Zami: A New Spelling of My Name: A Biomythography

Images of women flaming like torches adorn and define the borders of my journey, stand like dykes between me and the chaos.

My parents wouldn’t speak of this injustice, not because they had contributed to it, but because they felt they should have anticipated it and avoided it. This made me even angrier. My fury was not going to be acknowledged by a like fury.

I had wanted other things before that I had not gotten. So much so, that I had come to believe if I really wanted something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.