I know to wash the white clothes on Monday and put them on the stone heap. I know to wash the color clothes on Tuesday and put them on the clothesline to dry I know to not walk bare-head in the hot sun and to cook pumpkin fritters in very hot sweet oil. I know to soak my little clothes right after I take them off or when buying cotton to make myself a nice blouse to be be sure that it doesn’t have gum in it because that way it won’t hold up well after a wash. I know to soak salt fish overnight before I cook it.

I know that this is how you iron father’s khaki shirt so that it doesn’t have a crease and this is how you iron your father’s khaki pants so that they don’t have a crease. I know that this is how you grow okra—far from the house, because okra tree harbors red ants and when you are growing dasheen, I know to make sure it gets plenty of water or else it makes my throat itch when I am eating it. I also know that this is how you sweep a corner and this is how you sweep a whole house.

I know that this is how to make a bread pudding, this is how to make doukona, this is how to make pepper pot and this is how to make a good medicine for a cold.

But being a slut is something that I don’t know. You’ve raised me to respect myself and respect my body. You don’t have to remind me constantly of what I could become. You can trust me. Why?

Because I know.