I haven’t been heartbroken enough in my life, which is a surprise because I always wear my heart on my sleeve. When I like someone, I don’t know how to keep it to myself. I tell them. The same goes for those I don’t like. Because I spend most of my time online, I get to meet boring people in the streets of Social media, pretentious people who suffocate us with stale moral stories that begin with “A poor man once knocked on a rich woman’s door. .,” religious people who remind us that no matter our huge following, we are just mere mortals, and then smart people who write beautifully and you can’t help but stalk them online, people like Paula Norah. If you pronounce her name wrong, you, Mister, are going to have a problem.
In her Facebook Profile photo, with a background of green trees and maize plantations from a distance, Paula is seated on a rock, dressed in a black sleeveless top, a yellow flared skirt and black shoes. A black necklace stops right above her cleavage and to finish off her elegance is her lovely smile, which she wears like you would your Sunday best back in the days. Her ebony skin glows and I reckon if I were to wake my little Natasha up from her sleep, show her this photo and ask her what she sees, she would say, “Angel?”
Angels, by the way, are black. Jesus too.