I have thanked many men in my 24 years of living.
I was 4 when I thanked the baker for the fresh, warm tapalapa delivered for breakfast.
I was 6 when I thanked Uncle Sofie for inviting me into his bedroom, he complimented my pink starry panties as he pulled them down after I
won the dance competition he organized for us girls.
I was 9 when I thanked Uncle Hakim and Ousman when they referred to me as their beautiful wife and pulled me to sit in between them at the naming ceremony, resting a palm on my bony thigh.
Yesterday I thanked the dealer who
handed me my new passport when he wiped off the 2000 Dalasi charge after he forced his erected penis into my mouth.
A sheepish laugh parted his lips when I said “jerejeff” after spitting the remnants of his climax out of my mouth.
I got home around 6pm,ran into the free bathroom
stall in the compound and grabbed any visible toothbrush and toothpaste to clean up any remnants I couldn’t spit out.
I had to cleanse myself of him.
40 minutes and half a tube of toothpaste later, I wiped my eyes dry, splashed some water on my face and prepared dinner.
Alim was playing football with his boys and briefly waved as I hurriedly went past him earlier on.
I slipped the note under his pillow, he will be too tired and slump into a deep sleep after eating; he will probably see the note when making his bed at dawn before fajr prayers.
I did not leave a note for Aunty Amina, Alim is the only person that deserved an explanation from me.
I threw my note book, my new passport, a couple of t shirts and a jean into my “popo bag” and crawled out of the window. Going past the gate of the compound, I anxiously hurried
down the quiet road to the junction where the 50-year-old neem tree stood. Two headlights flashed at me. I got into the car with the shabby looking man and left.
The chatter from vendors, fishermen and children crying seeped through my headphones and jolted me awake. We were
disembarking the bus and being transferred onto a boat which was the size of a sardine tin. After being divided into two groups, my group which included a confused toddler holding on to her mother’s hand were squeezed on to one of the sardine tins with two blankets for the
anticipated rough weather.
The boat slowly paddled out of its dock. The golden circle was rising ahead of us; a warm salty scent engulfed the air.
We paddled further out... drowning out the noise of busy port. We paddled further. Until there was only sea, a rising sun and hope.

• • •

Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to force a refresh

Keep Current with Sanusia Unfiltered🇸🇱

Sanusia Unfiltered🇸🇱 Profile picture

Stay in touch and get notified when new unrolls are available from this author!

Read all threads

This Thread may be Removed Anytime!


Twitter may remove this content at anytime! Save it as PDF for later use!

Try unrolling a thread yourself!

how to unroll video
  1. Follow @ThreadReaderApp to mention us!

  2. From a Twitter thread mention us with a keyword "unroll"
@threadreaderapp unroll

Practice here first or read more on our help page!

More from @sanusia_unfltrd

1 May

“What is your favourite drink?”
A simple enough question which albeit its simplicity, my brain automatically opens up multiple tabs- I’ll blame it on anxiety when I reflect on this conversation tomorrow.
Why does this question awaken a panic in me?
Hi, I am a Black woman and when this question is asked I wonder:
Like Breonna Taylor will I wake up as a ghost in my home, my body draped in bullet holes?
Her favourite drink, a libation?
Or will I wake up a fly on the wall of Jedidiah Duyile’s home feeling her excitement when Kylie Jenner promoted her clothing brand?
Her favourite drink for celebration?
Maybe as Meagan Good- a Black woman openly loved, cherished and protected by a Black man with evenings filled
Read 7 tweets
1 May

Dear Grim Reaper,
My soul has been broken uncountable times and as my hands trembled, holding on to a needle fashioned out of thorns, I have stitched it back together.
Please be gentle as you pull it out, I am afraid, I am not a great seamstress.
Dear Grim Reaper,
I have anticipated meeting you. There have been an unending ticking of the clock when I would've done everything to meet you. Your darkness seemed to be the only solace I needed.
But see grim reaper I met someone. A little girl. A man.
Dear Grim Reaper,
If you are on your way, I hope your flight gets delayed. For 2 weeks. Maybe 2 months. Maybe 2 years....
Heck maybe 20 years! I will like to see many birthdays. A quarter of century, I've made it this far. You understand don't you?
Read 5 tweets
30 Apr
Karma works with the reincarnation theory. For every action, there is a consequence on the soul and that effect might not happen in this life. So sometimes when people hurt me, after processing it, I think- maybe this is karma balancing for some hurt I caused in another lifetime.
Karma has its nuances and does not operate on a “you hurt someone, you get hurt like that again”.. so when people use the word “karma” so flimsily to anticipate some form of retribution for hurt caused on them, I just laugh. E go shock you.
Karma does balance every action. The scales will always balance out. But it won’t balance out in the way you might want or at your own timing. When someone hurts you, you really wish they would be in your exact position or worse to feel that pain- I understand that. The universe-
Read 4 tweets

Did Thread Reader help you today?

Support us! We are indie developers!

This site is made by just two indie developers on a laptop doing marketing, support and development! Read more about the story.

Become a Premium Member ($3/month or $30/year) and get exclusive features!

Become Premium

Too expensive? Make a small donation by buying us coffee ($5) or help with server cost ($10)

Donate via Paypal Become our Patreon

Thank you for your support!

Follow Us on Twitter!