One of the culture shocks I’ve always wanted to write about is the nude sculptures in Italy. Coming from a culture where nudity is portrayed as private, my mouth was agape when I visited Florence for the first time.
People often walk up to me to ask, to compare your living experiences in Milan and Palermo. “Which do you prefer?”, they would ask.
Some of the archaic practices were related to fortifying women with fertility. The women of Rome were subjected to go in the middle of the streets while young naked men, armed with bundles of branches tied with strings lash them.
It also gets so awkward when it feels like a man is walking on eggshells and trying so hard not to offend your race *facepalm*, or makes a comment like, “not to be racist.” “Can you just be yourself and not mind my race?” I mean just be a thoughtful human being.
January 10th 2020, my phoned buzzed. I stirred and cursed under my breath as I looked over at Alexa. It was only 2.13am. I scuffled across the bed to the dresser to see who was calling. I answered the call with a husky, “hello babe” into the receiver. “Have you been following the international news …
Trust me, I am not here to complain much, I’ve had the best times here regardless of the stories I will be sharing with you in a moment.
Racial discrimination is a very touchy topic many Africans would not dare to thread.
Twenty-three hours later, I was standing by the baggage carousel at Milan Malpensa Airport. I could hardly recognize my bag when it wheeled past me. The only thing holding it together was a transparent plastic bag.
