When did you hear the word “fuck” for the first time? I heard it for the first time in Sunday school when I was an innocent eight-year-old girl (yes, I will start therapy soon).
An impish boy, whom we shall call John, gave someone the middle finger while we were all singing: Jesus loves me this I know. Immediately, a tittle-tattler among us yelled:  “Bro. Sammy! John just told someone to fuck off?!!!” So, Bro. Sammy, our long-suffering Sunday school teacher was forced to tell us, albeit shamefacedly, the concise meaning of the word “fuck” and why good Christian children do not use that word. Don’t ask me to tell you what Bro. Sammy said, I …

On Sunday, 8th January I popped into my local Shell Shop to buy some plantain chips, and saw that the latest edition of BBC Focus on Africa magazine was out. I had been recently featured in the October edition of the magazine so felt inclined to browse through the magazine and decide whether it was worth buying.
 
I stopped short on page 54, the ‘Inbox’ section of the magazine. There was a screen shot of the page that had featured myself, and my co-blogger Abena Gyekye with the ‘Star view’ letter entitled ‘Misguided advice’. I read the letter and was instantly enraged, so I bought the magazine and went on a tweeting spree to vent…let me …

Happy New Year! In a few days this blog will be 3 years old, and what an exciting 3 years it has been. When I started this blog with Abena I did not anticipate how popular it would become, and how much support I would receive from the numerous people who read the blog. I am truly grateful to all of you that take time to send me emails, comment on the blog and especially those who write guest contributions.
 
Here are my hopes for ‘Adventures’ for the year 2012:
 

Post more guest contributions from African women all over the continent. So far, I think the majority of contributions have come from West Africa and the Diaspora. …

You may remember my previous post about the doctor who wanted to give me a baby through my knees? Well I found another Dr who is really nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t want to give me a baby through my knees. To jog your memory (or in case you didn’t read my previous post on the subject), I wanted to see a gynaecologist because a scan had revealed the lining of my womb was thicker than normal. The gynaecologist I eventually saw also did a scan and agreed that the lining of my womb was abnormally thick, and asked me to do a blood test on the second day of my period.  So …

It was a pleasant mid-summer afternoon and I was walking through the city centre with a colleague when I asked whether our co-worker Tom – fashionable, stick thin, skinny jeans-wearing, long fringe-flipping, gay and proud Tom – was still with the firm. He replied “I don’t know, but I hope he isn’t. Every time I speak to him I’m scared for my arsehole, innit.”
*crickets*
Now let’s look past the abomination that is ending a statement, no matter how perversely ignorant, with “innit”. The bigger issue here is that my colleague is not alone in his views – and I’m not talking about the homophobia, we all know how unfortunately widespread that is – but the deep-seated …

[I wrote this post on Friday, 21st October but didn't get to put it up until today]
 
I dressed like Ms Haversham this morning. Or at least what I imagined Ms Haversham would dress like. I wore a fitted green top, neatly tucked into a midi length, black, A-line shaped skirt.   It wasn’t the most attractive outfit I have ever worn, and not particularly reflective of my personal style but I was going to the Dr and I wanted to be taken seriously. The Ms Haversham outfit was my second change of the day. How I dress is affected by my mood and the occasion. Sometimes I feel that I want to wear a particular outfit, …

And exercise seems to be loving me back!
Women across the continent are getting more involved in fitness routines than ever before. Many cultures in Africa put a premium on women with fuller figures, sometimes going as far as to force feed young girls to the point of vomiting, or isolating brides to be in “fattening huts/houses”. Many believe these practices to be primitive, and I haven’t polled any men in modern African men in order to judge what their preferences are for this century…not that I particularly care. As Nana once said to me many years ago, a woman must be in control of the pursuit of her own pleasure. I believe this encompasses body …

I hate my periods.
Full stop.
I just don’t get it. I wish I could be all earth mother’ish about the sustenance of life flowing out of my body but I just can’t.
Periods suck.
Big time.
Plus mine last FOREVER…6 days! Without fail, every 25 days or so I start to bleed. I can’t wear thongs in that period (cos I fill a super sized tampon in less than an hour. Okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration). I can’t wear white cos there have been occasions when I have soiled my clothes…(which reminds me of my days at St Mary’s Secondary School where we wore white school uniforms, if you soiled your uniform you would tie your blue …

I’m a born again virgin. Well that’s how my friend E described me a few weeks ago ‘cos I seem to be going through the longest sexual drought that I have ever experienced. Now I’m very aware that my definition of a sexual drought may not be your definition of what constitutes a drought, but in my world it’s the Sahara. The last time I had ‘full on’ sex was in March this year, but since then its only been a few instances of oral sex with an ex and one of my special friends (in separate encounters I may add). Even my toys no longer seem as exciting…
So what’s accounted for this sexual drought?
Clearly …

The horizontal line dance.
Hide the rainbow roll.
Biblical knowledge.
Fucking/Fekking/Focking.
Science.
Morning Glory.
Screwing.
Sugar.
Banging.
Boning.
Doing it.
De t’ing.
Copulation.
Coitus.
Intercourse.
Brushing.
Whatever you call, it feels great! By the way, what DO you call it?