Maya's Jibbajabs

I have always written and drawn about black femme and queer people from different cultures in a world that expects everything and nothing of them.

As an artist and writer, each of my works throws the audience into a loop where they must pick up a dictionary, research, be patient, and be challenged to follow through the whole process. The thing that throws most of the peer writings from college was that fact I write about stories outside of White western ambiance. I wrote a story called the Alchemist Last Gift, about alchemy and Hermetic mythology set in Kufa BC, most of my non-BIPOC classmates got tripped up on the Arabic terminology that I used, some even suggested deleting it, erasing the chemistry terms along with the history. 

I craft hybridity, an intersectional writing form that portrays black femmes and non-conforming people. I write short stories and novels about black femme characters from different periods, or other cultures, solving murder mysteries in an African science fictional setting. I also create creatures from another realm and supernaturals based on a hybrid of African, Vodou, and Hindu faith. I use my fountain pen to rip up Eurocentric heteronormative misogynoir male lens, bleeding black ink, so that one can convey their cultural self. Intersectionality is a great tool I use in my poems to highlight, the knowledge deserts of some social justice thoughts, redefine reality and show the experience of a big, black, mixed, femme, and queer. 

Inspired by intersectionality and queer writing, I spend hours reading nearly all of the books from three libraries and researching online archives and databases for sources about intersectionality in creative writing, and intersectionality and queer life outside of the US. Drawing from Black Queer Hoe (poetry), Charlene Caruthers’ Unapologetic: A Black, Queer, and Feminist Mandate for Radical Movements, Arundhati Roy's The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, Sidya Haartman’s Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Kimberle Crenshaw’s Intersectionality, as well as mentioning Tina Chang’s Hybrida and Black Queer Hoe, I learned how Black feminist lenses pertains to poetry and fiction by deconstructing traditional poetic forms and mixing them with different genres of creative writing. I mix different mediums in my art to get a more impactful composition on my canvas. 

As an avid black reader and researcher, I understand the importance of researching overlooked figures, like Dr. Pierre, Ida B Wells, and Saidiya Hartman. Their Black femme narratives are what I am to write and share in my craft. For example, in Hartman’s Lose Your Mother, she writes an autobiographical account of her journey in her ancestral homeland, Ghana, as well as recounts her maternal family history. One of the things that struck me about the book was the creative narrative. It read like a story rather than a traditional piece of research. For example, she describes the angst she felt visiting the Elmina Castle, the place where young enslaved Africans were held against their will before “being pulled by their chains through the door of no return”.  

My craft in both writing and art is inspired by, which highlights black femmes' experiences in a society where they face overlapping discrimination and marginalization. 

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There are few to no texts or sources that discuss the queerness of blackness and affirm that being femme is non-binarism, being more than one or two genders, not exclusively to women of any self-expression in both research and creative writing fields. While a decent number of them are found in bookstores and databases, they don't get enough representation for people to read and research those subjects avidly. Furthermore, subjects like intersectionality, critical race theory, queer thinking, aesthetics and interpretations, and other subjects that prompt critical thinking and writing, and civic learning are not encouraged to the masses. 

Schools did not encourage a critical thinking curriculum with avid research and creative outlets. They also had very few African Studies classes and African History courses, which was not enough to teach me more about the variety of issues surrounding critical race theory, the predicament of intersectionality, and a knowledge of the African experience across the diaspora. Many of the subjects and books I read were banned and not widely known outside of my space. I was fortunate to have had my mom and grandmother, including some teachers who encouraged me to read challenging novels, prompt critical thinking essays, research knowledge deserts in history courses, and allow me to draw and write based on those sources. I also participated in a lot of extracurricular programs like AAPF's Young Scholars Program, Mighty Writers, Write for Change, and Black Writers Collective. 

Making sure that my voice remains authentic and heard continues to be a battle as I continue on my creative journey. Throughout my life, I have combated misogynoir, heterosexism, feminist exclusivity, and gender binarism through my critical queer, black feminist thinking voice with my hybrida poetic forms, abstract art pieces, and non-narrative writing. When I workshopped my poems, a few of my peers who are Black queer, trans, and non-binary, felt seen in some of my pieces. Nevertheless, I have received feedback from non-Black and queer peers who noted that they didn't get my writing and that it was too complex to read due to the fact I write about subjects outside Western ideal tropes in broad parables. My professors and family noted that it was not only a validating affirmation, but also it rewrites the lesson I was initially taught. To not just write looking outside of one’s Western Eurocentric sphere, but to write through an intersectional lens; to empower a perspective of those whose experiences are unapologetic, queer, and authentic. Hence, the reason I write and draw. To give visibility to another black femme queer within the margins. 

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