On television, she was familiar: the skin tone that suggested cheap bleaching creams, the ambitious hair weave, the melodrama. An American friend of mine thought her interview too theatrical and therefore unbelievable. Instead, I saw a woman speaking a non-native language, and so compensating with gestures…Diallo comes from a place where melodrama is not unusual, and often suggests truth as much as lies. — Chimamanda Adichie

i think that adichie’s observations are spot on, felt the same way watching diallo’s interview with robin roberts. i found myself wanting to explain to all my friends, colleagues, even strangers on the street what is difficult to put in words: the times i myself have felt powerless, submissive, unable to stand up for or even defend myself. and i’m an ivy league-educated woman.

i cannot count the amount of times i have been in a relationship with a man whose needs and desires seemed to always trump my own. my inability still, in fact, to clearly state what my needs and desires are, whether they be to be left alone, in peace, free from cat calls on the street or “accidental” gropings from strangers on a crowded subway car.

i might also mention the time when, while I waited for a train on a subway platform near NYU, a man started masturbating–vigorously, freely–while leering at me. he was indian (or bangladeshi or pakistani), perhaps with some undiagnosed mental health problem. i looked at his face for a long time, his tongue licking his lips feverishly, before i even noticed what was going on down below. though i had done nothing wrong, or to invite him, the act sullied us both.

it was only the two of us standing at that end of the platform, so i ran to the mta official at the booth on the other side, tho i’m certain he was gone by the time a cop came.  i thought about that a long time after that day, wondering if there was something else i could do to limit these unwanted encroachments on my psyche, person. and i realize that i also harbored a quiet outrage given my supposed social status.

i was born in the united states, though my immigrant parents did a good job of taking us “back home” so we would understand where we came from, speak a bit of the language, cook, dance, and hopefully marry well. as a result of this upbringing, i cannot in certain ways comprehend what nafissatou faced at home and getting here, how she fought for asylum and the financial stability to raise her daughter singlehandedly.

it comes with some irony, then, that our private lives–lived away from the public eye–could bear so many similarities.

like nafissatou, i too dated a con artist. i was 25 and he was 38 (tho he lied and told me 35), an ivorian restaurateur and former boxer. he charged thousands of dollars in supplies for his restaurant that i later took him to small claims court to collect, tho he never paid. i couldn’t make the payments and my credit rating plummeted while he eventually mismanaged the restaurant into oblivion, leaving me to lick my wounds, pick myself up out of debt, and live to tell the tale.

no, i do not really know how much he charged on my card. i gave it to him because he said that he loved and wanted to marry me. it sounds rather naive now, but at the time it was what i thought i should do, what i had seen my mother do.  and in the end, i don’t doubt that diallo’s and my private lives are so similar because our mothers, and their mothers were similar too. this type of submissiveness must be a learned thing passed down through generations. why so many strong, outspoken african women feign submission and so often stay in relationships with men who treat them so badly.

it would be appropo to mention here that i am in pre-production on a short film, called the people v. aissatou ba, about an african immigrant woman moving on with her life while the man who assaulted her walks free. it is inspired by the dsk case and asks the question:  what price does aissatou pay for telling the truth?

i’m not sure who the jury would have believed. i’d like to say that there is a part of each of us that recognizes the truth, our shared humanity, but i’ve learned over time that this idea is often a self-satisfying delusion. i look forward to all the ways we african women–who can read and write, unlike nafissatou–will translate and re-language this experience for the world. for more info on the film, visit my indiegogo page. –AL.

1. write first thing in the morning every day, before you get out of bed. let whatever is in you come out in its own way, whether it’s last night’s dream or a memory of something that happened in childhood. these writings will help you find your voice, and serve as creative fodder when you sit down later at the blank page.

2. always carry a pen and paper, preferably one of those small journalist notebooks that can be pulled out surreptitiously in public. record what people say, do, an image/sound/smell that moves you. these will come in handy as prompts when you write.

3. acknowledge that writing is an act. understand that to be a writer, one must do this action as often as possible while also suspending judgment of the nature, purpose and quality of the writing. excessive self judgment, doubt and criticism are hindrances to the creative process. and as an activity, one must maintain a healthy body to write effectively. this means taking regular breaks to avoid neck/back pains and carpal tunnel, as well as eating healthy snacks while writing.

4. share your writing in a safe and supportive environment. this can be with a close friend, significant other, or a peer writing group, but make sure the person(s) you share it with respect(s) and want(s) the best for you. avoid exposing yourself to unnecessary censure or criticism, as this can send your writer self into hiding.

5. laugh, cry, live, love. your life is fodder for your work, so be sure and live it to its fullest. but remember that you must not also have lived it in order to write it, so be bold.

6. take long walks in nature. breathing fresh air clears my head while the walking allows my thoughts to wander, gather, and collect themselves. i’ve fixed many a difficult passage this way!

7. no matter how uncomfortable you feel, write on. this one i’m borrowing from stephen king. he says that what makes a writer is her ability to write even when she feels like she’s ‘shoveling shit onto the page’. the point is to keep at it when the going gets tough. being a writer, or any other kind of artist, means being able to sit with your discomfort and move through it for the sake of the work. what you leave behind when you’re done may later help someone else deal with their own experiences.

8. embrace fearlessness. writing is not for the faint of heart. so be bold and write what you really mean to say, not what you think other people want to read. if it comes from your heart, it will resonate with others.

9. write now, edit later. one of the biggest hurdles for me to get over as a writer has been turning off my inner editor and allowing my writing to flow. having read lots of articles and books on flow, i’ve learnt that this editor (really the superego) is the single greatest obstacle to creativity. the key to writing is productivity as opposed to slippery concepts like talent or perfection. so keep your pen moving, and you’ll be fine.

10. publish your work. this is not a hard and fast rule, nor is publishing a necessary end of writing. but if you’re reading this blog, you’re likely not from among the elite privileged classes of the world (or are you?). published writers from outside this class are vastly underrepresented. and i believe it is incumbent upon those of us with the ability and desire to publish our work to go ahead, so that others might read them. and if you’re still waiting for permission to tell your story: granted. –AL.

i read the Caine Prize-winning stickfighting days by olufemi terry yesterday.

boy. writing is such an interesting thing. we all have such different psyches, so many different energies and urges manifesting within us.

i honestly had to wonder what would possess someone to write a story about street children bludgeoning each other to death with sticks. i am not good with gratuitous violence, even if well written, and was actually quite horrified in the end and wished i had never read it. (and i can’t say that about too many stories!) i am not knocking his work, or the prize, i’m just saying, well, wow. don’t take my word for it, though. you can read the story online yourself.

Update: I wanted to add that, upon further digging, I learnt that this story was originally published in Chimurenga Vol.12/13: Dr. Satan’s Echo Chamber. Puts it in a little more context, so I now understand that this macabre killing fantasy was compelled by a call for submissions. I’m still a little sheepish, but I suppose that’s only a testament to the strength of his writing.

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I’m not sure what importance to give this list, as I’ve never been a huge fan of the gilded, slightly esoteric and irrelevant publication, but Chimamanda made it, so I guess that’s a good thing. Although I am also slightly skeptical of writers cosigned by the mainstream American literary establishment, so I am admittedly a little wary of anyone on this list.

I was actually surprised that wonderboy Junot Diaz wasn’t on it, but maybe he’s already 40.

Read more on writing, art and life at AlligatorLegsBlog.