Society of the perpetually outraged

Social media has become a hellhole. A watering hole for the society of the perpetually outraged. A nirvana for people so immensely talented in the art of extracting offense from the highest praise. Heaven for those who jump out of bed in the morning with the sole aim of reaching their outrage quota; those who live by the motto “take offense first and understand later

The citizens of the society of the eternally offended have become mindless zombies, fueled by their righteous anger and nourished by think-pieces and thirty-tweet threads. There is no original thought in this new society; its citizens peek out of their covens to gauge the general consensus and then furiously type out dissertations that reiterate these opinions. They must be careful not to stray too far from what everyone believes lest they find themselves cancelled with a t and an exclamation mark. These worker bees buzz around the web, tirelessly sifting out the asleep and the slightly dozing off, burrowing deep in search for employment information with which to punish these errant deviants.

The citizens of the society of the perpetually offended are so voracious and dedicated that they will consume their own from time to time. They patiently lie in wait for anyone-even a fellow citizen- to forget to cross their Ts and they pounce. An erstwhile prominent offence taker and outrage expresser is cut down mercilessly by fellow citizens who admit they always knew this person was problematic all along. The bottle is spun again and it is the turn for another offense taker who was just taking offense at a fellow offense taker to be put down. Slowly, everyone is torched, but they bounce back quick. They have to, a spot in this society is never open for too long before someone runs in and fills it with their own fifteen dollars and seventy five cents words.

They steamroll their way through the interwebs, flattening every and anything in their wake. If Jesus descended today from the heavens to heal the world in a chariot of fire surrounded by a million angels, he would be cancelled with a t and an exclamation mark for reasons that will be outlined in no less than one thousand tablets filled with words make sense to the members of this society and no one else. Then another faction of this society will creep up to cancel these people for cancelling Jesus and will in no less than two thousands tablets outline the reasons why the cancellation of Jesus is really the real problem. The People for the Ethical Treatment of Stones (PETS) will then unleash an incoherent rant asking why we write on stones and not on babies; why do we breastfeed our babies but leave the stones to fend for themselves?

The slogan of this society is See the offense you want to see in the world. Offense can be drawn from every single thing-cotton candy, a baby’s laughter, a drop of rain- and if you do not agree with this then you are the reason for world hunger and global warming and you are cancelled with a t and an exclamation mark.



I remember the moment I stopped feeling.

Yet another bomb had been detonated
Scores of people had died yet again

As usual, I grabbed my phone and made to join those already furiously criticising the evil. This was an act I had performed over and over again but this time I could not find the words-or the will.

I was tired.

What could I say that I haven’t already said?
All the curses have been uttered;
All the anger expressed
The perpetrators damned to hell over and over again.

How many more ways could I condemn the evil,
when even as I say it I know it is only a matter of time before the next one?

My thoughts are with…
Pray for…
The hottest part of hell belongs to…


Rest in Peace.
Utterly meaningless.

What exactly do we mean when we tell people to be careful?
“Watch out for any bombs!”
“Be careful not to get killed!”



What’s in a name? (2)

Is it not strange that we impose on others rules that we have created and then discriminate against them based on these rules?

In many parts of the world the male child is revered while the girl child is a consolation prize; the dry bread you chew on absentmindedly while waiting for your main course to arrive.

I asked the elders: why is the boy child preferred to the girl child?
Well, they said, a girl cannot carry on the family name. She will marry and change her name. The boy is more valuable because the lineage lives through him.

Wait a minute. Aren’t we the ones who made it so that the female has to change her name? Her X chromosome does not dictate what name she bears. There is nothing in her makeup that says she must change her name; same way there is no reason the boy cannot change his. Aren’t we the ones who say children must take their father’s names and not their mother’s? We have painted the fish pink and then banned pink fish from the ocean.
The solution is simple. We must allow women to keep their names if they want. Let children bear their mother’s name. Let the lineage live through the one who births it.

Shut up. You women of now-a-days want too much.


What’s in a name?

A woman’s lifespan as chattel begins the day she is born.

Two babies are born: one male, one female.
They are christened Mr. X and Miss X in the names of their first owner.

He will remain Mr.X until the day he dies, barring this and that
He belongs to himself and himself alone. His name reflects that.

She belongs to whatever male owns her at the time; her names reflect this.

She will be Miss X until she marries Mr.Y, at which point she becomes Mrs Y. If things go well, this will be the only change she makes. She will forget about ever being Miss X and completely immerse herself in her new identity. All her children will be Y with no trace of her original identity.

But things do not always go right. Mr. and Mrs Y decide to split up. He remains Mr. Y.

The divorce is barely official and the whispers begin:
“Why is she still bearing his name”?
“My children are Y and I want to have the same name as my children.”
“Irrelevant!” the crowd yells. “You no longer belong to him and must must return to being Miss X until you find a new owner who will give you his name.”
“But this has been my name for 20 years. It is my identity.”
“It is his name! Move on!”

Little Miss Y sees this and says to herself: “I will never change my name. If my brother does not have to worry about this, then why should I?” She marries the thorn of her flesh and does the unthinkable: does not change her name to reflect new ownership.

The crowd goes mental. “What is this madness?” they rage! “Women of now-a-days are ruining everything!” The crowd tear out their hair and roll around in ashes, stricken with grief and insanity.  Men who die with the names they are born are the most confused. Men who do not even have to change their title-Mr. at birth and at death and everything in between- do not understand why this woman would want to keep her name.

The more rational people in the crowd say: “Okay, even if we permit you to keep your name, what title will you use? Will you be Miss or Mrs? You are married but you still have your old owner’s name so how will this work?” They smirk, pleased at having trapped her in this conundrum.  How shall she escape this dead end?

“Well I will be Ms. Y”
“Ms? Isn’t that for old unmarried spinsters?”
“No. It’s the female equivalent of Mr. It can be used by all women: single, married, divorced, widowed, old, young.”
“Have you at least considered hyphenating your surname and being Mrs Y-Z? It’s not ideal but it is still better than this nonsense.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why don’t you want to take your husband’s name? Are you ashamed of him?”
“Why doesn’t he take my name? Is he ashamed of me?”
The crowd goes berserk, incandescent with rage.
“Arrrghhh women of now-a-days have ruined everything! Fuck you feminism!”

“That’s not all,”says Ms. Y. “Mr. Z and I are having a baby, and all our children will have both our names.”

The crowd spontaneously combusts.

Women of now-a-days

There once was a man and a woman who lived in a shoe.

The man had his role to play
Build, hunt, and protect.

and the woman did too
Cook clean and birth the young

There once was a man and a woman who lived in a shoe.
Women aren’t women anymore! The angry man grumbled
Our grandmothers always had food on the table
and the house was always spotless
Our grandfathers dared not enter the kitchen or pick up a broom

Women of now-a-days want to outsource the cooking,
he spits angrily and bangs his fist on the table
Crack! Oh crap. He will have to call the carpenter to fix that.

What is that sound?
Drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drip drip!
Ugh the bloody tap. Wasn’t the plumber just here a few days ago? By God, it is impossible to get reliable help these days.

Why just the other day, the mechanic tried to fleece him. And what about the builders who he hired to build the house. It took them almost a year over budgeted time to finish.

His stomach grumbles. He hopes she picked up some chicken at the store. He is craving a nice chicken stew.

What is taking her so long? She is going to come back from work claiming to be tired-like he doesn’t work as well– and then suggest he eats something she bought. Imagine that! Women of now-a-days. Our mothers wouldn’t have dared you know. They raised the children and cooked feasts without complaints!

He feels a cold coming on. He must remember to book a doctor’s appointment, lest it be fatal.

Ugh it’s time to pay school fees again. She really needs to start pulling her weight financially.  She works as well so there is no reason she shouldn’t pay half the bills.   After all isn’t that what feminists want?

Cook, clean, birth the young+provide
Pay someone to build, eat what another has hunted, provide part of it

Women of now-a-days.



Unpopular Opinion

Ahmed’s clock was not a clock

A contraption in a suitcase
Not a clock
It might have started out as a clock
by the time the mischievous boy dismantled it and put the carcass in a suitcase
Nope. Not a clock.

We can stand and still say that thing did not look like a clock
A passerby does not see that on a bench and wonder what time it is
The time is the furthest thing from the mind of a person who stumbles upon this invention
Open suitcase with wires strewn everywhere
What else could it be if not a clock?
It did not look like a clock

The only thing that made it a clock is that they said it was
What is that? would have been the question if they hadn’t said it was a clock beforehand
“Ohmygoodness is that a…?”
Wise people to have prepared the ground first
so by the time the clock was unveiled everyone was already standing
The Powers That Be agreed that this was a time telling device invented by the boy
and no one wanted to be the fool who said Not a clock
                                          You know how they get
and so the Emperor walked around the town naked.

Get out…

…leave! right now. It’s the end of you and me….

I just saw Get Out a few hours ago and it is a good film. (I started writing this almost a week ago)

My interest was piqued by the comments I kept seeing about this film. People talked a lot about how the film opened their eyes to the dangers of Black-White interracial dating; oh after watching the film they would never date White girls anymore. People spoke of sightings of interracial couples in the theatre and how awkward that must have been. Even interracial couples wrote about how the film made them feel. There was a girl who joked that black men had stopped hitting on her since the movie came out, and some people took offense to this tweet, accusing the girl of taking racism lightly.

Needless to say, I was very much looking forward to seeing this film. When I found out it had finally come out to a cinema near me, I immediately booked a ticket and went to see it.

I had seen tweets about how the film is best watched in a theatre full of black people. Well the theatre that played it was a small one, we were probably just 20 (or less) people there and most of the people there were white. Still I was so excited to watch it. When an interracial couple walked in-Black man, White woman-I chuckled and thought ooooh it’s lit (or whatever it is young’uns say).

The film was good and I did not feel as if I wasted my money, which is always a good thing. It was however a bit different from what I expected, possibly because I did not watch the trailer. Due to all the discussions about race, I expected it to be more along the lines of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. In short, I expected it to be more awkward. When people said they would not want to go to a White person’s house after seeing the film, I assumed there were lots of awkward, in depth, soul searching conversations about race. When it was said that the film highlights problematic moderate white people, I expected to the white characters to be one of those “I am colour-blind and I don’t see colour it don’t matter if you’re orange or green” kind of people. I expected the white people to be those white allies who truly believe in their hearts that they are good people, who really try to uphold principles of fairness and equality but who still have vestiges of hate and discrimination buried deep within. I expected them to be one of those “I am so sorry you had to go through that ❤️'” people; one of those who ruthlessly attack others for even thinking politically incorrect thoughts; liberals who take offense to everything and seem to be even more outraged than Black people. In short, I expected the characters in the film to be forced to confront their own racism; racism that they may not even have been aware of.I expected them to truly believe they are liberal and then realise that they are not all that better than the alt-right people they condemn.

Or something like that.

But the White people in Get Out aren’t problematic moderate white allies, they know that they are evil and that they are using black bodies for their own advantage. They are not problematic moderate Whites, they are Whites who say cliche things in an attempt to deceive their victims long enough to steal their bodies.

This is not a criticism of the film by the way, just a statement of my expectations prior to seeing the film. Now I know that the film is in the horror-comedy genre, the Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner concept does not really work.

Parts of it may hit close to home for some couples. They  may recollect the time they met the family and draw parallels between the two. When the father in the film said he would have voted for Obama three times if he could, the couple may remember when her father said that in real life and cringe.  The film could force them to relive several uncomfortable scenarios and cringe, or laugh. But once the film departs from reality and moves into the hypnosis/transplanting, I feel it becomes less awkward unless that has really happened to you/you fear that it could really happen/or you choose to see a deeper meaning.

Still I just cannot understand how/why this film would make people, who beforehand were okay with it, seriously stop going to white people’s houses or stop dating white women.  Get Out is being hailed as the keel of death for interracial relationships. Never ever would I date a white woman after seeing this film is the general consensus. It was opinions like this that made me expect so much more; if the movie can turn Black men of white women then it must be really deep. Brethren, it was not that deep. It may be uncomfortable to sit there and watch but the film is simply highlighting things we know not telling us anything new. So when you say the film has changed your mind about interracial relationships, are you saying you were unaware of the micro-agressions (first time using this term 💃🏻) beforehand or are you saying that this film has alerted you to the very real possibility of White people hypnotising you and implanting their soul into your body?

I don’t believe the film is serious enough to break a couple up, unless the couple were not really serious in the first place. The worst it could do is further dissuade an already wary person from interracial relationships. But I am a single, non-American woman who went to see the film alone on a Sunday it would be better to hear from those actually in IR relationships. Thankfully someone got the reactions of 11 interracial couples so we don’t have to wonder. Some excerpts:

I was so embarrassed the whole time! I just kept thinking about what other people in the theater were thinking about me and him and our relationship, and I felt uncomfortable…But after the movie, I could just feel eyes on us. You could just feel people looking at us and overhear someone saying, “Man, he has to leave her.”

I was surprised by his reaction. When we walked out of that movie, he probably talked about it for a good two hours and he still has not stopped talking about it.

And as the plot thickened—it was like, Wow, could this really happen to me? As crazy as it sounds, that’s what I thought…If anything starts happening like in these scenes, I will not be sticking around. I will be on the first whatever out of there. Hahaha

The movie just does a really good job of nailing those small indescribable things that make you feel like you’re outside of a group. I agree.

It felt like one of the most honest depictions of that kind of interracial relationship for people in our age group.

It could be that Americans see the film differently, and relate to it more intensely, which is understandable and completely expected. For me it was a nice film which showed snippets of how awkward it is meeting your partner’s family, particularly if they are of a different culture. For me the transplanting is a departure from reality (which it is), however this may affect someone else on a deeper level; a person may look beyond the surface and see that as reality: the exploitation of black people.


A teeny part of me suspects that Jordan Peele did not start off with the intention of making a film with a powerful racial message. He probably just wanted a few laughs off of interracial dating and when people said “oh my this is a powerful movie“, he thought oh well let’s play along.


I came home after watching the film and read the articles I had been avoiding for fear of spoilers. I particularly liked this buzzfeed article about the hidden symbolism in the film. The article had me like:


The film was not side splitting hilarious, or hair raising terrifying, but it was a good film and I enjoyed every scene. Judging by the smiles and laughter, there was very little awkwardness for the interracial couple, or for any White person in the audience.

Notable mention to actress Betty Gabriel, who plays Georgina; she gave a good performance and I enjoyed watching her.

I don’t know what exactly this post is about. All I know is that I started writing this a week ago and I am tired.

Fun Fact: The writer/director is infact married to a White woman. This fact raised some eyebrows (never mind that his mother is also white) but doesn’t that make it more realistic?