Kweendom: Purple Wigs and Tings

 I like crowns, flowers, glitter, sparkles, bubbles, crochet cat ears and purple hair. In my kweendom these things would be essential. That is all.

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Rum & Soca: Crochet Ass-Out Bikini

Rum & Soca
Crochet Ass-out Biniki
100% Cotton



I love Soca. Something about soca caresses my soul. I can only describe this soul connection through feeling; my skin crawls with delight, a toothy grin slowly creeps across my face, my hands find them selves up in the air, I taste mango-pineapple-sugarcane sweetness, and my hips start swaying. Finally my eyes close and I am transported to dreams of warmth, sunshine, cool breezes, sun kissed brown skin, sweaty bodies, bright colours, rolling waistlines...pure sweetness of the most intimate kind. The baselines, uptempo rhythms, and carefree lyrics free my spirit in a way that no other kind of music ever has. In my many imagined fantasies, I've always believed that I was a soca kween in my past life, and if I had a life soundtrack 90% of it would be made up of soca...but in all my soca fantasies never have imaged where this spirit freeing sweetness originated from.  In my imagined fantasies I have created an entirely fictitious and self-centered representation of soca music. After reflecting on this feeling/fantasy, I started to feel wrong about enjoying and consuming something for so many years without having a basic understanding of its origins. Why? Because far too often African, Caribbean and Black realities and genius are appropriated for the entertainment or gaze of others. To realize how I have participating in the process of erasing the origins of soca music by creating a romanticized self serving understanding of it did not sit well with me. So I looked up the history of soca!

In her 1997 essay titled The Politics of Labeling Popular Musics in the Caribbean, author Jocelyne Guilbault gives a brief history of soca music. Trinidadian musician Ras (Lord) Shory, born Garfield Blackman, originally coined the term Sokah. For roughly 10 before coining the composed sound of Sokah, the musician had been mixing Calypso with Kadans (Caribbean creole uptempo music polarized by Hatian sax player Webert Sicot) and various east Indian sounds/instruments. Ras Shorty invented Sokah as a rebirth of Calypso which he claimed "was dying a natural death" with he rise of reggae music, but he also believed that through fusing east Indian and African music he could end racialism between the two largest ethnic groups in Trinidad and encourage young Trinidadians to consume the sounds of their home (Guilbault, 1997).

As explained by Ras Shorty, the term "Sokah" is a combination of syllables: The 'so' comes from calypso. The 'Kah' is to show the East Indian rhythm, the syllable represents the first letter of the Indian alphabet (Guilbault, 1997). It is also said that Sokah means the 'soul of calypso'. Over time as the instruments used in the composition and rhythms of Sokah changed (attributed to a lack of positive response to east Indian instruments), so did the name of the sound. More contemporarily spelt 'Soca' the "so' is said to represent the fusion of soul music and 'ca' Calypso. The change in instrumentation and spelling removed the original contributions of east Indian sounds intended by Ras Shorty (Guilbault, 1997). From 1978 onward Soca has transformed to include sampling of zouk, american music, and afro-beats to name a few and it still maintains original inspiration through was Rash Shorty says is the east Indian drum-sets that "punch out the bass line on the drum set" (Guilbault, 1997). Despite the shifts in the sound, Ras Shortys really did revive calypso in a lasting way that speaks to the spirit. Soca is sound found throughout Caribbean islands, there are diasporic collaborations between continental African and Caribbean soca artists, soca is institutionalized to include soca morach competitions and is a key element in bringing sweet sounds and inspiration to carnivals internationally!

Every year I have played mas in Toronto Caribana I have wanted to wear a thong bikini and be ass out, but every time something came up; I was either too self conscious about my cellulite-stretch marked booty, they ran out of thongs, they were never delivered, or they weren't an option. So while sipping on some rum & mango juice and listening to soca I made this crochet ass-out bikini to externalize my desire to be ass-out, and externalize the most deeply felt to love for this genre of music that has always brought me so much joy and given me renewed confidence to be/feel myself. For me the most important part of externalizing that joy was also prioritizing internalizing the meaning of the art of soca and learning about its origins! Check one of my 2015 soca jams below!

Sugar Rush
Hypassounds
Barbados Crop Over 2015 

WRITTEN & PRODUCED BY JASON "SHAFT" BISHOP. MIXED & MASTERED BY ANDREW DENNY 

 Works Cited: 

Guilbault, Jocelyne. 1997. The Politics of Labeling Popular Musics in the Caribbean.found at: http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/articulo/265/the-politics-of-labelling-popular-musics-in-english-caribbean

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

HISABATI: Crochet Bodycon Dress

HISABATI
Crochet Bodycon Dress
Front View

HISABATI
Crochet Bodycon Dress
Back View

A few years ago I was feeling disillusioned about the direction my life was taking, so I decided to do something brand new. I started studying carpentry. The opportunity presented its self at a time when I was searching for anything that would renew my sense of self fulfillment. I needed to be outside of my comfort zone, networks, and base of knowledge to challenge myself and explore new possibilities. Among many things that come with starting something brand new, lurking in background was mounting apprehension about entering a male dominated field of artistry I had never had any exposure to...but more pressingly was my terrible fright at the level of math that would be demanded of me. I have never been good at math. Maybe it is from a lack of interest or that it just is not my strong suit, but in all of my schooling years I avoided it when I could and never excelled at the subject. Mostly, I was terrified that math would be an inevitable downfall in my pursuit of self fulfillment.

The most challenging project we undertook in my carpentry class was installing trim and finish detailing in mock houses. Our task was to install crown molding and baseboard
on a series of different angled walls that would ideally fit into each other perfectly at the corners. We were all equally given the exact amount of materials needed to get the job done, and were not allowed to use any more than that. Our rule was always measure twice, and cut once. Hurriedly I rushed through my calculations, adding and subtracting fractions, and got to work. This project nearly drove me out of my mind. No matter how carefully I measured, how precise my cuts were with my mitre saw or how steadily I angled and cut with a copping saw, my angles wouldn't fit and my lengths of molding were either too short or too long. I struggled wasting my limited resources cutting and copping, until I realized my math was all wrong. After deciding to revisit my rushed calculations things just worked. Were they perfect? No, far from it, simply because it was my first time fitting molding. I did however come out with a renewed sense of process that required  patience and practice to get the work that we want to see done.

I love dresses that flatter my figure and show some shoulder in the process. They make me feel super sexy! I was inspired by 90's strappy dresses and bodycon dresses cause they do just that! I was inspired by a few different things when thinking about how to get this project started. First was a super easy to follow YoutTube DIY Crochet Halter Top tutorial by Krystal Everdeen, but to get the 90's vibe I was looking for I made a few minor tweaks to her pattern. Instead of having a tie at the back and neck, I crochet a full back and made two straps instead of a halter, similar to my DO EIT crochet tank top. Since I have juicy thighs and a thick booty I had to figure out how to make sure the skirt part hugged my curves perfectly. This is where the math came in. After doing a bit of research, I found that most crochet clothing patterns are not made for curvy or fluffy bodies. Surprising? Not really. No matter how much I looked, the patterns showed no adaptation for varying body shapes, types or sizes bigger than large until I came across these well written instructions by Jodi Hannon Madera on the perfect pencil skirt. The author gives detailed instructions and techniques on how to have perfectly tailored crochet clothes that don't end up a bulky formless mess. It required measurements, multiplication, addition and subtraction, and a calculator which was new because I have never strategically and intentionally used math while crocheting. To my surprise, math and my ability to do it was everything in facilitating this dress being a fab as is it! Fusing these two techniques came together into this final product that I am soooo proud of and excited to wear!

HISABATI means math in Kiswahili. Math like crochet, takes a lot of practice, and patience (and as I have recently learned sometimes even a calculator!). Sometimes along the journey we fail to realized just how integral each stumble and hardship is until we come out with a final product. Still to this day any time I finish a project I say "shit, I made that". It blows my mind every time because I remember how overwhelming, tiresome and hard the process was. I am still not a math expert, but I am coming to accept that its application and practicality is everywhere...even in my crafty little universe!

Hisabati ni mikakati yetu!
A song about math from Ubongo Kids, a kids show created in Tanzania!

Smiles :)
Tuly Maimouna

Do Eit: Crochet Tank Top

DO EIT
Crochet Tank Top
%100 Wool

My mantra for this year has been Do Eiitt. There are so many things I always tell myself I want to do, but somehow never get around to doing them. Whether it is from doubting my own capabilities and strengths, being held back by fear or being told I can't, sometimes I find myself lacking the confidence to act on the things I decide are of value to me.

It has always been along lived fantasy of mine to have a head of purple hair. When I cut my locs off all I longed for was to have a bald purple head. Wavering in confidence about acting on the idea, I remember speaking with a good friend of mine looking for some consultation on the matter. I found I was discouraged. I was told that "it wouldn't suit my complexion" and when I asked why I was told that "it would look better on someone who was lighter skinned." Hum. For a while I truly believed the misplaced judgment of my friend because they are someone I trust. Despite so desperately longing to have a bald purple head, for months I walked around with the idea that I was too dark to rock it. Too dark...I thought about that for a long time, how could I be too dark to do something? I also wondered, how could I let someone else perspectives, values, and beliefs shape and subdue my own?

I made this crochet tank top because I saw a shirt just like it that I couldn't afford, but being held back my financial restrictions most def wasn't gonna stop me. I told myself "I can make that, so do eit!" It took a while to get it just right, required starting over, many hours and a lot of trust in my crochet abilities and imagination, but finally I came out with a project I am really proud of! And just like my (now) purple bald head, having the confidence to act on what I decide to do is a part of honoring my mantra.

Whether it is because I choose not to shave my armpits, choose to cut off my locs, have purple hair, live a budgeted lifestyle, my choice of clothes or whatever, I decided that I wouldn't allow people to police me, my body or values. Hence Do Eiitt. Sometimes it is scary to act on the things we truly want and believe in for ourselves for a number of reasons: there may be a threat of violence in our lives, we may lose friends or loved ones, fear of the unknown, regret and so on. What I have learned on this journey so far is that working towards fostering trust in ourselves and having people who support us goes a long way in helping us to be who and how we want to be. Be brave, be you!

Breathe. Remember you can do eit!

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Top Rankin' Inna Crochet Halter Back

Top Rankin'
Crochet Halter Top
100% Wool

Top Rankin'
Crochet Halter Top
100% Wool

Do you have one of those songs that instantly makes you feel sexy? A song you hear that makes you feel every single thing you have going on and leaves you affirming the very beauty of your existence? 'Uptown Top Ranking' released in 1977 by then teenagers Athela Rose Forrest & Donna Marie Reid is just that song for me. I get immersed in the tune and find myself enveloped in a bout of self love that is almost inexplicable. I dance around my room, smile, sing along, imagine warm sunshine and feel like a boss besh in my own right. So I figured why not pay respect to a song that brings me so much joy? Top Rankin crochet beaded halter top is to celebrate the feeling of sexiness that comes from within that we all deserve!

Uptown Top Ranking - Althea & Donna
"See me pon the road I hear you call out to me

True you see mi inna pants and ting

See mi in a 'alter back

Sey mi gi' you heart attack

Gimme likkle bass, make me wine up me waist

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Throwback: Craftgression

Yellow Pompom Scarf
double crochet stitch

It's always interesting for me to see how any artists craft progresses the more involved they become. I have been rediscovering some of the old things I had made and forgot to share! I went through a pompom scarf faze a couple of years back and I made this one here for a close friend of mine. This is what I like to call a throwback craftgression (craft progression) this is one of the first few things I had ever made! You've seen where I am, now see where i was!

Smies :)
Tuly Maimouna

Kimya: The Power of Silence

In June of last year a friend was very ill and was taken off life support. In the midst of hurriedly attempting to navigate the Ontario medical system through hospital visits, story time, family conversations, and connecting with specialists it seemed there was so much happening around her life at such a fast pace that I was very unsure of what to say or do. Watching her quickly deteriorating health I began to feel powerless in the situation and silence suddenly became my place of refuge, partially forced and partially out of dejection.

In an attempt to remain strong I started forcing faces to cover up my choked back tears and closeted crying from the world. Silence due to stigma, silence due to fear, silence out of respect, silence out of understanding, silence out of sadness, silence out of disbelief. When she died on June 14th 2013 I felt overwhelming despair and guilt for being complacent in my silence. I then began to equate silence with weakness and cowardliness. Silence came to represent images of my failure as a friend and its consequences, the horrific images of her lifeless black female body.

For a long time after her death I shut down and remained quiet. I kept my thoughts to myself, I blocked people out, lost interest and hid my intimate self away out of shame. It was as if I was trapped internally and externally by silence. Wordless-ness came to represent the greater part of the last year for me. I was caught  in deep thought reflecting how it was possible that  a young black woman could die in Canada under such disgusting circumstances. I was disillusioned to start thinking about Ontario health institutions as sites of structural violence against black bodies, in the case of my friend not only did they contribute to limiting her access to specialized care as a living being, but they also affected whether or not she got to die with dignity. It was heavy thinking about the broader political and economic contexts that contributed to her death, and I was pissed the phuck off. Her truth was tangled up in medicalized rationalizations of her death and entirely glazed over the larger health inequities that exist in our society, especially for poor racialized womyn.

It wasn't until March of this year when I was at two day retreat that things started to change. I remember being hyper aware of not wanting to say a word to anyone and feeling intensely awkward inside of myself. Whenever we were asked to speak or even just in causal conversation my heart would race. I would feel my heart pumping in my chest, my eyes would fill with tears and I'd develop this hard dry lump in my throat. On the second day of the retreat we were asked to participate in an activity. We were asked to write a word on a piece of paper based on how we felt and move around the room and explain to others why we had chosen that word. I had chosen silence, but I couldn't speak, I just cried. Openly in the arms of a gentle stranger I finally felt peaceful, like I was able to mourn the loss of my friend and the sadness+anger I felt around the circumstance in which she died. It was like coming out of the closet. I realized that my silence was a way of being compassionate with myself, to slowly try and understand and reflect on everything that happened at my own pace. Silence is the opportunity to be with my thoughts, and be within myself in a way that does not involve verbal communication. In that moment silence and compassion gently became intertwined and I was finally able to step outside of myself and gain a different perspective of death, mourning and loss and the realities of structural violence. The initial fear of exploring death and lifting the veil to reality is something that without silence I would not have been able to experience and learn from. The process of turning death to memory through reflection and crochet opened up a space to think critically about inequity and the intersections of class, race and gender. So to my friend gone too soon in life and death you have given me strength to be courageous and act with compassion. You have helped to redefine what community is and how to keep people in our community especially those whose voices are not prioritized. You have taught me the difference between passive and active silence and have opened up a space within me to be able to reflect on how to work advocate for change critically and with love.

So remember Polar Vortex? I dunno about y'all, but last winter was something fierce and I learned a harsh (and freezing) lesson. So I felt compelled to be thoroughly prepared in case we get glazed over with ice again! I made this fall inspired ruffled green, brown and yellow cowel with different kinds of acrylic blended yarn from this pattern on Crochet N' Crafts. I love it! I used about 5 skeins of yarn for this and it took roughly a day to finish making. The shell stitch is really great cause it gives a bobble/ribbed kind of look when complete and it adds for extra warmth! I love making things that reflect the turn of seasons, to me they are metaphors for the different kinds of transitions we make in life and the preparations we make for coming change; whether they be crocheting a cowel to keep warm or making mental and emotional preparations in silence to inform how we support each other, I am in the process of learning to move forward in ways that make sense to me and speak to my lived experiences as well as the lessons learned alongside the people I have grown with.

Kimya
Ruffle Infinity Cowel
%100 Acrylic Blend

Kimya Cowel

Kimya Cowel

Many smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Tumaini: Dolls for Black Girls

Michelle (left) + Friends

I played with dolls until I was 13 years old, with all the active imagination and thrill necessary to make their world come to life. In my imagined world, my dolls were typical city people facing the troubles of relationships, girlfriends, boyfriends, cheating, and work. I had this Groovy Girl and I named her Michelle, she had light brown skin and big curly brown hair. I loved her dearly and used to 'borrow' my next door neighbors Groovy Girls clothes so she would always be looking fly. Although she had brown skin I remember always wishing that I could have beautiful bouncy curls like hers instead of my ole brillo like hair. I always used to make her swing her brown curls with attitude, wishing I could do the same. I was jealous of her and she soon became my ideal standard of beauty and penetrated my imagination. When making Sims characters, Michelle. When I would draw pictures, Michelle. When writing stories, Michelle. When trying to represent myself, Michelle. When thinking about who was beautiful, Michelle. Rarely did I see girls or women who looked like myself in my imagination.

Michelle was one of two black dolls I owned growing up. The second, her name is Stephanie. I have had her for as long as I can remember, but I have no recollection of ever playing with her. Stephanie is a dark skinned doll with shoulder length black yarn hair that resembles locs, she has a coy and full smile, broad nose, green and brown eyes that look up and to the left, and she wore a kitenge (Kenyan dress) - which has since been lost. She never garnered any interest in my childhood imagination so she remained at the bottom of my closet, then in a cold basement, then in a storage unit. A couple of years ago I finally unearthed Stephanie with surprise from a garbage bag full of toys I had been meaning to give to my younger cousins. Despite being in my adult years I gently dusted her off, warmly gave her a hug and apologized. Suddenly Stephanie seemed so beautiful and worthy of my love. Michelle who had also been in the bag with Stephanie harbored no sentiment, despite how integral she had been in my childhood she looked unfamiliar to me like an imagined person from a distant past. I threw Michelle + her friends into my suit case and delivered them to my cousins in Kenya who received them with delight, but I couldn't ignore the feeling of guilt I had giving them dolls that they likely couldn't see themselves in. 

I think there is something to say about people - particularly children, being able to see themselves in the things that they love. Whether it be TV shows, story books, games, or in my case dolls, I think having access to accurate representations of how we see ourselves is important in developing a sense of who we are. Flaws and all, I never realized how much of a privilege it was to be able to insert and see myself in my own imagination until it actually started to happen.

Tumaini
[To-My-Knee]

Tubetops, flowing skirts, bright prints, dreadlocs, pink hair and bare feet make me feel sexy

 I tend to be unimpressed with many things and question everything.

My waist is narrow and my hips are wide.

My booty is big and I have black stretch marks above my hips.

Smiles,

Tuly Maimouna

Found and Lost?: African Unity

I had intended on making and posting this on remembrance day in remembrance of the Kings African Rifle (KAR), but since the passing of Madiba Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela on December 5th 2013, this seemed fitting.

I feel conflicted. Mwalimu Julius K. Nyerere, visionary and former president of the United Republic of Tanzania in his 1983 speech stated that he was 'tired of being told that Tanzania's present condition arises out of our own mistakes of policy, our own inefficiency and our own over-ambition - that Africa's present condition is the result of African incompetence, venality or general inferiority in capacity, and being told that the solution to our problems is an agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF), despite the severity of the terms which can be obtained, followed by the single minded pursuit of private investment"

I completely agree with his sentiment, it is far too easy to blame the existing conditions of African countries solely on despotism, nepotism or political corruption. It is a surface level and simplistic analysis of issues that have deep historical roots. Yet still I remain conflicted. The evident regression of Tanzania in the past 15 years since Mwalimu Nyerere's passing I had to ask myself, how much responsibility does a democratically elected head of state hold when the trajectories established by former leaders are completely diminished? How have leaders gone from ambitious visionaries like former President Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana who called for the African Peoples Congress Organization meeting in 1958 reflecting and promoting geographical unity (Nyerere, 1974). Leaders who believed in regional, national and intercontinental trade, founders of the East African Federation, leaders who believed in disaporic cooperation from the Pan-African Congress to the Organization of African Unity (OAU)? To ending up with leaders like Jacob Zuma the current president of South Africa, who recently raped a woman and justified it by saying she was wearing a short skirt. Or the Kenyan African National Union (KANU) the former Moi regime who in 1996 allocated over half of the public Karura forest located in  Nairobi for logging, to raise funds for his 1997 re-election (Njeru, 2010). Uprooting, displacing and destroying the livelihoods of thousands of people. In short what has happened to positive government leadership that people can believe in? So in the passing of Mzee Madiba Mandela, I felt worried. Has the passion and insight died along with the first African leaders of independent African nations? Have we lost the fundamental unity required for liberation? What has happened to the models of African liberation and African liberation movements our fathers and mothers of passed generations fought, suffered or died unflinchingly for? 

Like I said I feel conflicted, because the answers are not clear. Who is to blame? Or does it even matter? What I admired about Mandela, Nyerere and others was that their dialogue was not around who was to blame, but how we can move forward together. Investing in alternative models of political and economic development like the Arusha Declaration on Socialism and Self-Reliance or Rainbow Nation. If anything I hope that action oriented dialogues will persist with African leaders, that there will be an emergence of those who do not talk but live what they believe. I see glimmers of hope. Like the recent establishment of the East African Community's (EAC) Monetary Union, where Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Rwanda and Burundi hope to merge currencies over the next 10 years and create a central bank to wean countries off foreign aid, and promoting south-south cooperation. I see grassroots organizations mobilizing people around the foundations of liberation that have not been taken up by existing governments. Unity is being taken up in varying shapes and forms in different capacities, and so I am also hopeful.

I decided to make this flower to represent my confliction, worry and hope as well as to acknowledge those fallen, lost, found, uplifted or caught between the challenges and successes of liberation. Red for the blood that unites us, the blood spilled and lost. Green for the rich land. Black for the people who belong to the land, and yellow for the characteristic and ever persistent sun that gives life. To the people past and present who participate in Africa's liberation from colonialism, oppression and racism, and for so humbly cooperating in laying down the foundations, supporting and believing in human liberation this is for you. Furthermore, to the people who never got recognition, farewell memorials, statues erected in their honor, medals, government compensation or even a thank you for taking up arms or non-violence because they believed in the independence, autonomy, freedom, dignity and unity for Africa I pay my respects. 

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Ukinzani: Universal Soldier

Ukinzani
[ou-keen-zah-knee]
My Symbol of Identity

I move fluidly and rigidly in and between defined lines, I am. Aspects of my identity do not move in a linear motion existing parallel to once another, but they encompass each other, bleeding into one another, all while feeding off of each others experiences. They can not function individually, but consistently contradict one another through their interactions both internally and externally. I was told I am black, I am learning that I am east African, I am trying to be human & I am embracing my sexuality as a universal soldier. But the hybridity of my layered existence has been challenging. I am trying to find a place where my contradictions can live simultaneously in harmony & peace. But which aspect of me comes first and which one is last? Well I was born as a human, I have lived as a visible black womyn all of my life, I became east African through working toward reconstructing my blackness and I am acknowledging that I have always been a universal soldier...that being the chronological order. More and more I have been thinking, do we create a hierarchy within ourselves where we relate more closely with other parts of ourselves than we do with the rest? And what facilitates the 'orderliness' of identity?

I have spent a lot of my life attempting to function on solely one level of my identity and it has sadly denied me from entirely experiencing myself. In intentionally refusing select aspects of my identity to fulfill the needs of another, I have been lying to myself and instilling a sense of falsehood in my existence and longing for who I want to be. I have come to learn that sometimes the contraction is intentional, for safety purposes. In hopes of blending in and actively avoiding confrontation and conversations which I did not at the time have the language, supports, courage or space to engage in. But that false sense of safety has been no compensation for the shame I have carried for years around my race, ethnicity and universality.

So let us start from the begin assuming the chronological order. I grew up in a white town, and other than my immediate and extended family my everyday life consisted of mostly in engaging with white people.

I remember being at school playing in the school yard and a kid stepped to me and said 'hey, do you know what a ABK is?' I said 'No..' she replied 'an African Butt Kisser!' so I told on the witch, and the teacher made us play together. The threat and discomfort of white people in addressing racism coupled with the ease of brushing it off because we are children, as many other encounters of isms it went unaddressed.

I remember always feeling so angry when other classmates assumed poverty with my ethnicity, and at age 10 having to carry the onus of challenging that alone without the support from teachers or peers.

I remember having  a family party at my house and inviting two of my closet friends, they left my house went down the street to eat food that was 'normal', on a another occasion someone threw up after smelling the food being cooked.

I remember riding my scooter with one of my only friends of colour growing up, and running into one of my closet friends at age 12. She stepped to me with three other white kids and said 'we don't like smelly Africans, do you know what we do to them?' She held up a plastic water bottle a filled with a yellow liquid and opened it. With a sly smile, and affirming laughter from the other kids she continued 'We pour dirty toilet water on them'. She proceeded to pour the water on my head. And as the piss water poured down my face I burst into tears not knowing what had prompted someone who I considered my friend to do such a thing. I was convinced it must have been the fact that I was a dirty African and not that she was racist.

I was absolutely brokenhearted and devastated to hear a childhood friend of mine tell me after over 10 years of friendship that 'growing up we made you feel welcome!' hastily suggesting that I did not belong in that space. 

More recently I was so disappointed having a friend of 13 years refer to me to her white friends as her 'black friend'.

This has been my experience of the ethno/racial aspects of my identity with non-racialized people. As I got older and I started having more black friends I realized that there was an ethnic divide, that even to this day the black 'community' does not address. In being black I was forced to subvert my 'Africanness'. I am choosing to call this my doubled otherness, because not only was I a visible minority among whites, I was also an ethnic minority among blacks. I remember not wanting to carry the food I love and ate at home, and recall being absolutely terrified to talk about my heritage, because it was always understood to be located in a backward, weird, ugly, smelly, desolate, or undesirable place in the world. So for a long time I only assumed a black identity to subvert my ethnicity in hope of to escape being associated with its distorted ideologies.

In accepting my universality I have also chosen to deny myself in identifying my sexuality. In naming who I claim to be within the limiting lables of  sexual identity I become overwhelmed with the inability & space to be anything else. Trapped.  In naming my sexuality I force myself into a rigid place that assumes an unshifting set of desires. In indulging or admitting to the fluctuation of my desires I lose respect from my peers for engaging in them, and through that I somehow delegitimize my sexuality. Then there is the intersection of my universality and my 'Africanness', which at this point I would rather not talk about in depth because I intentionally keep them separate. I can not risk losing support of my extended family, relationships I have for so long been detached from for reasons of physical distance and circumstance, and have grown to value these relationships beyond anything. In this case I also face losing my connections to east Africa and it becomes meaningless a geographical space. For it is not the geographical area that matters, but the connections established with the people who live there that solidifies my attachment to the space. And in growing up as a black person in Canada there has always been the assumption that I do not belong, so If I lose my east African ties then where will I belong? So yet again I find myself having to revert to safety tactics of subverting, prioritizing and lying about my identity to keep a sense of belonging within a 'community' and family that is supposed to act as a support mechanism...simply because if I am rejected then who else will I turn to? My experiences again become void, false and undesirable. I am left floating between who I really am and who I claim to be.

I beg, please disagree with me. The intersections and the complexities of our identities are lived out differently for many reasons not limited to; where we physically are located, how we situate and adapt our selves within that location, how others experience us and we them...and so on. The process of learning and unlearning who I am has proven to me to be circular, I have had to revisit who I was to deepen my understanding of who I believe I am today. My identity contradiction arises from searching and longing for a space to belong. They lie within who I claim myself to be internally and the way it is manifested externally through my identities interaction with everyday life. The challenges in finding this space is heightened by feeling like I have to exist on a parallel level where my identities can not intersect. In my experience, the hierarchy and prioritizing of my identity is deeply influenced by where I am located, and how that identity will be understood externally. Currently, I am searching for a space where I simply just am a hybrid being...if such a place exists...

To end with a quick quote I heard a brilliant mind once share that is constantly on my mind, 'complex not complicated'

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

A Crafty Hoar(ders) Paradise: Winter Head Wrap

This is what happens when hoarders get crafty...or when crafters are hoarders? Which ever, but I yet again have to admit to my hoarding habits. I had had this bag covered in beads sitting in my room that I hadn't used for years and it was funking with my mental vibe for sometime so I had to get rid of it. The clutter has seriously been killing me! Whats worse is even when I manage to throw shit away I somehow get new shit to replace the old shit. I'm over it!  I just need a clear space to have a clear mind. So this project signifies the throwing away of that bag, and subsequently all the other trash in my space.This is a milestone in my life and is a move away from hoarding and finally reclaiming my paradise for myself, and not my stuff. 

I stitched this up last year and forgot to post it. It looks like a mini scarf, but you wrap it on your head instead of your neck! I used some scrap yarn from another project & snatched up this wooden bead off that bag I finally threw away. It is used to button together the two ends of this winter head wrap at the back.

Me probably cutting my eyes @ that bag

Winter Head Wrap!
Double crochet stitch
$10.00

              I think I am going to start calling myself a crafty hoar, just for the fun of it. 

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Sexploration: Tantalizing Titties! Crochet Pasties for Areola of Colour!



Tantalizing Titties
Crochet Pasties
$15.00

I have been on this interesting personal journey for a while. I am currently in the midst of trying to expand my sexual possibilities and figuring out what that even means. I initially thought that this journey was only about exploring and finding a personal definition of what sex is, but after having some really insightful conversations in some really...interesting locations I have come to find that so many other aspect of myself are tied into this three letter word.

Prior to taking the first few steps of this journey I had to first sit down and seriously think about what my boundaries are and what I need to say and do in order to keep things safe, consensual and above all sexy. As many things it has been an amazing up and down learning experience.Thus far I have learned that my boundaries aren't static, they shift and really do depend on context; like how I am feeling that day, who the person(s) involved are, or where I am and these different variables influence how I navigate my exploration from one experience to another.

So as a part of this sexual exploration I am now calling sexploration my girl who has whole heartedly supported many of my wild ideas, together we will be venturing into the unknown to check this fetish party and the first thing she asked me was 'ooooh my gosh girl, what are we wearing?!' Now I dunno about y'all, but I think that whether you are going to a wedding or a fetish party what you wear is a question that must always be answered, and your answer must be delivered in the most fly way possible!....but how? 

A few days ago another friend of mine was really excited to show me these nipple pasties that her friend had bought for her. They were really dope, but there was one problem...they were made for white peoples breasts. I am not  saying that there is anything wrong with white people breasts, in fact I think all breasts equally rule! But just like clothes that don't fit right I am not going to wear something that wasn't made for me or made to suit my body. So we resolved to make our very own sexy pasties for areola of colour! I decided to call them tantalizing tittes because I think mine are just that! I always tell people that I want my titties to look as tantalizing as possible, and lets be honest here whose wouldn't be when adorned with crochet goodness, and golden nipple piercings with chain tassels?

Sexploration for me is keeping an informed and open mind in finding out what works for me, and what I wear (or don't) is a reflection of just that. So I'll flaunting my sexy, big and brown areola in my own fashion.

shake your big brown areola, cause they tantalizing too!

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna

Niaje: What's up fall?

I was once asked what makes me feel sexy. You know in the summer time when the sun is shining on you and you get that warming sensation? That is precisely when I feel my sexiest. That warming sensation puts me in tune with my skin getting its luscious sun baked brown tint that gives me a sensual glow. I absolutely love it! So the end of August has to be the saddest time of the year for me. Having to temporarily say goodbye to the tube tops, dresses, flowing skirts and sexy sunshine hurts. While not as sensual as summer, I must admit that I do adore the flavour of fall! The colours, the layers and everything else that comes with it has a certain swag that is sexy in its own way. 

I have been steadily working against the disappearance of summer to complete my fall swag and I have come up with a simple quadra-purpose (is that a word?) scarf I am really amped to wear! This pink, %100 wool, 120" x 10" shell stitch scarf is long enough to be wrapped in multiple ways to face the harsh and temperamental forecasts of fall and winter. So kwaheri majira ya joto in kiswahili means 'goodbye summer', but I'll be saying niaje which in sheng (Nairobi slang) means 'whats up' to a new kind of sexy come fall! In my own fashion I had to add some additional floral flavour for originalities sake, peep the pics below!

NIAJE
(knee-ah-jeh)
1. A regular scarf 

NIAJE
2. A hood

NIAJE
3. An infinity Scarf

NIAJE
4. A shawl

When saying goodbye to something old, we will inevitably have to say hello or niaje to something new! So my way of coping with the loss of summer is making something that will get me excited about, and feeling sexy in the new season! 

Smiles :)

Tuly Maimouna