I grew up in a place where everyone was black like me. The Igbos had a honey-caramel tint to their blackness, the Hausas had an ashy-matte tone to their blackness, and the Yorubas (my tribe) had a chocolaty feel to their blackness. We were all black. Racism meant nothing to me back then.

When I was younger (think early twenties), I was on a breakneck speed to conquer the world. The perpetual traveler. To soak in everything I could in a short amount of time before finally settling down. The concept of “settling down” to me meant getting married and having kids, and obviously that meant giving up my life of solo travel. That fear of not fitting everything I wanted to see in a certain self-allotted time span within my life was overwhelming sometimes.

It’s definitely been awhile since I’ve updated my blog. Mostly because I’ve been busy birthing an adorable baby girl earlier this month and settling into some nice mommy routines. I’m still processing it all, moving through various stages of surrealism, floating between reality, dreamlike states, and fully understanding just how my life has changed once again for the better.