Written by Mercy Williams
Autism, ADHD, BPD and other disorders may look like the perfect ingredients for a messy, unfathomable word soup. Speaking about them often reveals the prevalent assumptions that people with disabilities and neurological differences are faking, seeking attention, too difficult to understand, or not important enough for society to care about.
But the data, especially on women who are underdiagnosed and misunderstood, tells a different story. Neurodivergence in African women is often underreported and undermined. Research estimates 5–7% of adults worldwide have ADHD, with women frequently misdiagnosed (Faraone et al., 2021). Autism affects 1–2% globally, yet African women remain largely invisible due to systemic gaps (WHO, 2023). Put simply, for those who don’t know, neurodivergence is the natural variation in the human brain that shapes how we learn, think, and behave. It includes autism, ADHD, dyslexia, and more and should be seen as a difference, not a deficit (Harvard Health, 2021).
For people like myself, the revelation of being a high-functioning neurodivergent individual doesn’t ram into you like a train. It crawls up on you slowly, and the truth seeps to the surface when you least expect it. The signs are always there but it never truly occurs to you that you’re different in ways that are often largely beyond your control. So you spend most of your time and energy being angry with yourself, frustrated at your shortcomings and constantly playing catch-up in a world that wasn’t built for you to thrive.
I spoke with Nifemi, who embodies a striking blend of neurodivergence, creativity, spirituality, sensuality, and other intriguing layers. She shares her journey, in her own words, below:
On Neurodivergence, Spirituality and Creativity
One of the things I was most excited to discuss with you was life as a Neurodivergent person living in Nigeria. How does your neurodivergence influence your creative process?
It shapes my creative process because I hold space for neurodivergent people. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. I believed I was “shitty”, that I didn’t deserve to exist. Learning about neurodivergence and knowing there are others like me changed everything.
My brain is part of my process. It’s like a hundred tabs open at once. It feels chaotic but connected. I feel everything intensely. From touch to joy, even pain—and when I create, that intensity shows.
Sure, I admit that sometimes work is hard for me, but it makes me trust my instincts. I used to force the “normal” way. Now I trust my way, unique and powerful.
As a writer, I want my work to tell people they’re not crazy, stupid, or less for being autistic, ADHD, or any flavour of neurodivergent. You are normal. You are valid. I can’t write like a neurotypical person.
So when another neurodivergent person reads my work, I want them to feel seen, safe, and to think, “I fuck with this person. They get me.”
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In my previous conversations with Nifemi before the interview, she had hinted at practising witchcraft briefly as part of her journey towards self-discovery. I found this intriguing, especially in a time when modern-day Nigeria and Nigerians seem to shun traditional practices and demonise our ancestral roots collectively. And so, when the opportunity presented itself, I asked her about it.
What’s your spiritual orientation?
My dad is a pastor, my mom is a deaconess, so my parents are staunch Christians. Since I was a child, I was raised in the way of Christianity. It shaped me, it warmed me into it, but as I grew older, I started thinking for myself. I explored the religion, and I realised this wasn’t my path. It’s good, but it’s not what I want to do. On my own journey of self-discovery and sexual exploration, I had to find what works for me and why.
That’s how I started with witchcraft. At the time, I was trying to figure out who I am, and Christianity wasn’t helping me find myself. Christianity tells you to find God, not yourself. But witchcraft opened a lot of things for me. It showed me that I could manifest what I want, that I am a witch, and it’s my craft. I can shape my reality however I choose. For me, it answered questions like, “Where do I fall in?”
Christianity said I had to dedicate my whole life to worship this one God. Also, it’s not like I was sinning because I wanted to. So I was looking for someone to take it away. I didn’t ask for that. I was simply living my human experience, and yet it was always being turned into sin. So what do I do, keep struggling to redeem myself forever?
Witchcraft said no. You don’t have to deal with all that. You can just be human, and it’s okay to enjoy your human experience. That shifted everything in my head. I started exploring more. But when it got to constantly worshipping gods and goddesses, I had to drop that off, too. Regardless of what I practise, as long as I am at the core of it—me, not erased or silenced—then it works. I don’t want to be subjected to the whims of other people, spirits or deities, or wait for something outside of me to decide what I should or shouldn’t do. My journey has been about finding what stays consistent for me. As long as it centres me, I’m for it.
Right now, I don’t have a label for my spiritual practice. I actually support all organised religions, because I’ve come to see how important they are. Religions literally save lives. Some people are hopeless, with nothing to hold on to, and religion is the one anchor that keeps them together. Just because it’s not my path doesn’t mean others don’t benefit from it. That’s why I don’t bash any religion. Everyone practises because they’re getting something from it.
I also don’t believe any religion is higher than another. This is the human experience, and everyone is living it for the first time, at least as far as they know. If something grounds them and helps them stay present in this human journey, then that’s valid. But the idea that one religion is the “true” path and the others are beneath it? I don’t subscribe to that.
I wouldn’t call myself a pantheist, because I don’t practise every religion. I just practise mine. But I acknowledge the importance of all religions. There’s something for everybody.
On Love And Relationships
One thing nobody prepares you for, especially when interacting with a neurodivergent person with ADHD, is how chaotic, exciting, and convoluted conversations can be – especially if you, as the interviewer, are neurodivergent. One second, we’re cackling over inside jokes, or veering off of the interview into trauma bonding sessions. And so it was no surprise that I could relate to many of the experiences Nifemi has had while navigating relationships, as she explains below after giggling at my question:
What have your relationships, romantic or platonic, looked like as shaped by your neurodivergent traits?
I remember wanting to be “normal” so badly. I’ve been with neurotypical people who didn’t know neurodivergence existed. They thought I was weird. One big and persistent issue I’ve had with people is communication.
For instance, I don’t wake up thinking, “Let me text my partner first thing.” I wake up thinking about tasks, survival, and what will keep me going that day. It doesn’t mean I love you less. It just means my brain prioritises things differently from most people.
Also, I love my friends as deeply as I love my romantic partners. To me, love isn’t hierarchical. It’s layered and textured. Most neurotypical people see things in binaries. But life isn’t binary to me.
Have you found healing or clarity in linking your neurodivergence with love and spirituality?
Yes. Through witchcraft. By worshipping deities like Oshun, Yemoja, Athena, Aphrodite, Lilith, I learnt to honour my own pace. For so long, I thought if I wasn’t moving at other people’s speed, I was failing. But the goddesses love me unconditionally. I don’t have to be digestible for everyone.
Now I express myself from a place of fullness. I don’t beg or say to anyone: “Please love me, please see me.” If you take me, good. If not, that’s fine. I’m not for everybody. Practising witchcraft early on, especially as a neurodivergent person, changed how I approach life and relationships.
On Sex, Kinks, Desires, and Sensuality
Can you tell us a bit about your journey with sex and sensuality?
It took time to separate desire from the concept of sex. Labels never worked for me; I evolve too much and too quickly. Masturbation, which I discovered as a teenager, was transformative, as it helped me love my body, gain confidence, and empowered me in other areas. Sex and sensuality became affirming, giving me presence, power, and self-love. And as for kinks? I love watersports and exhibitionism. I hate performance in other parts of my life, but here, it excites me. I live for the thrill, the ego, the attention!
Have you felt empowered or ashamed exploring your sexuality in Nigeria?
Africans aren’t sex-positive. Sex is tied to fear, curses, shame, and as a woman, it’s worse. Wanting orgasms and reclaiming sexual power are considered taboo. Feminism helped me unlearn that shame. Sex became art. The merging of bodies, intimacy, curiosity, love? It’s all empowering when stripped of outdated beliefs.
What about your experiences with relationship fluidity? What draws you to both monogamy and polyamory, and how do you decide what suits you at different points?
I’m a lover girl; I love ‘love’. Since I was a child, I’ve been dreaming of it. Whether through monogamy or polyamory, I’m still me. Polyamory makes you love yourself more because it forces you to sit with jealousy, insecurity, and low self-esteem. You’ll be forced to ask yourself: Why am I feeling this? Do I think someone is better than me? What’s lacking in me? …. The gift is self-awareness.
Some choose monogamy out of fear: fear of being replaced, fear of losing themselves. But for me, it’s not about which is better; it’s about knowing yourself. Polyamory reminds me that I bring humour, wit, care, and depth to my relationships. No one can replace me. Whoever chooses me does so because they see that. Have I felt jealousy? Of course. It’s human. But it always ties back to insecurity—times I wasn’t feeling my own importance. Polyamory pushes you to ask: Why am I jealous? What is this really about? Honestly, it should be recommended in therapy. It’s shadow work in real time.
Communication is everything. You must talk constantly, like your life depends on it. You don’t just work through jealousy alone; you tell your partner.
As we closed the chapter on relationships, Nifemi assumed a playful yet very matter-of-fact posture. I remember her stating emphatically, “Polyamory is a full relationship. If I wanted to be a side chick, I’d go do that,” she laughed. “I want a full connection. So I tell partners from the start: This is me. Take it or leave it. That honesty forces growth on both sides. If you feel jealous, talk to me. The point is to grow together.
Emotional safety means agency and individuality, being able to love fully without guilt or pretending. If I can bring my whole self and still be accepted, that’s a safe space.”
On Intersecting Identities
How do all your identities intertwine in your day-to-day life?
I’m very connected to my higher self, which is what some call God, consciousness, or spirit. When I have doubts or fears, I consult my guide. It doesn’t always give precise answers but nudges me in the right direction. Community matters too. I surround myself with people who offer different perspectives. And I’m always bingeing information via books, movies, Reddit, social media. Wisdom is everywhere. Time also teaches me clarity. Rushing can make you miss important lessons. Time always reveals the truth.
Have you ever had to choose between safety and authenticity? Have you ever censored your work out of fear or rejection?
Yes! A lot. I’m queer, feminist, neurodivergent, polyamorous and don’t practise the popular religions; none of these are mainstream. Wisdom is knowing when to share and when to hold back. Not every crowd is ready. So yes. I’ve toned down my queerness and feminism to fit certain spaces in the past and protect myself. But now I don’t. If a space can’t hold that, it’s not for me.
How do you navigate being different in spaces where silence or danger surrounds that identity?
What helps me is knowing that different children with unique identities exist. Kids who’ll grow up confused because the “default” they’re surrounded with is straightness, neurotypicality, or sex-negative, pretentious, and conventionally religious societies.
So my expression isn’t just for me. It’s for those kids. To tell them, “You can be free. You don’t have to subscribe to a set ideology to be valid. You belong.” I want children to see me and know that this space exists. That it can be held and expanded. That’s what keeps me grounded.
What particular moment have you felt either most affirmed or almost erased?
People don’t talk enough about how beautiful it is to be loved. People get stuck on breakups and unrequited love instead of the ones that go well, and that’s sad.
I brag about the people in my life because they’re amazing. I chose them, and I want to acknowledge that. I’ll say this about my sister: that babe—that bitch—is the best human I could ask for. She supports me. She loves me. She chooses me. She affirms me. And even though she’s straight, she acknowledges and loves my uniqueness, even my queerness.
People think being different means you’ll be bashed all round, but it’s not always true. You can still be loved by the people who matter. I remember my sister telling our younger brother, “Some men like men, and some women like women, and it’s okay.” I didn’t have to say anything. I had never felt so affirmed. Of course, I’ve had homophobic moments, but I don’t dwell on them. Those people aren’t my people. The opinions that matter are from those who love me.
Where do you find pleasure, softness, and rest?
I create my reality. My environment, friends, books, and media all affirm me. When something displaces me, I return to myself. That’s rest: returning to the reality I’ve built.
What are your most radical acts of joy?
As a Black person, I resist white supremacy in daily interactions. I don’t automatically centre white people; I consciously prioritise Black people. In mixed-gender spaces, I pay more attention to women. History has tried to erase our voices, so I reclaim them through balance.
Also, through sex. Specifically queer sex. It’s an act of resistance knowing homophobes are foaming at the mouth while I’m living my truth, while I’m receiving pleasure.
On Legacy and Representation
How do you imagine your future and your legacy?
My legacy is a world where expression isn’t limited, where people who are different don’t have to hide. I live authentically so others can breathe easier. If someone sees me and thinks, “she’s free; maybe I can be too,” then I’ve done my part. My legacy is creating space by unapologetically claiming mine.
What advice would you give your younger self?
Your path is valid. Stop letting others dictate who you are. Feel. Express. In expressing, you discover yourself. The more you put out, the more your tribe finds you. Seek yourself first. Everything else will follow.
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Nifemi’s journey isn’t about fitting into expectations or neat boxes. It’s messy, chaotic, sensual, and deeply human. She shows us what it means to live fully, with a neurodivergent mind that refuses to apologise, a body that knows pleasure, and a spirit that moves on its own terms.
Her story reminds us that love isn’t simple, desire isn’t shameful, and identity, regardless of what it is, isn’t something to hide but to claim, fiercely and unapologetically. The thing about Nifemi is this: she doesn’t just survive. She creates, loves, questions, resists, and affirms. She blooms on her own terms and, in doing so, gives full permission to others to do the same. No apologies. No edits. No compromises. Just living, fully, boldly, beautifully.
