Fall of Fuchsia

We're having our second bout of cold weather here in Atlanta....or maybe that is wishful thinking. More than likely, the cold is settling in for good. Surprising, how suddenly it descends. Just a couple days ago it was warm enough for me to wear this outfit. Initially, I also wore jeggings but as soon as I stepped outside, it was clear that they were unnecessary. I ended up wearing just the sweater over this thin cotton dress. I took a blazer in case I was out at night, when it would have been cooler. The sweater is a favourite of mine. It’s fuchsia and has little pom pom’s in the front - a playful and feminine detail that helps keep me happy during the colder months.I donned the black hat and bag as well as loads of brass jewellery to prevent things from becoming too saccharine. Although, they are strangely out of view in these photos, I did wear shoes!

 Do you relegate bright colours to the warmer months or do you, like me, enjoy breaking this fashion rule?

Hat:vintage- thrifted
Bag:Dooney & Burke- thrifted
Jewellery-collected from various sources (mostly, handmade)

Photo Credit: Ekiuwa of House of Evbuomwan


Travel Diary: Goree Island

As the ferry approached the shore, an idyllic scene stretched out before me: fishermen tending to their boats and colour - saturated buildings framed by exuberant bougainvillea trees. As I walked upon the beach, children played, their peels of laughter startling a flock of birds.Women sat cleaning fish. Clothes, hung to dry in the brilliant sun, danced to the gentle ocean breeze. It would have been reasonable to think that life here had always flown as easily as the tide. I knew differently. 

I knew that there was a history here that belied the pretty facade. Centuries ago, on Goree Island an ignoble industry presided. It decimated ages of tradition and tore families apart. It made this island the opposite of paradise for many. It was built upon the denial of humanity and it came to bear an immeasurable impact from West Africa to the so-called West Indies. Yet, not much seemed to exist now that betrayed that gruesome past.

 As I strolled through the narrow dirt roads, I wondered...maybe the walls, the only surviving witnesses, had chosen not to speak. Maybe the ocean had washed away the tears and the sun had bleached the anguish. Maybe children's laughter had silenced the ghosts. Maybe the beauty that surrounded me was a lasting salve to cruelty's wounds.

Photos of landscape and people taken by myself.
Photo of me taken by my guide, Suleiman.


Bedroom Bliss (Part 1)