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I finally grew the ovaries to speak up. #WEOC member -


The power of political narrative and the fight to reclaim it

Photo by Brandon Mowinkel on Unsplash

I read a brilliant article about how the BBC spends an exorbitant amount of money every year through a government grant from The UK Foreign & Commonwealth Office to reach millions of viewers in Africa, Asia, Latin Americas, and the Middle East. Of course, it’s not just the BBC; it’s CNN, Radio France, and the rest of the gang. As the author Lanu Pitan put it: The question is, why would foreign governments spend that much investment to inform the East about themselves?

Because shaping information to suit the narrative you want to sell is power.

If you live outside…


Why are they like this?

Photo by Tran Mau Tri Tam on Unsplash

Years ago, when I first moved to Canada, I did a really fob move.

I saw a bunch of horses and ran to hug them and feed them flowers like I was in Bambi or something. I quickly found out they were officers of the law and almost got arrested for it.

RCMP? Police on horses? Oh, the horses are the police? It was absurd to me.

What do you mean he’s an officer? I thought he was a munchkin? An officer? The guy just lifted his leg and peed on the sidewalk. He has a respectable title while people…


A tattoo for the soul

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I got my first tattoo in 2020. When the artist said we were done, I winced. I thought we would both burst into flames. I mean, that’s what my mom said would happen.

Imagine, I was a whole 35-year-old. Whew. The power of conditioning. That’s why I got one, actually; I wanted to reclaim my thoughts, mind, and body.

حرة, pronounced, hurrah in Arabic- Not like hurrah, it’s your birthday, no, no put some UMPH in the H, and press the gas on the R- is derived from the noun “freedom." …


Navigating a world full of toxicity

Photo via The Cut

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this one was worth $1.8 million. That’s how much Bernie not giving a fuck raised for charity- he simply showed up as himself.

Look, it’s not like I woke up and became Bernie. It was a whole process- an awakening, if you will. I went from giving so much shit — so much shit- to non. Zero. Nada.

I feel like $1.8 million but in my soul. My bank account totally rebukes this statement and then some. But my soul? It never felt so free.

Free from the bullshit. Oh…

Prompt: Shame

What makes a woman “nasty” but not “disgusting”?

Photo by Daniella Garcia on Unsplash

It’s funny how you can have writer’s block for a week and then read something that sparks a memory, and it brings you right back to your calling- pun intended.

I came across an article titled: Confession: I Took a Dump at the Colosseum written by Jee Young Park — and after I was done judging her and laughing my ass off, I realized it was a prompt. Fuck, would I be a phony if I laughed at her and didn't make a confession myself?

In her article, she says:

Obinna has mentioned a few times how taking embarrassing moments…

The Afghani women we went to “save” with bombs and tanks.

Photo by IsaaK Alexandre KaRslian on Unsplash

I don’t get it. Did you think the Ghani government was like a rainbow-wielding progressivist seeking to liberate women? I mean, they are a tad bit more progressive than the Taliban, but to act like this was the wonderful alternative the US bestowed onto the people is laughable.

This is not to say women working, going to university, and being on TV didn't make me happy or isn’t a good thing. Still, it is incredibly presumptuous to assume that this handful of women represented the whole or asked for a war in the first place.

They didn't.

Besides, no one…

Turn your doodles into Butter Chicken.

Photo by Raman on Unsplash

You know when you’re looking for that thing that hits the spot, and then it hits the mother fucking spot?

They say a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, but I like to say, a spoonful of Butter Chicken brings the house down. Just thinking about it makes me want to sway.

The story of Butter Chicken begins with a refugee, some Tandoori, loads of spices, and the spirit of inventiveness.


Did I mention the side of Garlic Naan that accompanies it? Ok, now I’m crying.

A tandoor is an underground clay oven used for making bread…

Double the discrimination but triple the self-determination

Photo courtesy of Travel Noire

One of my earliest stories on Medium was about the first time I visited Burj el Barajneh, the refugee camp my dad grew up in in Lebanon.

I was around nine, coming from the UAE, and had never seen real poverty or met people in truly dire situations. It was a huge shock to realize where my extended family was living and what is considered “home.” But the thing that always weighed most heavily on me was meeting my cousin Moe, nicknamed Hamoudi.

He wasn’t really my cousin, but my dad insisted we were. I love him for it.


Nada Chehade

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