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Claudia Medeus is the epitome of a fighter.

A Florida teen was diagnosed with cancertwo months before her prom and went anyway despite her diagnosis. 

Claudia Medeus of Coral Springs was diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma in March. The 17-year-old Coral Glades High School student has always had her heart set on attending her senior prom. Nothing, not even cancer, was going to stop her. On the night of her may 18 prom, Medeus got glammed up and ready to go.

The devastating news sent her into freefall. She thought her life was over and her dreams were out of reach.

“Then I started treatment and it made me so sick and there was much risk,” she recalled. “I was scared to even go to prom. I just wanted to sink into a black hole forever.”

But the side effects of her treatment were not enough to deter her. Claudia kept fighting. 

“After a couple of weeks, I thought, ‘It’s my senior year and I shouldn’t let cancer take my happiness away,’” she said defiantly. 

Her immune system was weakened drastically due to the cancer and treatment. However, the teen’s doctors gave her the green light to go to prom.

“When I asked the doctors, it went from, ‘We don’t know to maybe to we’ll see to you can go.’ I was so excited to tell my friends, ‘Hey guys, I’m going to prom!’ At that moment I forgot I had cancer.”

Rhabdomyosarcoma is a soft tissue cancer that affects children and teenagers. According to Cancer.gov, the cancer is a type of “sarcoma that is found in the soft tissue (such as muscle), connective tissue (such as tendon or cartilage), or bone.”

Experts like Hector Rodriguez-Cortes, M.D., medical director of pediatric hematology/oncology at the Salah Foundation Children’s Hospital at Broward Health Medical Center, said treatment for the cancer remains a challenge. Drug resistance to pediatric tumors tends to make the cancer difficult to cure.

Despite the long road ahead, Claudia will remain a “funny, bubbly, crazy fun girl” who isn’t defined by her diagnosis.

Credit: blavity.com

We humans are so accustomed to focusing solely on the problem at hand. We fret, worry, stress and magnify the problem so much that we are unable to see a solution in sight, if one exists. Immediately something goes wrong, our natural instinct is to worry and stress over it.

Back in 2014, I had come to the end of myself. It was the 6th year since I had been battling leg ulcer, and I was tired, frustrated, humiliated, angry, depressed and suicidal. I had tried all forms of treatment, but none of them worked. I had done one surgery (skin graft) and used various remedies, Chinese and herbal.

I had just tried the herbal treatment my aunt suggested. She said there was a woman who used herbal medicine to treat wounds and other illnesses. I was very much against it in the beginning, but I wanted to have at least tried everything possible. My mum, my aunt and I paid a visit to the woman at her house. My mum told her my history and all I had been through, and she assured my mum that the herbal treatment would work. The woman charged us an exorbitant amount but my mum was willing to pay anything as long as I got better.

The herbal treatment process was that the wound would be washed with a herbal soap and then some herbal powder would be put on the surface of the wound. The woman asked me to sit on a stool so she could wash the leg. I didn’t put too much thought to it because I felt How bad could it be? I had been through worse. The wound was badly infected at the time, and it had some yellow stuff on the surface, which was why she needed to wash it.

I sat on the stool and she took my leg. The minute she began washing it I started to scream out. It was so painful. I hadn’t expected that much pain. I tried to jerk my leg away from her hand, but her grasp was strong. I was shaking on the stool and I was close to falling off. The woman had to call in reinforcements to hold me down. Her son and my aunt pinned me down on the stool, and she continued to scrub the wound.

I was going through various emotions and I looked to my mum so she could stop them, but she was crying and she said: “Please, just bear it, God will let this one work.” The woman finished washing and put the herbal powder on the wound. I couldn’t walk because I was in a lot of pain, so they carried me into the car and into the house when we arrived home.

I couldn’t walk for two days after the treatment, so I crawled around my house. The herbal treatment went on for almost three months and the wound was healing. On one of the days I went for treatment, she told my mum and I that someone had called her to come to Abuja to treat a senator. She said she would give us everything she used on our next visit, and if we continued the treatment the way she had been doing it, the wound would heal completely.

The woman travelled and my mum and I treated the wound at home with all the things she gave us, but it stopped working. My mum called the woman and asked her to please come back and continue the treatment, but she didn’t. After all of this happened, I was totally done with living. After all, I had tried it all. But one thought kept plaguing my mind. I didn’t want to have suffered hell on earth, and then hell for eternity. A part of me wanted it all to stop, and the other part just wanted a way to cope with it all.

While searching for a coping mechanism, I discovered something. Anytime I dressed the wound and I focused on the pain I was feeling, the pain would seem so unbearable and I would be miserable the whole day. But If I dressed the leg, and I immediately opened my laptop and started to watch a movie, and really concentrated on the movie, rather than on the pain I was feeling, after a while the pain would subside and I wouldn’t feel as miserable or as frustrated as I was before the movie.

It’s like the story in the Bible where the children of Israel were being bitten by snakes and God asked Moses to put a big snake on a staff and mount it, and all those who looked to the big snake on the staff would live, but those who continued to look down at the snake that was biting them would die.

I tried this new pattern for a while and it worked for me, and so I adopted it as a mantra for life. If something bad happened, or I was experiencing mood swings or someone upset me, I would find a distraction immediately. This really helped me because I was no longer focusing on the problems, which meant I wasn’t giving it power over me.

We humans are so accustomed to focusing solely on the problem at hand. We fret, worry, stress and magnify the problem so much that we are unable to see a solution in sight, if one exists. Immediately something goes wrong, our natural instinct is to worry and stress over it; most of the time we are unable to solve the problem by going that route. Instead of following your natural instinct, why not take a break and save yourself from developing a migraine or a high bp?

If something gets bad, can it be fixed or can you replace it? Rather than brood over a problem and let it overpower you, find a distraction for the moment, and by the time you come back to it, it won’t seem as nerve-racking and as overwhelming as you thought it was. If someone pisses you off, watch a movie, read a book, or take a cold shower.

Distracting yourself from the issue at hand not only puts you in control of the situation, but also prevents you from making rash decisions that could ultimately have negative consequences, which only creates more problems for yourself and others. The minute you give in to the negativity, you begin to lose your power.

Life is a power struggle, and whoever or whatever holds the power sits in the driver seat and has control. I had been giving the leg ulcer too much power, and it had been driving my life ragged, but the minute I stopped giving it power, I took back control over my life and I could think rationally.

It’s never as bad as it seems or as overwhelming as it looks. It only feels that way because you have given power away to the problem. Always remember you are in control of your life. The power is yours. Don’t give it away.

Source: Bellanaija

“I was embarrassed, Amaka. All I had with me was transport fare, which could barely take me home. Besides being labeled all sorts of dehumanising names, my wrist watch and shoes were taken from me and I was made to wash plates. And till now I haven’t heard from him.”

I was scooping the remaining white soup in a bowl when I heard the mind shattering knock on my door. It must be the gateman, I thought. Maybe the clothes I left outside to dry had been taken down by the breeze. I wasn’t expecting a visitor. Besides, the gateman wouldn’t give anyone a pass without alerting me first. “Just a minute,” I screamed.

I rushed to the door and unbolted it. Behold, it was my friend Tinuke. I wasn’t really surprised. I guess we all have that friend who barges in on us without prior notice. The gateman always gave her free pass, as she was my close paddy.

“Good day,” she said so lightly you could barely hear her. Her face was creased with a frown and swollen like a rebellious puff puff, her eyes red and puffy you would know she just had a rendezvous with tears. I stepped aside to let her in, and she walked in sulking.

She sat down and I sat beside her. “Did anybody die?” I asked, baffled.

“No,” she answered and rolled her eyes.

“So?” I probed further. She opened her flimsy black purse and brought out a supposedly white handkerchief, dabbed the corners of her eyes carefully so as not to smear her already-washed-out-with-tears make up. I waited impatiently.

“I was invited on a date by Lawal, the guy I told you I met last week,” she began. “I got to the restaurant and sat waiting for him. While I waited I ordered for a glass of smoothie, which I gulped slowly. Thirty minutes later he still hadn’t shown up. Almost irritated, I called him. He apologised profusely for the delay, which he claimed was due to some unfinished business at the office. He said I should make an order of food and drinks, that he would soon join me.” I cleared my throat and listened as she continued.

“I ordered a plate of rice with shredded chicken sauce and a bottle of wine. I ate while waiting for him. I finished eating and he hadn’t shown up, and two hours had gone, so I ordered a big fresh fish and it was prepared for me. I hadn’t realised how much time had passed, and my date hadn’t shown up. I dialled his number and it was switched off. When I took down my phone a waiter had come with an exorbitant bill.” she started shedding fresh tears. “I was embarrassed, Amaka. All I had with me was transport fare, which could barely take me home. Besides being labeled all sorts of dehumanising names, my wrist watch and shoes were taken from me and I was made to wash plates. And till now I haven’t heard from him.”

I cleared my throat again, mentally analysing her tale of woes. I was mortified. I looked at her and felt like yanking her off my couch and shaking her so hard. “So you accumulated an exorbitant bill while waiting for a shadow” I said finally. Trying to be a voice of reason, I said, “I hope your Lawal hadn’t run into some kind of trouble,” then I reversed to the role of a sympathetic friend and sympathised with her while tabling where and how she failed.

I’m perturbed by how some women venture on dates empty handed, not asking themselves the what if questions. You should be ready for any eventuality. While preparing yourself to look your absolute best for your Romeo, heaping layers of foundation on your beautiful face, also endeavour to fling in some cash in your purse, otherwise known as vex money, so that when your Romeo cancels on you, you will do a hair flip knowing you’ve got your act together.

Order what you want I will soon join you is a trap. Unless you can pay for everything. Most women run into trouble because of greed, ahn ahn! A date to them is automatic ceremonious hunger alleviation, they come bearing with them dry throats for voluptuous gulps and empty stomachs filled with red eyed rattling worms. They make enormous orders not just for themselves, but for their clan and kindred, after all, an unfortunate Romeo strayed to their path. When the Romeo cunningly devises a means of escape for his already capsized pocket, the Juliet cries foul.

Eating to the size of your pocket cannot be overflogged. Make a deliberate attempt to know the price of your order, and eat to the size of your pocket, so that when Romeo cancels abruptly, you will be able to avoid every grit of embarrassment by paying graciously and exiting gracefully.

Source: Bellanaija

It’s easy to underestimate the power of social media to negatively influence our thoughts and desires. We scroll and like and scroll and comment and keep scrolling and liking all day, but we leave with our minds loaded with all that we had just seen and read.

Today I posted some pictures on social media. I looked good and took some “Instagram-worthy” pictures I thought would make sense to share. I wanted a befitting caption to accompany the photos, but also didn’t want to put something pretentious or some other unrelated inspirational quote. The only thing that came to mind and was quite apt for how I felt at the time were lyrics to the song, Anchor by Bethel MusicHolding onto hope, holding onto grace, fully letting go, I surrender to your will. Though still unrelated to my pictures, I paraphrased and posted.

As I edited my pictures, I got the guilty feeling that I was posting pictures that weren’t necessarily reflective of my mood, upholding the fact that social media promotes a façade and the idea of keeping up appearances. I honestly wasn’t in the brightest of spirits, but still wanted to drop one for the ‘gram. As the likes and comments poured in, it occurred to me that someone out there would see my photos and be led to think that I have it good, with no serious worries. Who knows, someone struggling with a difficult situation may have seen my picture and sniggered, thinking Oh, she’s chilling and living her best life. If only that were true. But this is the reality of social media and, admittedly, I am an enabler.

It’s easy to underestimate the power of social media to negatively influence our thoughts and desires. We scroll and like and scroll and comment and keep scrolling and liking all day, but we leave with our minds loaded with all that we had just seen and read.

Ah this person is getting married too, na wa o.

When did he relocate to Canada? Everybody is leaving Nigeria.

Wow, I remember when this girl started this business and now she has blown. Me I’m still here saying I want to start something.

See how pretty this girl looks and she lost so much weight.

Aww, they look so in love. When will I get my own love like this? *Types comment*: Couple goals <3 <3

This one is always travelling up and down the world, living their best life, she must have plenty of money.

These are some of the many thoughts that flow through my mind when scrolling through my Instagram feed, and I know I am not alone. But what this does is that it feeds our insecurities, creates a feeling of dissatisfaction such that if we’re not strong and self-assured, our insecurities soon come to the fore. It’s a black hole, and if you’re not careful, you’ll fall into the trap of developing feelings of envy, inadequacy, unhealthy comparison, and feeling sorry for yourself based on what you see. These feelings could grow into an ugly monster.

We have made social media into this virtual reality where we view the world through tinted lenses, leading to false aspirations and triggering a fear of missing out, or the feeling that life is passing you by.

This leaves me wondering why we are comfortable keeping up appearances and showing off the good times to convince others that we are indeed living our best lives, but aren’t comfortable showing the other side – the glamorous, dishevelled, anxious, unhappy, dissatisfied sides to us. For those who are brave enough to, they are ridiculed for putting their business out there and for not hiding their dirty laundry. On the flip side, I don’t think the ridicule and shaming, especially from people who barely know you and know only your online persona, is worth it, as it could take its own emotional and mental toll on you.

At a time in my life when I was very unhappy, I took to Twitter to vent about my frustration. My tweets reeked of sadness and a cry for help. Some folks reached out, which I was very grateful for. Others asked me about it months later. In hindsight, I cringe when I think of what it must have been like reading my tweets, as I must have come off as a very sad person, which is not a pretty look, and certainly not one that is reflective of who I am today. When I see similar tweets on my timeline, I wonder if the tweeter is doing well. But if I’m being honest, those are not the kind of tweets I expect to see when I open my Twitter feed, and I don’t think I am completely wrong to say that others feel the same way.

I realise that social media, for a lot of us, is somewhat of an escape from our reality. We don’t just check-in from time to time to see what others are up to, we also check-in for entertainment and to share snippets of our lives. So, my conclusion is that we don’t necessarily want to see the sad parts of others’ lives and know about their struggles, especially if we don’t know them personally. The same way we wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing the not so glamorous parts of our lives online for everyone to see.

That is, we don’t like to put ourselves out there, which is fine. Unless it’s a success story where we share the challenges we have faced after the fact. In that case, maybe we might be more receptive to posts like these. I am all for sharing on social media, after all, it’s a great way to keep up with friends. But where I start to see a problem is where people go out of their way to prove a point and portray an image that isn’t necessarily reflective of their reality. I honestly wish people would not put up pretentious and deliberately misleading posts to garner likes and comments. I believe the extra attention promotes a false sense of importance and an unhealthy reliance on internet strangers for validation. This ignores an underlying internal issue that needs to be addressed. Social media has its good sides, but this is one of its darker sides.

I’m curious to hear your thoughts on this. How do you stunt for the ‘gram but keep things “real”? How do you strike a balance in your social media usage to avoid going over the edge and crossing the thin line between being your authentic selves and altering the appearance of your reality for validation? You are welcome to share your opinions and leave comments.

Source: Bellanaija

At 101 years old, renowned Japanese photographer, Tsuneko Sasamoto continues to express her artistic voice and capture stunning images. Considered to be her country’s first photojournalist at the age of 25, Sasamoto has been documenting history for over 70 years, including pre- and post-war Japan. Her photographs highlighted the country’s dramatic shift from a totalitarian regime to an economic superpower, and the social implications that arose from it.

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Sasamoto shooting in her 20s.

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Sasamoto shooting at 97 years old.

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Tsuneko Sasamoto on the cover of her book, Hyakusai no Finder.

Sasamoto remains enthusiastic about her profession, continuing to impact her chosen field. In 2011, at the age of 97, she published a photo book called Hyakusai no Finder, or Centenarian’s Finder. When she turned 100, she opened an exhibition of selected images.

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Photo credit: Satoko Kawasaki

Now, Sasamoto is currently working on a project called Hana Akari, or Flower Glow, an homage to her friends who have passed away. She is completing this series despite breaking her left hand and both legs last year. Determined to not let it get the best of her, she has attended physical rehabilitation three times a week to get better. When speaking to NHK World shortly before her 100th birthday, Sasamoto offered sage advice.

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Photo credit: Satoko Kawasaki

“You should never become lazy. It’s essential to remain positive about your life and never give up,” Sasamoto told NHK. “You need to push yourself and stay aware, so you can move forward. That’s what I want people to know.”

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Photo credit: Satoko Kawasaki

Via My Modern

Credit: designyoutrust.com

WHAT IS EMOTIONAL ABUSE?

Just like physical abuse — emotional abuse is an attempt to control another person. Rather than hitting or kicking the other party, however, the perpetrator uses emotion as their weapon of choice. The abuser might be aware or unaware, but they generally are keenly aware of a deep-rooted insecurity (which drives them to belittle, harass and demean their partner, spouse or family member).

A typical emotional abuser might accuse a spouse of cheating when they’re feeling insecure about their lovability, or they might be compelled the blame their partner for something unrelated or insignificant; inspiring conflict that more-often-than-not proves their darkest prophecies true. They might also constantly trying to control every move, he /she becomes an incessant criticizer and might verbally attack the other person when they feel as though they are not being “obeyed”.

Emotional abuse looks different, however, from partner-to-partner and case-to-case. Being able to spot the signs of emotional doesn’t just start with an understanding of the concept, it starts with understanding what an abuser can look like, as well.

WHAT AN EMOTIONAL ABUSER LOOKS LIKE.

Unfortunately, there’s no one hard-and-fast recipe for what an abuser looks like. There are, however, some central signs to look for and some facts that can help deepen your understanding of their behavior. Though it may not seem it at first glance, abusers feel powerless. Rather than fessing up to their securities, they over-compensate and conceal the truth behind a nasty wall of overbearing attitude and behavior. A personality profile which often looks a little something like this:

  • Need to be correct or in control.
  • Very jealous.
  • Doesn’t trust anyone.
  • Extremely insecure.
  • Verbally abusive.
  • Blames others for everthing.
  • Cruel to animals or children.
  • Very possessive with partners and “things”.
  • Has a history of aggression.
  • Hypersensitive to criticism.
  • Suffers from untreated mental health problems.
  • Needy with unrealistic expectations.

At first, it’s easy to rationalize and respond to this type of abuse in a logical way. Over time, however, that becomes harder to do as your resilience is worn down by the constant stress of conflict and confrontation. Knowing what abuse is, and knowing what an abuser looks like isn’t enough, though. You need to be able to spot the signs of abuse, especially the more subtle ones.

THE SUBTLE SIGNS OF EMOTIONAL ABUSE YOU MIGHT BE OVERLOOKING.

Physical abuse comes with obvious physical signs that are instantly recognisable to the trained and untrained eye alike. Emotional abuse doesn’t work that way, however, and many of the signs (warning or otherwise) aren’t so easy to spot — or fess up to.

Opposing

Opposing occurs when the abuser argues against anything and everything you say. They challenge your perceptions, your opinions and your thoughts; they’ll even challenge how you carry yourself or live your life. Emotional abusers don’t care whether you’ve volunteered your thoughts or not, they treat you like an adversary and say “no” whenever they can.

Denying

Abusers love to deny the things that they’ve said or done. They’ll deny a conversation took place, and deny entire events altogether. They deny their abuse and, often, when confronted, resort to declarations of love and caring where once there was only scorn or vitriol. This manipulative behavior leads the abused party to doubt their own memory, perceptions and even experience — leading eventually to an extreme and persistent pattern more commonly known as gaslighting.

Blocking

Blocking occurs when an abuser switches topics, in order to avoid a conversation or confrontation that they don’t like. Abusers might also use accusations or blame to block you from the point you’e trying to make, and they do it with an ease that is almost breathtaking.

Undermining & interrupting

Those who abuse are fundamentally broken people, who are incapable (in the current moment) of facing their own inadequacies in any kind of meaningful way. Because they can’ face their own insecurities, they focus on the insecurities of others; working hard to undermine any sense of self-esteem or self-confidence the other party might have remaining. They’ll tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about and even interrupt your sentences.

Minimization

One of the more subtle techniques used by emotional abusers is minimization. This practice isn’t just about making someone feel small — though that’s definitely a major part of it. More realistically, it’s the downplaying of important things, or the rendering of meaningful things as insignificant. It doesn’t matter if you’e expressing your emotions, feelings, views, problems or experiences. To the emotional abuser: it’ all worthless, and nothing to be fussed about.

Unreachable expectations

Emotional abusers are all about tearing their partners down, even when they appear to be building them up. Unreachable expectations are one of the way abusers zero in on their prey and destroy the last facets of their self-esteem. They do this by putting their partner on a ridiculous pedestal, which then allows them to react with constant disappointment and disdain. Feeling disappointed, the abuser then feel empowered to amplify their behavior, heaping even more scorn over an already scorn-filled relationship.

Walking on eggshells

The term “walking on eggshells” refers to the tendency of victims to to judge everything in their environments against how their abuser will react to it. If you find yourself making decisions based entirely around whether or not they upset your partner — you might be dealing with an emotionally abusive situation.

Isolation

Abusers need isolation in order to successfully destroy the self-esteem of their partners. For this reason, they work hard to isolate their victims from the activities and people that they love, leaving them rudderless and without help, perspective or guidance in the midst of a very turbulent unravelling. If your partner is keeping you from seeing or contacting your friends and family, then you’re in danger of dissociating from the critical support system that you need.

This article was written by E.B Johnson. Full piece here

Cover Photo: Laci Jordan

Source: Leading Ladies Africa

At 103, Julia “Hurricane” Hawkins has cemented her title as the oldest woman to compete on an American track after finishing the 50- and 100-meter dashes at the National Senior Games in New Mexico.

Event organizers say the Louisiana resident holds the world record for her age group of 100 and over in the 100-meter dash.

In this photo provided by the National Senior Games Association, 103-year-old Julia Hawkins, of Baton Rouge, La., competes in the 50-meter event at the 2019 National Senior Games in Albuquerque, N.M., Monday, June 17, 2019. (Brit Huckabay/NSGA via AP)

She didn’t beat her previous time Tuesday but crossed the line in just over 46 seconds in Albuquerque.

On Monday, she was clocked at 21.06 in the 50-meter event, which appears to be a new Senior Games record for the women’s 100-plus age division. There’s no record of a past female competitor in that contest.

The retired teacher says staying active keeps her sharp and she hopes she can serve as an inspiration to others.

In this photo provided by the National Senior Games Association, competitors in the 90+ age division, including 103-year-old Julia Hawkins, of Baton Rouge, La., far right, wave to the crowd after their 50-meter race at the 2019 National Senior Games in Albuquerque, N.M., Monday, June 17, 2019. (Brit Huckabay/NSGA via AP)

Credit: abc22now.com

Dominican American writer, Elizabeth Acevedo added some color to the Carnegie Medal’s lily-white roster when she won the award this week.

Acevedo is the first person of color to receive the honor in its 83-year history, according to The Guardian. The Carnegie Medal is the top honor for children’s book writers in the United Kingdom.

Acevedo won the prize for The Poet X,a novel about Xiomara, a Dominican girl who uses slam poetry to “understand her mother’s religion and her own relationship to the world.”

“Xiomara Batista feels unheard and unable to hide in her Harlem neighborhood. Ever since her body grew into curves, she has learned to let her fists and her fierceness do the talking,” read a synopsis on Acevedo’s website.

“But Xiomara has plenty she wants to say, and she pours all her frustration and passion onto the pages of a leather notebook, reciting the words to herself like prayers — especially after she catches feelings for a boy in her bio class named Aman, who her family can never know about.”

Acevedo was inspired to write the book while she taught middle school English in Maryland. Katherine, a former student, refused to read assigned books because “none of these books are about us.”

“I felt like this student had given me a challenge, or at least permission to write a story about young people who take up space, who do not make themselves small, who learn the power of their own words,” the writer said in her acceptance speech.

A need forrepresentation inspires Acevedo to keep writing.

“I write for us. I write for us to see ourselves depicted with tenderness and nuance and ferocity and unflinching honesty,” she told Hip Latina in May. “I hope young Latinx readers, particularly if they are Afro-Latinx, see that they are allowed to be the heroes, they are allowed to live loudly and colorfully and with their whole selves. I hope they know they are seen and loved and that I’m rooting for, and cheering on, their triumphs.”

Her second novel, With the Fire on High, was released in May and centers around Afro-Latinx cuisine. Acevedo’s culture provides her with plenty of material.

“I have no other basis for comparison in regards to my identity, except for my own upbringing, but I think what being my parents’ child ultimately does is make me aware of the different ways we can tell stories,” she said.

“The jokes and riddles and folktales I grew up with at home become entwined with the hip-hop, first generation, hood stories of the world I live in outside of the house. My writing is an homage, and hopefully upliftment, of the many intersections my body houses.”

Acevedo is currently working on her third novel, Clap When You Land. The story about “sisterhood, love, and loss” will be released in 2020.

Credit: blavity.com

Mary is a survivor of rape in South Sudan, and her story is a point of interest following the disasters in the region.

Initially, her husband was shot, and then, soldiers killed her young sons, ages 5 and 7. What’s more, they snatched her daughter from her hands, leaving her with nobody.

Mary hails from the Nuer tribe in South Sudan.

Recently, the people have been experiencing a power struggle between the country’s President Salva Kiir, of the Dinka tribe, and his Vice President, Riek Machar, a Nuer.

They fought this war based on ethnic reasons, and the Northern part of the country has been turned into a wasteland.

According to the United Nations, 50,000 people have been killed, and close to 4 million people face famine, 2.2 million fled their homes, and they have all told the story of severe maltreatment, torture and manslaughter.

Among these people who suffered the adverse effects of the war, Mary and her family members were some of the people who sought freedom and looked forward to gaining refuge. They were at a U.N. peacekeeping base in Bentiu when they encountered Kiir’s forces on the road in June 2014.

According to Mary, 27, the soldiers told her that they perceive the Nuers to be rebels, and the reason her sons were killed is that they don’t want them to grow up becoming fighters.

“We don’t kill the women and the girls,” the soldiers told Mary.

“They said they would only rape us. As if rape were different than death,” Mary adds.

Mary retreated to a safe house in neighboring Uganda run by Make Way Partners, an American Christian organization that provides housing, medical care and schooling for South Sudanese orphans and victims of human trafficking.

Following the murder of her husband and sons, five soldiers forced her to watch them rape her 10-year old daughter, Nyalaat.

“I couldn’t even see my little girl anymore. I could only see blood.” Mary says. After they had raped her daughter, they played a game of taking turns with mother and daughter, raping them both.

Within a few hours, Nyalaat died and Mary says that she wanted to die too. However, Mary didn’t give up. She rather made it to a U.N. camp for civilians displaced by war.

This didn’t stop the soldiers from attacking evebtuaeve. The violence continued, and the soldiers were still able to make their way into the camp and rape all the women they were able to get their hands on.

Mary adds:

“IT HAPPENED TO ALL OF US: LITTLE GIRLS, GRANDMOTHERS. THEY DIDN’T CARE. IF YOU CALM DOWN WHEN THEY ARE RAPING YOU, THEY WON’T BEAT YOU. BUT IF YOU RESIST, THEY WILL BEAT YOU, EVEN SO MUCH TO USE THE GUN IN YOU.”

Read more in the link below:

Rape and War on Time Website

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Marijuana Pepsi Vandyck (yup, that’s her real name) graduated from Wisconsin’s Cardinal Stritch University in May with a Ph.D. in Leadership for the Advancement of Learning and Service in Higher Education. She wanted to prove to the world that, despite having a rather unique name, she could make it in life.  

“People make such a big deal out of it, I couldn’t get away from it,” Vandyck told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

Marijuana Pepsi is her legal name — and no, she doesn’t smoke and she’s not a huge fan of soda.

“Vandyck” was added after she married her current husband Fredrick in 2017. The 46-year-old, who grew up between Chicago, Illinois, and Beloit, Wisconsin, says she used to question why her mom gave her such an odd name (her sisters are named Kimberly and Robin).

“It makes it difficult sometimes,” Vandyck previously admitted to TODAY. 

Her mom apparently believed her name would take her places. And in reality, she has gone places. Vandyck lives on a farm in Pecatonica, Illinois, with her husband (they have four children — her 16-year-old son, as well as three children and a grandchild on her husband’s side). In addition to teaching and running a performance coaching company, Vandyck started an annual scholarship award for African American students enrolled at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater.  

But it wasn’t always easy. Vandyck was constantly teased growing up, especially in junior high. She dreaded when teachers conducted roll call.

“Every single class, the teacher is taking attendance out loud, and as they slowly get down through the J’s, I’m just like here it comes. ‘Marianna? Marijuana?’ And all the students turn to see who it is,” she said. 

Vandyck used these situations to her advantage and wrote her thesis on the topic: “Black names in white classrooms: Teacher behaviors and student perceptions.” 

For her dissertation, she spoke with other Black students who had unique names. They also opened up about those tense moments when teachers would pause on their names during roll call.

Today, she is proud to call herself Dr. Marijuana Pepsi. In a way, she thanks her mother, and she admits her name may have given her a sense of resilience.

“I’ve grown into my name because I am a strong woman,” she told TODAY. “I’ve had to be.”

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