By Indigene Corefio


Don’t quite recall

When I first began

Feeling like

A bitch

Ashamed of my bodily urges

The need to wash myself clean of the filth of my desire

The urgency to implode to avert the gaze that my sinful beauty lured


Two years at a catholic convent school

Being caught playing house by an aunt

Being reprimanded for masturbating (/exploring)

Finding stacks of pornographic material in seemingly hidden places

–          Arousing a sceptical curiosity

–          Igniting an alluring apprehension

Told to look away from the television screen when it was one of “those” scenes

The chorus of howling voices

That breathed heavily down the streets

As one walked by

“Hey baby”

“I want to know you”

“What’s your number”



Stranger to my intimacy

A foreigner in my own flesh

Policing the voices in my mind seeking expression that spoke a message banned

Every day was an internal struggle to balance who I was

Against who the world told me to be

As a girl

As a woman

As a bitch

And where to draw the line between the three


Relationships were somewhat of a struggle

Boyfriends who I tried to be the perfect image of a woman for

Who cheated on, or left me for, a bitch

The bitch who seemed to be having a reasonable amount more fun than I figured I was having

At the time

A bitch

Who I was taught to condemn

But admired

For her uninhibitedness

Her freedom

Her ability to act spontaneously

Without second guessing her desires

And her wilful ignorance of what her onlookers might have misunderstood her as


In trying to fulfil the role of the right woman

Housing a largely dormant sexuality

Sex was something that happened to me

Something I was party to by obligation

Somewhat of an out-of-body experience

I would watch myself lay in a rigor mortis state

And feel distant sensations

Or sensations distantly

Of another body rub against and inside my own

Sex was a chore

A duty

A public service


But there was

A bitch in me that yearned for expression

And in quiet moments

I would rehearse my pout in the mirror

Throw my hair over half my face like the sexy ladies on TV

Walk with a sway in my hips from one end of the room to the next

And practice seduction on my near to life-size Ninja Turtle stuffed toy


Coming to a largely self-imposed sense of sexual self-realisation

Was a journey fraught with judgment

By men who perceived me as nothing more than a sexual object

By a media culture that portrayed me as nothing more than a pretty surface

By lovers who felt intimidated and emasculated by my sexual prowess

By friends abashed by my assertiveness with the “opposite” sex

By a family too uninvolved to make a judgment either way

But what was central to my journey was me

My ambition to realise myself as a complete human being

Without divorcing a portion of my identity that society deemed inappropriate

And though I dismissed criticisms

Like water off a ducks back

The word













My ambition for the word bitch

Can be compared

The evolution of the word black


From blackhead


Black eye

The pot calling the kettle black

And black sheep

We now have

Black is beautiful

Black power

Black diamonds

Black magic

And black is the colour of my true love’s hair


Or the reinvention of nigger

Where a term once used to denote inferiority

And intended to strip the integrity from souls

Has come

To be

A term of endearment

Brother and sisterhood



Close friends


A reclamation of the discourses the govern public spaces

An evolution of meaning

A more accurate reflection of who we are

A destruction of who we are no more


This is my vision

For the word



For it to become

A denotation

Of freedom



Victorious struggle



And spunk


I am that BITCH

Call me BITCH

Tell me I am such a BITCH

And I will retort

“Thank you”

Indigene Corefio is a being of light traveling the journey of life with love as her guide. A writer by passion. A woman by choice. Seeking equality as a foundation for all through social entrepreneurship. A lover of art, people, and all things beautiful.

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