Honey and Spice(38)
“What the hell is this?” I hiss-whispered as I threw the flyer, which . . . was that seriously English flag juxtaposed over a Pan-African one? It was as unappealing aesthetically as it was ideologically.
“Is he serious with this? Adwoa, this isn’t even a debate. Also, with the Whitewell Knights? Is he on crack?”
Adwoa pulled out a chair and sat next to me, voice low. “I know. I know. And honestly? He’s probably on lots of shit. I tried to stop this but you know how it is with the rest of the cabinet. It’s Zack’s way or no way. Zack thinks it would be good to have an open dialogue.”
I stared at her incredulously. “He wants to debate Black lives with the people who had a Blackface Pimps and Hoes party two years ago? Who constantly petition to get FreakyFridayz shut down because ‘we’re not inclusive enough’?” The reasons included (a) the crowd being aggressive and unwelcoming, and (b) that it was a hotbed for drug sales. Like they didn’t constantly walk around with blizzards in their pockets.
“I know he’s an idiot, but . . .” It was taking a lot of effort to balance the level of my voice with my level of anger. I shook my head and leaned closer to her. “He can’t be this stupid. I mean it looks bad and I know Zack cares about how he looks more than anything.”
Adwoa nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It does. But between you and me, Zack is putting stipends into the cliques’ pockets. The Gyaldem Council, the Vegan Cupcakes, the London Gyaldem, Naija Princesses, Bible Study Babes. The Cupcakes get to go to their little hippy festivals, the London Gyaldem throw their parties, Bible Study Babes get to take their field trips to whatever Christian singles conference is going in London—so they all think that Zack is doing a good job. And, outwardly, he is. The girls are happy, so they’re not asking questions.”
I frowned. “You mean questions like where the hell is he getting the money from? I know his family has bank, but I don’t think his allowance is enough to support the social life of every main clique in Blackwell.”
Adwoa shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that he’s getting away with throwing a stupid debate that discredits what Blackwell is supposed to be. I’m pissed that nobody gives a shit. I’m just the token gay they allowed in to show how ‘woke’ they are. All they want me to do is pass out flyers on campus. These are all going in the bin, of course, but it’s not going to make a difference. Not with social media.” Adwoa’s voice dipped with solemnity. “Kiki, you have one of the biggest platforms in Blackwell. You can help fight this. If you mentioned it on your show, maybe started a petition—”
I shook my head, my anger cooling to discomfort. “Adwoa, this is bullshit. For sure. But you know Brown Sugar isn’t about that. I don’t do politics. There has to be another way to stop this.”
Adwoa’s eyes scanned me in confusion, as if she couldn’t compute what I was saying. “Yeah. There probably is. But you’re the best way, Kiki. You have the visibility. You’re the only person Zack even pretends to listen to. What are you scared of?”
Lack of control. My life was clearly demarcated and I didn’t need anything to make it messy. I didn’t need to get into a political feud with a guy I was trying to distance myself from and who had ammunition against me. If people knew we had hooked up it would discredit me completely, and I’d only just got a handle on the situation with Malakai. I couldn’t afford exposure that would affect the show’s growth.
“Look, Adwoa, if you start a petition or get someone else to, I will happily support and amplify. But Brown Sugar as a space has to remain neutral. I’m sorry.”
Adwoa rolled her tongue in her mouth and nodded slowly, sliding the flyers off the desk. “Yeah, so am I.”
She was disappointed in me and it stung. This was why I worked hard to have precisely one friend. Adwoa somehow slipped through the net and now I was paying the price with this awful feeling in my stomach. “See you in class?”
Adwoa gave me a weak smile and salute, then walked away.
Brown Sugar Show: Archives
Hi guys,
It’s your girl, K, and yes, it’s that time again where I break down my advice on how to maneuver yourselves around mandem. Now, I don’t know if you lot know this, but I actually have a Ph.D. in fuckboiology. Yes, I, Kiki Banjo, am a doctor of this particular field of science, and I have taken it upon myself to do a quick tutorial on a phenomenon we all may be familiar with, but perhaps don’t quite know the mechanics of: “The Talk.” This is where you discuss the parameters of your relationship.
First, construction is key. The less, the better. Many people make the mistake of overloading with emojis, bulking to compensate for confidence. Trust yourself and believe in your sauce. You don’t need extra dressing. You’re a snack, a whole meal and the offer of your company is a gift—your presence is a present and they can kiss your ass if they don’t appreciate it, to paraphrase a well-known scholar.
Second, be direct. Take control of the situation so your target has little space to manipulate it. “You free in an hour?” is different from “You free to talk in an hour?” The latter is powerful—you’re coming from a position of strength. This is about your desire. “You free in an hour?” comes from a place of need that most boys love to play with. “You free in an hour?” could lead to a “Maybe,” which might lead to a “What you mean maybe? You don’t want to talk?” and then he says, “About what?” A mess. We want to avoid that. Go in incisively. Don’t let these boys run you mad, my sisters.