I am my father’s daughter
My Nigerian nose, my coiled hair, my brown skin
It itches me to think that there were days when I was ashamed of this ,
I do, however, remember where that shame came from
I was on the bus with my white schoolmates and I could hear people laughing at me, Mocking me
It was when my face turned red, that I remembered my skin was brown yet transparent and opaque
They all noticed my embarrassment and they laughed, they mocked, and they mocked, and they mocked
It was my hair.
That day was the first time I let my natural hair down.
They were laughing at my hair.
