My Name is fly. No Capitals, Please.

When fly walks onto the stage, her presence ferociously commands the attention of her audience. Bellowing the wrath of a woman come undone, she lashes out her anger, love, resentment and warmth, encompassing the audience in a myriad of disheveled emotions felt from being torn between the U.S. and Nigeria, living up to her African mother expectations and being a forthright “dyke” of color in an urban city.

fly began performing poetry just a few short years ago, but there isn’t a questionable doubt that she wasn’t born to be on stage. Her work focuses on cultural and feminist values, a complexity of African-American and African heritage, and liberation equated to the freedom of being gay. She has performed in over 25 cities across the U.S. and a multitude of universities on the East Coast. She has also organized and launched two independent national poetry tours in 2005 and shared stages with Amina Baraka, Bonfire Madigan, Sharon Bridgforth, Staceyann Chin, climbing poeTree, DJ Kuttin Kandi and Hanifah Walidah. Her latest work will be Volcano’s Birthrights, a one-woman show debuting in September in New York City, which will be a personal inflection into her 25-year-old life, addressing the issues of race, class, gender, sexuality, war, imperialism, love, self-esteem and family.

SM: Was your first passion writing poetry or were you always a performer?

YE: I’ve been writing since I was nine years old. I was teased a lot, so I created these little stories and scenarios. It just felt good doing it. When I went to Oberlin College, I set up a show for myself and there were about 200 people that came out. When I left Oberlin, I knew performing was something that spoke to my heart.

SM: How have the issues in Nigeria shaped who you are as an American?

YE: I often tell people that I’m struggling with one foot in Nigeria and one in New York. I’m African and our values, sense of community and where we call home lies in Nigeria. The food I cook, the way I look at the world – all those things. And it’s really ironic, in a sad way, that some Africans come to America for a better education and a better life, but those opportunities are not available in their homeland because Europeans came and took that away. And yes, I’m in this country to access these amazing resources; however, I miss home and people who look like me.

Part of my identity now is to create and build a home wherever I am — whether I’m in Nigeria or not. And sometimes, when I’m in Nigeria, people see me as American. So, it can be awkward to say I miss home and when I go there, I don’t fit in.

SM: How does your family feel about you being an ‘out’ lesbian?

YE: My family doesn’t know that I’m out at this point. My mom knows and she just wants me to be happy, so there’s no issue with that.

But, I don’t consider myself to be a lesbian. I’m a dyke. I think lesbian is a word that is easily digestible for people. It fits in people’s mouths easier than dyke. To me, dyke has more ridges and it’s raw. And that’s how I feel. The word that matches my sexuality and sensuality has to be that. A lot of people think that it’s a curse word – and it is, depending on how you use it. Dike was a Greek goddess who had a female partner and that’s how it started. Then, it turned into something negative. But, I claim it as that – a goddess who loves goddesses.

SM: Is that a fear for you – not coming out to the rest of your family? Or is that something that you will do eventually?

YE: I don’t know because Nigeria has some of the most intense laws in regards to homosexuality. I don’t know how my brothers, aunts and uncles feel about the issue. But, I highly doubt they have this pro-dyke testament. I am afraid that they will disown me and I’m very close to them. And it’s harder because I’m not there physically, so when I do go home, I don’t want them to say that.

SM: You recently did a show about domestic violence in lesbian relationships and violence against women in general. Is domestic violence in lesbian relationships something that has become more prevalent in recent years?

YE: Violence happens period. I think that’s the first thing I have to say because when we’re talking about LGBT relationships/issues, you have to think about gay bashing or humanity constantly desecrating us and not wanting to help our brothers and sisters, let alone assist us in our desire for health care and marriage. We’re so busy fighting for other issues that this particular one can be easily overlooked. I think it’s really important that we don’t tolerate it and we need to hold each other accountable because these are things that are happening to people.

SM: Since you started writing as a way of expressing your personal feelings, is that something you continue to draw from?

YE: There’s so much related that it cannot be tangled, you know? My family still lives in Nigeria and if they can’t eat, that affects me. If they’re bombing Iraq, that affects me. It’s all interconnected. I think a lot of times, people distance themselves from the political because they think they can’t do anything to change it. For example, I talk about health insurance. I went to undergrad and grad school for a bit and I don’t have health insurance. Why is it that? It’s like the government is telling you, ‘Oh, no health insurance? Go somewhere and die.’ Poetry gives me an opportunity to break everything down and explain it better.