Cease and Desist Woman Servitude – A note to all women…bitches too!

by Nide Zimemo
Drawing by: Shannon Stannard

“A woman with opinions had better develop a thick skin and a loud voice” – Anya Seton, The Winthrop

It used to be, back in ancient times, female slavery and females being at the bottom of the socio-economic poll was unequivocally accepted. Unbeknownst to women of course, the separate laws and standards that were forced upon them were implemented by highly testosterone law makers and were acceptable moral standards of that period. I’m not saying these ancient women were not smart, I’m just saying, they didn’t know any better and had zero access to information.


“Women are your fields: go, then, into your fields whence you please.”-Quran 2:222

“Men have authority over women because god has made the one superior to the other, and because they spend their wealth to maintain them. Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because god has guarded them. As for those from whom you fear disobedience, admonish them and forsake them in beds apart, and beat them.”-Quran 4:34


“Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet she will be saved through childbearing – if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control” – 1 Timothy 2:11-15

From the very beginning when women landed on this planet, they were by default labeled bitch, loud mouth, transgressors who deserve to be punished, and weakly physically. I beg to differ. Granted, men are useful in their own right but women are way better…if only women can free themselves from self hatred and realize how worthy they are. If you think hard about it, what do women need men for?…I can wait. You say to impregnate? Nope, we have artificial insemination for that. I bet you right now there is a woman in a science lab underground somewhere, working on a formula to create sperm from female chromosomes only. Did you say we need men for strength? Nope, we have forklifts for that.

Religion has trained and persuaded women into believing that they are second class citizens. Sexual freedom is frowned upon while men do the exact same thing. There has been an overwhelming miseducation in the female community and this post is to rectify those misconceptions.

Women, ladies, bitches. Whatever crown you wear, do so unapologeticaly. The world rotates around women and women should recognize the power they possess. Burdened by child birth pains… [actually we got drugs for that now], so no more pain. Ha ha to the religious nuts who thought child-birth was our eternal punishment–silly religious chauvinists. The remedy for this is for women to respect one another and be less judgmental of each other. Consider China’s One-Child Policy, male babies are deemed precious and so mothers suffocate their girl babies and husbands can punch a pregnant wife in the stomach and call it a “spontaneous abortion.” As to date, there are more men in China than women and so now the baby girls who were birthed are being kidnapped and raised by their kidnappers so that they can sell them later to other men to procreate. See how that worked out, a woman has value even after the fact.In Boko Haram, Nigeria African women are helpless, a handful of dirty scoundrels can grab young girls and keep them hostage in the forest indefinitely. In India, the Red Light District is packed with girl slaves. Do you see my point here? Women have value and society is going to take it whether it is consensual or not.

Reversing the inferior complex instilled by religion and culture will be an uphill battle, but worthwhile nonetheless. The beauty standards have been set by the male ego from millions of years ago. Society feels that when a woman states a point “passionately” that her high-pitch voice sounds like a nagging, batty woman. How else can women express themselves in this male-dominated planet? And then when a female takes testosterone injections, her voice is now considered unattractive. Make up your mind society. It almost seems like shutting up is what the fraternity desires of women.

There is enough room in our civilization for all three types of the female gender:

definition: A malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, especially a female.

This form of sassy and boldness is by far the most effective when dealing with male-egotistical circumstances. Being a bitch is a gift of the quick, snappy, probably Tourette’s Syndrome mouth piece we carry around, but we wear it with confidence. The trick is to know when and how to unleash a fitting dose of the inner bitch appropriately.Bitches are great. But you have to grow out of it at some point.

definition: A woman of superior social position, especially one of noble birth.

A lady is a remarkable and notable kind of female. She is well put together, minds her p’s and q’s and won’t go full nut-job, especially with that new hairdo that cost $350. You would think that society appreciates this over achieving female, sadly, no one respects a lady.

definition: An adult human female

Being a woman is the final stage of female-ism. Finding the right balance between being a bitch and a lady is what all females should strive for. A woman lives by her rules, cares less about what another person thinks and most importantly, tries her damnedest to raise decent children. Applying make up and adorning herself is a way she shows respect for herself and those around her. Women work hard and expect nothing from no one…but still love to be given free shit.

To make sense of this: Women, you are prized no matter which category you fall under. Stop selling yourself short. It is now 2015 and to continue to abide by societal standards that are outdated is simply preposterous. Living on this earth does not make any human being greater than the next. Matter of fact, compared to the rest of the cosmos, no matter what gender you are, we are all insignificant. Do not allow one individual dictate how short your skirt should be in public and how much money you should make. Mostly, women must stop abusing other women.

This blog is not intended to arouse “hate male” propaganda because, you know, we love our men…not so much need them, but love them because they need love too.


I’m screwed!

by Nide Zimemo Stannard

“It’s not about telling people what is right or wrong, because there are very few absolutes, but rather about proving a frame to operate within”James Van Praagh


Why on earth would I read a James Van Praagh book about life after death right before my surgery? Knowing all the doubt I have in myself when it comes to making sound decisions, it is not the dying on the surgery table I am  concerned about, it’s the loud pounding of my heart that I want to slow down. For most of my existence, I have been surrounded by the notion that one should pray to a deity when feeling overwhelmed with fear or doubt.


“In actuality, God is a formless multidimensional reality much like electromagnetic waves that pass through space” James Vann Praagh



As I sit at the waiting room to be called in, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to go take a shit.Crap! Now I feel the need to pee. Maybe if I sat on the toilet, I might get inspired by a piece of literary warming advice that I have read in the past, so I wheeled myself to the waiting room bathroom.Why when I pull up to the bathroom this is the sign I see:


What are the odds that a headless gentleman is allowed to share a bathroom with a gentle lady. If that is not a good sign for me, then I don’t know what is. I must have sat on the toilet for hours (15 minutes to be exact) and nothing happens. Don’t you hate it when that happens?


Now I’m back in the waiting room.


“Spirituality is how one expresses one’s spirit. Religion is a set of rules and limitations that are placed on an individual’s spirit. The first is natural and infinite; the latter is a human construct and finite” J.V.P

Get out of my head James, this is neither the time nor the place to have an internal debate about the existence of a deity. I hear my name being called to go in and be prepped. Wait a minute, I’m not ready. I have not found the right ‘scripture’ to soothe this fear. Now I really feel like I need to take a shit.


All gowned up and waiting for the surgeon to come talk to me, but wait, I’ve got to take a quick selfie:



She holds my hand and kisses some fears away. I watch how she interacts with the doctors, nurses, anesthesiologist. She does this thing when she is involved in a conversation, she will spend the majority  of the conversation eye-locking with me instead of the other party who probably is hearing the story for the first time.  I like it when she does that. My heart rate calms down tremendously.


The synergy and the sequence of this morning’s events have led to this moment. The nurses, the anesthetist and doctor, my partner by my side [as she constantly texts friends and family on my behalf letting them know I was ready to be cut open…again], all this brought an enormous sense of confidence and calm that I was in the right place, doing the right thing at the right time. I did not need to pray. I am in control of my fears. Of all the religions in the world, she is my favorite religion. I am not screwed after all!

The wonderment of an 8-year-old mind

I have to say, we have come a long way. From psychotic crayon drawings, to indefinable scribbled shapes found all over our now 8-year-old son’s drawing pages. What about that time in first grade when he colored everything purple? Purple faces, purple trees, purple sun. These past five years, my hersband (Shannon) and I have undertook a color-training quest. We decided to guide and nurture his artistic side. The three of us hold coloring competitions in our home most evenings after dinner. Of course I always win–especially when Shannon doesn’t compete. As our boy grows into his own personality he is starting to exhibit confidence in his drawings, I find this to be a cool and interesting quality. I am that mom that throws out the important school’s newsweekly letters and fundraiser stuff into the trash bin, but rather dig deep to the bottom of his school backpack to find his homework first and then…at the very bottom of his ever dirty and crumb-filled backpack, will be a bunch of crumpled drawings. Recently, I noticed a ‘Before’ and ‘After’ colored-in drawing he had brought home and left laying on the messy floor of his bedroom. The one drawing is torn at one corner and both pages looked like they just escaped the impending doom that happens to most of his drawings–crumpled and neglected.


This above picture, after staring at both the before and after, I realized how, even when rushing through his work and getting answers correct, still did not make the drawing completely done in his mind, yet I am tickled that his after picture is daintily and perfectly colored yet answers are not filled in. The picture to the left is my favorite of the two.


He also has little caricatures that I find to be so funny yet expressive of what goes on in his 8-year-old brain. His DNA, unfortunately, carried from both paternal and maternal sides shows zero traces of art creations…with respect to drawing and sketching only. This boy is learning and adapting to something that he truly does enjoy doing, inspired by my hersband and his big ‘bad-ass’ teenage cousin. With a pen in his little left hand, Shannon allows him to pen all types of ‘tattoos’ on her solid, masculine, light-skinned canvas of a back. As far as he is concerned, this is a serious competition held by all little kids at Shannon’s work. So he takes this ‘tattooing’ very seriously especially knowing that my hersband brags about his art at her work. It’s been five years since the beginning of this never-ending competition and he has “won” some and lost some.

The painting below is my favorite. It’s a water color painting.


You see, we are not overly concerned on whether he becomes an artist or not in the future, we care that he takes time and shows care about what he is about to ink.

What is in a name? Apparently a whole lot!

Nide Zimemo Stannard

Side note: Omarion has a tattoo with what seems to be my name on it. Desperate much? I think I am.

As I sat at the hospital waiting room for my name to be called, I started to get agitated, so I decided to close my eyes for a second. In between the interrupted naps, I would panicly open my eyes and ask my accompanying friend “Have they called my name yet?” She would reply, “Go back to sleep Nide, of course I will hear when they announce your name on the intercom”. After hours of waiting, I heard faintly in my deep sleep “Ny-dee, Ny-dee please come up to the desk.” I quickly woke up and wheeled my chair to the front desk. As my friend trotted behind me she was still convinced that my name had not been called yet.

For such a very short name it proved to be such a challenge to most. My lax attitude and not being stern enough about the pronunciation of my name has forced me to learn more about this name called Nide. How I got named is the most embarrassing account and to avoid the dreaded conversation of “Oh, that is such a pretty name, what does it mean?” Well, anyone that has asked me that question probably got the “It means gorgeous princess in Xhosa, my African dialect”. That is so far from the truth. Here is some few examples of what my closest friends call me:

Shannon: Knee-day [this is my spouse of seven years]
Frank: Knee-na
Zida: Knee-dee
John: Knee-duh
Jolene: Yo!
Patric: Knee-dhe
Hospital staff: Ny-dee
Lack of interest strangers: Nadia

When I was born on March 28, 1981, I was a 5 1/2-month premature baby. The story goes that I was so tiny that when my immediately paranoid mother left the hospital with me — in a baby swaddle blanket– she had to check it every second, just in case I slip through a blanket opening. My entire family was uncertain on how to take care of me because of my fragile and weak state. When my father saw me for the first time, he denied me as his daughter because as he so eloquently put it, “I don’t make such weakly pathetic babies, you should see my other kids [from a different mother],they are healthy and strong.”

How I get my name apparently, my family members were debating on what I should be named after coming from the hospital. They had never seen a baby so minute that jokes were thrown around. It is at this point that my ever-drunk aunt piped up and scolded the adults: “Nide nihleke nje…” This statement translated in English is, “How dare you start to laugh…” After she scolded them she suddenly was hit by the bright idea, “Nide, oh my god, we should call her Nide”. By any language, how the hell was I ever supposed to explain that to strangers, particularly English-speaking strangers. From that point on, I never cared to explain my name to anyone.

In 2005, I got pregnant with my first child. His father and I decided on a name. At that time, both his father and I were dedicated followers of the MTV reality show called The Real World. There was one contestant there that we both were particularly fond of and so we decided to call our son Nehemiah, after this contestant.Many months after our Nehemiah was born, his father and I decided to watch the re-runs of The Real World.As we both stared at the television screen, turns out, the guy we were fond of was NOT Nehemiah, but his name was Alton. Nehemiah was the other guy that we did not care for much. This is why he and I are incapable of co-parenting. Somehow, my son heard me share this story with a friend and so he walks around the house calling himself Alton. So, I have decided to reclaim and bring back pride in my name so that my son can also go back to being proud of his first name.

As I do with all my research, I decided to confront Google and demand answers. To my amazement, my name rocks!

cyanide = Strong poison;

snide = Unpleasant remark;

Enid Blyton = My Favorite author growing up;

uranide = Any element having an atomic number greater than that of protactinium;

unideal = Lacking ideals;

niderings = coward;

selenides = Any compound in which selenium serves as an oxidation number of -2;

nonidentity = No identity;

antimonides = Any member of a rare mineral group consisting of compounds of 1 or more metals with antimony;

actinides = Typical metals that have properties of both d-block and the f-block elements, but they are also radio active;

arsenides = A compound or arsenic with less electronegative element or elements;

nonideal = Differing in behavior from that of an ideal gas or solution;

ozonides = Any compound, usually explosive, formed by the additional of ozone to the double or triple bond of an organic compound.

Whew! Thank goodness for chemistry and physics. What a relief to find out that somewhere, somehow my name means something significant. I cannot say that I am proud of all the meanings of the words that have ‘nide’ in them, but this sure was a great start. Next time someone asks me what my name means, if it is someone I don’t care for: “It is derived from the word cyanide, meaning poison” I think from here on out I am about to have fun with my name. Now my next dilemma is to work on the name Nehemiah.