to laugh [because I laugh at weird things that don’t make other people laugh; I make my own jokes and scenarios in my head] or cry because Sade’s future is so bleak, according to her, and there’s nothing I can do for her.


My Sister Has Six Legs


by Tim Okamura

Don’t ever make a conclusion on a person’s character or self, solely based on hearsay. If you would not believe that my sister has six legs simply because I’ve said so, until you see a picture of her and her six legs, don’t conclude that a person is an angel, a devil or something else in-between because someone else has told you to.

I don’t have a sister that has six legs.

If I had told you that my sister had a leg instead, you probably would have believed it because it sounds very realistic that a person would have just one. Then you tell someone else that my sister has just one leg and (she had an accident when she was four or she had an infection or whatever you come up with). The dissemination cycle continues- they tell someone else, and the someone else tells someone else. Now, everyone is beginning to look at me strangely because my sister has one leg and I ate the other one. Everyone is being mean to me because I eat human flesh, and they don’t want to be eaten. No one has taken any of the information or gossip with a grain of salt.

Well, I don’t have a sister at all. 


26+ Questions to Consider in a Love Relationship


“Osun” [Artist Unknown]

Ask yourself these questions about your significant other:

1. Do they make me feel safe?
2. Do they make me feel anxious?
3. Do they make me feel less than they are, or do they make me feel like their equal?
4. Do they boost my self-esteem or kill it?
5. Do they make me smile or laugh?
6. Do they appreciate my talents and work, however amateur?
7. Has this person shown me that I can trust them?
8. Would I consider them a good person?
9. Are they appreciative?
10. Are they loving/caring?
11. Do they respect me?
12. Do they apologize whenever they are wrong?
13. Do they want what’s best for them, or what’s best for us?
14. Do they understand me, or have a desire to?
15. Do they want to hear me speak, and do they listen when I do?
16. Do they make plans to see me and stick to them?
17. Do we share similar values?
18. Have they hinted that they are not interested in a relationship?
19. Have I been honest with what I’m looking for in a partner?
20. Am I just lonely or do I enjoy spending time with them?
21. Do I think they’re physically attractive? Is that the only reason I like them?
22. If I was in trouble, could I call this person and ask for help?
23. Do I think he/she loves me? How have they shown it to me that they do, if they claim to?
24. Has this person physically or verbally abused me, directly or indirectly?
25. Would I trust this person to be around my children?
26. What does this person lack that I said I really wanted in a partner? Would I be okay/happy without it?

Written by Reid [] + Aderonke []


The Representation of the Working Class in the Media

Peasant with a Wheelbarrow by Jean Francois Millet

“Peasant with a Wheelbarrow” by Jean Francois Millet

Nollywood movies, to begin with, are now increasingly becoming movies for the rich. Look at the “normal”, sophisticated settings that are used for the produced plays- beautiful sofas, expensive paintings, large compounds, one or more workers, expensive clothes, suggestions/mentions of easy access to foreign countries… I don’t need to keep counting. The actors, who often are members of the working class in essence themselves, tend to promote the upper-class as ideal.

The realities of working-class families are barely ever represented, and when they are, they are presented as comedies- situations to be laughed at or mocked- lots of children, dirty wives and numerous exchange of words. Gatemen or security guards, in Yoruba Nollywood movies, to be specific, are represented as extremely retarded. Even when they suffer gross levels of workplace abuses, the audience is tempted to even insult them more, and laugh- “ha ha ha”.

When these realities don’t appear as a comedy, they are presented as pitiful- a character is presented as either suffering so terribly, experiencing an illness or the death of a loved one, or as being very close to death, and suddenly, by the end of the movie, they would “magically” [usually by some sort of unrealistic luck] become members of the upper class.

"Bouquet' by an unknown artist

Being a member of the working/lower class is seen as extremely pathetic; something to be avoided at all cost. No honest, hard-working member of the working class is ever presented as truly happy. They never enjoy the joys of being with family; they never go to parties as normal people or possess dignity in their labour. They are only made to serve the rich in many plays; their own achievements- no matter how “little” or “basic” they might be to the members of the upper class- are never shown/celebrated, until, of course, they become members of the upper class.

Even when the working-class members of the audience can relate to the produced stories, they often find it really hard to relate to the rich settings and everything else that they are presented with.
No one is taking the bus except they are about to be kidnapped; no one is in the market buying foodstuff; no one is wearing simple clothes… It does terrible things to the subconscious in the long run- feelings of worthlessness, to begin with.

The general media is becoming more race-conscious and class-blind (in the aforementioned way), and it’s sick. It’s quite sick. 



I am a ‘Witch’. Be One Too! ;)



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A person left two comments on one of my recent Instagram posts- paintings of Osun- earlier in the day, asking me to give them 5000 naira for their sick father. Of course, I went to their page to see who they were and that. This guy followed my page and ‘unfollowed’ at some point, but I checked the page when he followed and I became familiar with it.

Anyway, when I got to the page today, I saw a picture of a man lying down with urinary issues but something kept telling me that it was fake- fake, as in, that was not his father. I might be psychic, but I’ve never really trusted my intuition alone as much as I should, so I rely on my cards mainly. I was going to ask him to send his account no. but something kept holding me back, so I asked my guides for clarity. I didn’t use the tarot; I used my cartomancy playing cards.

Lo and behold! It turned out to be a “no”. Two Blacks, one Red says “no” right off the bat. The 5 of Diamonds tells me that he thought about it- he came up with the idea to use a sorrowful situation- 5 of Spades- to swindle people; it’s a lie- 10 of Spades.

Well, I told him that he was lying, if you are already wondering, and at that moment, his eyes were opened. Asides the fact that I immediately made him ‘happy’ since he was ‘in tears’ earlier, he was able to detect the very secret that I’ve been hiding for so long- that I’m a young [not old] witch. Also, I’m a deity-lover. “Mo layo lati so fun yin”- it is with joy that I’m notifying you that I’m also the devil’s personal assistant.

I am thankful to whatever spirit it was that held me back. These are the days of fuckery, my brothers and sisters; roll safe. Listen to your intuition, be weary of gimmicks, and be willing to call people out on their dishonesty.