In honor of Black History Month, Atwood Magazine has invited artists to participate in a series of essays reflecting on identity, music, culture, inclusion, and more.

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Today, Puerto Rico-based multidisciplinary artist Niambi shares her essay, ‘No New Friends,’ a reflection of a song from her debut solo EP ‘Taboo,’ as a part of Atwood Magazine’s Black History Month series and a seasonal offering for ‘My Sister’s Circle’!

One-half of the neo-soul / hip-hop duo OSHUN, Niambi’s musical story was destined from the beginning. Born in Atlanta and raised in the DMV, she grew up watching her parents in Pan-African groups and jazz ensembles. Her parents were also the leading members of a neo-soul / funk band. While attending The Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at NYU Tisch, Niambi met future OSHUN member Thandiwe, along with her partner / collaborator Proda, who produced multiple songs on ‘Taboo,’ and her manager, who is still with her today.

During their tenure, OSHUN received acclaim from the globe’s top music outlets and collaborated with artists like Princess Nokia, Jorja Smith, and LION BABE. The duo have also performed at Glastonbury, Afropunk, and Melt! Festival, and were direct support for Lauryn Hill’s 2020 North American tour. In 2022, OSHUN released their final album, ‘vol. ii.’

Released January 17th via Easier Said, ‘Taboo’ is Niambi’s headfirst jump into solo waters – a reflection of her next phase as an artist, a new mother, and a woman. The title is a nuanced nod to the beliefs of African traditional religions but also dissects the internalization of societal rules. ‘Taboo’ is ultimately a celebration of freedom, with Niambi letting loose and showcasing her confidence in her various roles: rapper, singer, producer, songwriter, mother and spiritual leader. The project follows Niambi’s move from the New York City to Puerto Rico, embracing the natural surroundings of Puerto Rico’s environment. “On this project, I’m giving myself permission to say what I need to say and do what I want to do,” Niambi shares. “I’m allowing myself to take up more space. And I love it here.”

While living in Puerto Rico, Niambi also founded My Mother’s House, a spiritual organization honoring ancestral practices of the African Diaspora.

An inspiration through both her music and actions, Niambi has established herself as a singular voice of empowerment, community engagement, and more. Read her essay below, and listen to her ‘Taboo’ EP, out now on all music platforms!

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NO NEW FRIENDS

by Niambi

It’s crazy how a friend breakup can mess you up more than getting dumped by your boo.

It’s weird. It hurts, but you also want to be understanding because this is your friend. Your sister. That’s what it’s been like becoming a solo artist. Although there is so much beauty in this newly found creative freedom, I’m also mourning a friend I’ve lost.

It sounds so dramatic. We’re alive and well, we’re not estranged, we still support each other. But it’s different. We don’t interact the same. We don’t relate the same. We are not the same and I’ve been grieving what was. My song “No New Friends” is an exploration of those feelings. It’s an embodiment of what it looks like to fully give yourself permission to name your feelings and work through them.

I said, “No new friends… honestly, the heartbreak is a nuisance.” And it is. It’s uncomfortable. It’s inconvenient. To have to open up to new people. To start over. To accept that your life will look different than you imagined, that the players are ever-changing. That you’re not in control. It’s humbling shit. It’s much easier to just say “no new friends,” and keep it pushing; but, that’s a missed opportunity for growth.

What if we leaned into more grace?

What if we gave our friends the benefit of the doubt? That’s what I was feeling when I wrote, “I thought that was my sister… [there] must’ve been some kind of mixup.” I start from a place of hurt, then there’s a shift. So much chaos can stem from simple misunderstandings, from miscommunications. We assume malice when there’s merely confusion. I’m working on filling in the blanks less, transmuting resentment into compassion.

“It’s all love, ‘cause life’s harder than it appears to be.” I’m realizing that people show up for you the way they can, if they can. And if they can’t, that’s okay. I send so much love to every friend I’ve ever had, however the relationship has transitioned. I understand that, at the end of the day, we’re all working to center ourselves, our growth, our personal alignment. But that doesn’t mean parting ways isn’t painful.

I’m a social loner. I like to be outside with many and inside with very few. I’m a creature of habit, of ritual. I stay to myself. I struggle with balancing the social demands of life and just disappearing into the rainforest. And also, I love my friends. So as much as I want to retreat, I recognize how important it is to nurture connection. Even when it means acknowledging how I can do better, be better. So, I release.

I release the guilt and shame of changing. The expectation that familiar things will stay the same. The idea that what’s beautiful isn’t meant to shift, to transform, to be free. I release the need to explain myself or hear any other explanations to make sense of what simply is. I release what doesn’t want to be kept. And I repair. I repair the bridge that allows us to circle back when the timing’s right. I repair my relationship with newness, with taking up space. I repair my trust in myself and my love for my art.

I didn’t start my musical career alone. My voice was always part of a shared experience, embedded into the harmonies of a sisterhood that felt like home. But life has a way of shifting the ground beneath you. As our paths diverged, I had to ask myself: Who am I when I’m standing alone?

That question terrified me.

There’s a certain safety in creating within community, in being part of something bigger than yourself.

When you step away from that, when you become the sole architect of your own vision, there’s no one else to lean on or to blame. It’s just you.

For a long time, I hesitated. I feared. I doubted. I missed the comforts of collaboration. The security of being part of a whole. My entire relationship with my art began to suffer as I struggled to find myself in music again. And then I remembered who I am. Niambi means melody. I almost forgot.

There are still moments when I miss what was. When I wonder, what if. The feelings come in waves – all I can do is let them pass and give thanks that I can still feel the water on my skin.

No new friends? Iyanla Vanzant says, ‘some people come into your life for a reason, some a season, and some a lifetime.’ In other words, I’ll just have to wait and see. – Niambi

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This essay is the first in a seasonal series for My Sister’s Circle, a private community for BIPOC women dedicated to bettering themselves. Each season, Niambi shares a personal reflection as she navigates life in real time. If this resonated with you, learn more at mymothershouse.org/mysisterscircle!

To join My Sister’s Circle, use code ATWOOD for one free month.

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