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My name is Yetunde

"You are beautiful just the way you are."

By Fiona Teddy-JimohPublished 3 years ago Updated 7 months ago 3 min read
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My name is Yetunde
Photo by Beth Tate on Unsplash

I had to come to terms that I had a short afro;

and black elbows,

and black knees,

and wider hips,

and a wide nose,

and bigger lips,

and brown eyes that would cry every night after being berated for my physical failures.

They mocked my short afro hair and offered me soap to clean my black elbows and knees. They said my hips were ugly, my nose was ugly, and boys would never kiss my big lips lest they had a desire to be suck into a black void as black as my skin.

All I could do was cry and tell them that it wasn’t my fault that I’m black. I didn’t ask to be born into this race - a race that is always last place on the popularity hierarchy.

Sometimes I cried to my mother. My mother’s comfort was always the same: “Yetunde, you are beautiful just the way you are. Pay no attention to bullies, they are just jealous.”

Except, I was jealous.

I envied their long silky hair that can be styled with such ease.

Eyes of every light and pleasing colour.

Thin frame and white skin that didn’t blend into dark classrooms and blackboards. White skin that glowed in pictures while I sunk into darkness.

It’s always dark in my life.

Dark skin.

Black heart.

They called me names and the teachers just laughed. Sometimes the teachers would say that such names were so old fashioned - the kids of today simply would not know what it means.

They are just following music trends, they say. Fashion trends. You’re trendy. It’s endearing, they would say.

Sometimes I spent my allowance on makeup. There was only one shop in the whole city that sold foundation that kinda matches my skin tone, and even then, I applied talcum powder to look a bit lighter.

Sometimes, I wore contact lenses from the fancy dress shop. The blue ones were my favourite.

They laughed anyways despite me trying to fit in.

By the end of each day all I felt was shame. I wiped my makeup and took out my contacts before I get home so my mother didn’t ask questions. Night passed, mooring came and I tried to fit in all over again.

Sometimes, I dreamt about being at school.

I am bullied in exactly the same way that I am bullied in my waking life, but in my dream something empowering happens.

I don’t care.

In my dreams I am confident and love myself. In my dreams I am strong and hold my head high with pride.

They have nothing left to say, so they call me by my name - Yetunde.

I wake up with a smile.

Sometimes, before school, when I remembered my dream, I went to the mirror.

I looked at my short afro hair.

Black elbows and knees.

Wider hips.

Wider nose.

Bigger lips.

Deep brown eyes that were determined to see my beauty.

My black skin - my identity.

They still mocked me relentlessly and the teachers still ignored it, but then I remembered what I saw in the mirror. I liked what I saw.

...and that was a start.

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About the Creator

Fiona Teddy-Jimoh

Finding innovative ways to connect creative writing with technology in order to deliver an immersive digital experience.

My name is Fiona Teddy-Jimoh and welcome to my world.

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  • D. ALEXANDRA PORTER9 months ago

    Deeply Beautiful!

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