Amplifying Black Feminist Voices with Ola Akinmowo

Becky Mollenkamp: Greetings. Today’s guest is Ola Akimowo. She is the artist behind the Free Black Women’s Library in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. We had an amazing conversation that I’m thrilled for you to hear because she’s incredible and doing such great work in the world for very little money and recognition. I hope we can be part of changing that because what she’s doing is so important.

The space is grassroots, with 5,000 books—actually, I think it’s several thousand more than that now—all written by Black women and Black non-binary folks. In addition to the book collection, which we talk about, it’s also a free store, a period pantry, a backyard garden, a reading club, and has all sorts of free programming. The work she’s doing is so important and such a great example of what’s possible when we try. I hope you enjoy this conversation with Ola.

Becky Mollenkamp: Hi, Ola. How are you?

Ola Akimowo: Hi, I’m good. How are you?

Becky Mollenkamp: Good! We’re having some tech issues, so we’re doing this interview on Zoom, which is different from the regular platform I use. So if things sound or seem different, that’s why. But we’re going to make it work, and it’s going to be great.

Before we start talking about the Free Black Women’s Library, which I’m excited to chat about, I’d love to hear your thoughts on your relationship with feminism.

Ola Akimowo: Hopefully, this answer won’t be too long, but I do identify as a Black feminist. For me, that means aligning with the works, theories, and legacy of Black women activists, thinkers, and scholars like Ida B. Wells, Sojourner Truth, Fannie Lou Hamer, bell hooks, Audre Lorde, the Combahee River Collective—all of these amazing people and collectives that have worked around safety for Black women, Black queer folks, and marginalized communities.

They’ve worked on ideas around access to decent housing and healthcare—essentially fighting for us to be treated as human beings who can exist and thrive in the world. That work includes challenging capitalism, patriarchy, racism, and sexism. For me, Black feminism is an integral part of my creative, spiritual, and political praxis. It influences everything—the way I build community, the way I parent, my friendships, and romantic relationships. I’m not sure who said, ‘The personal is political,’ but I 100% agree.

I’ve called myself a Black feminist for about two decades now. I know that when people think of feminism, they don’t necessarily think of Black women. They might think of things like burning bras or the suffragettes fighting for the right to vote. But for me, it’s so much more. It’s about equal pay for the same work, reproductive justice, access to abortions and fertility treatments. It’s about having the same opportunities as everyone else.

I also don’t think you need to be a woman, or even identify as a woman, to call yourself a feminist or a Black feminist.

Becky Mollenkamp: I appreciate you sharing that. I think we’re aligned, which is great. You mentioned some amazing people like Audre Lorde, bell hooks, and the Combahee River Collective. And that’s a good segue into talking about books, since so many of these people have written powerful works on these topics.

I’m sure you have a love of books, given what you’re doing. What got you into reading? Can you think back to what made you fall in love with books? You’ve said libraries are sacred spaces, which is beautiful. How did that love of reading evolve for you?

Ola Akimowo: I’ve always loved books. Reading offered me an escape from the unstable, sometimes chaotic environment I grew up in. I didn’t find much safety in my home or school situations, but books let me jump into another world. They’ve always felt like portals to another dimension.

Books also showed me that the world I was living in wasn’t the only one. There was more out there for me. It was a simple, affordable way to travel, and it sparked my creativity as an artist from a young age. When I started discovering books where the characters looked or sounded like me, or dealt with similar situations, it was even more exciting. It gave me a sense of possibility—that I could escape my circumstances.

Libraries are magical because they hold books on any topic you could imagine, and you don’t even have to pay for them. You can borrow them, take them home, read them, return them, and borrow them again. It’s genius. I used to cut school to spend all day in the library, just reading. Books were a comfort and support for me.

That’s what led me to start the Free Black Women’s Library—I wanted to offer my community a similar resource. I wanted them to feel like the world has so much more to offer than just pain and heartache.

Becky Mollenkamp: I think that ties into what I want to talk about next. Libraries exist in every community, right? They’re a wonderful resource. But you still decided to start the Free Black Women’s Library. It’s called a library, but it’s not through the library system, and it’s not exactly what we traditionally think of as a library. It’s also not a business or bookstore. You call it a social art project. Can you explain what that means and why you started a Black women’s library when there are already libraries?

Ola Akimowo: A social art project engages people like traditional art would—whether it’s painting, sculpture, film, or performance. Art is meant to evoke emotions and inspire ideas, to confront aspects of society. Social art is similar, but it also involves social interaction.

My first social art project was based on green spaces within urban environments. I did a community garden book tour, taking people all over Brooklyn to visit community gardens, interact with gardeners, and learn about the importance of nature in urban spaces. It was a really awesome project, but this library project has grown beyond anything I imagined.

Becky Mollenkamp: I want to talk about that growth in a second, but first, what made you decide to focus this project around books?

Ola Akimowo: The community garden project wasn’t really about books, it was more about the importance of nature in urban spaces. But the library came out of my activism, specifically around state violence against Black women and girls. I was doing a lot of protesting and petitioning, but it started to feel like I was shouting into the void. No one seemed to care.

It was affecting me mentally and spiritually. That’s when I decided to create something that would uplift Black women and girls in a different way.

Becky Mollenkamp: Yeah, when we talked briefly before preparing for this, you mentioned that it felt victimizing, this sort of ‘please look at us, please think about us.’ And that’s heavy.

Ola Akimowo: Trying to get people to see your humanity is very demoralizing because it’s like, look at me, I’m a human being, and you don’t see me as one. You just see me as something to be used and thrown away or something that’s taking up space. That was the attitude I was getting, whether through media, TV, film, or the news—it just felt like nobody was paying attention. I thought, if I continue down this path, I’m going to have a mental breakdown because I could feel it starting to affect me mentally. I already struggled with depression and anxiety, and it felt like it was making it worse, but I didn’t want to give up on the work.

I didn’t want to give up on amplifying the struggles Black women and girls face, but I felt like I needed a different approach. Instead of seeing myself, or presenting us, as victims needing to be saved by society, I decided to switch gears and present us differently. I needed to look at myself differently—not as someone who needs saving but as someone who offers worth and value to every situation. Being someone who’s always loved books and libraries, I thought, this is a simple way to show how much Black women have contributed to society. The intellectual and creative labor Black women have given to this country and the world at large—I can amplify that. I can platform it. And it won’t feel like victimizing; it’ll feel like celebrating. So, I decided to do work that centers and celebrates the lives of Black women, Black girls, and Black queer folks, instead of saying, ‘Oh my God, will someone help us?’

Becky Mollenkamp: You mentioned it felt more empowering and radical than marching in the streets, which is often framed as the most radical form of activism. But for you, this felt far more empowering and radical, which I find really interesting.

Ola Akimowo: It was a theory—an experiment, really—back in 2014 when I first thought of it. I wondered if it would work, and it actually did. It changed everything. It changed me, how people interacted with me when I brought up these issues, and how the community I focused on felt about the work. It was a complete 180.

I had done so many marches, and I was tired—tired of marching, yelling in the street, stopping traffic, and risking my life, dealing with tear gas or rubber bullets. I would come home at the end of the day and feel like, ‘What was that for?’ I was tired of that feeling.

This is no shade to anyone who marches, because I still think there’s so much value in it—it brings attention to issues, and there’s nothing like having a million people walking in the streets. But for me, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally, this just put me in a better place.

When I look at Black feminism and the work of those I admire and research, there are cautionary tales. A lot of these women poured so much into their work and died way too early, sometimes alone, broke, tired, and wondering what it was all for. I feel like, as ancestors, they’re telling me, ‘Girl, you better take care of yourself. Make sure whatever you’re doing feeds not just others but also you.’ That was part of it, too.

Becky Mollenkamp: That’s so important. I love that. I wanted to bring up something quickly. Have you heard of Social Change Now: A Guide for Reflection and Connection by Deepa Iyer? It presents the social change model.

What I love—and I’ll just quickly share this—is that for people working toward equity, liberation, and justice, there’s a central goal, and surrounding that goal are different roles. It’s not hierarchical, which is the BS we’re used to in white supremacy. Everything is equally important. The healers, the weavers, the guides, the storytellers—they’re all just as important as the frontline responders. We need those on the front lines doing the marching, but we also need people like you, the storytellers, who share the stories of people forging change.

I think it’s important to remember when thinking about activism that there are well-meaning activists who sometimes make others feel like they’re not doing it right if they’re not in the streets. But we all have our roles to play, and that role can change, too. In our 20s, being in the streets might be our role, but by the time we’re in our 40s or 50s, that role might change, and that’s okay as long as we’re still playing a role.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly. 100%. Being flexible, moving with the times, and figuring out what works best for you—I completely agree.

Becky Mollenkamp: All credit to Tiana Brown, my co-host on Messy Liberation, for introducing me to that model. It’s really helped me understand different approaches to activism.

So, let’s talk about the Free Black Women’s Library. You started it in 2015, with the idea forming in 2014. You started with 100 books written by Black women and Black non-binary authors, and you traveled around New York City with pop-up installations that included books, performances, discussions, and readings. How did you choose those first 100 books?

Ola Akimowo: Well, here’s the tea. When I dreamed up the project, I wanted it to feel like a community project, something I was co-creating with others. So I sent an email to everyone I knew saying, ‘Hey, I’m starting this project called the Free Black Women’s Library, where I’m going to center and celebrate Black women writers. If you have any books to donate, please mail them to this P.O. box or drop them off at my house. If there’s a book you think is important and should be in the library, send me the title.’

That’s how it started. People began sending me books, and they still do. I just went to my P.O. box this morning and received two packages. I haven’t opened them yet, so I don’t know what’s inside.

Becky Mollenkamp: Make sure to give us the P.O. box so we can add it to the show notes. So, you’re still accepting donations, and people can send books by Black women or Black non-binary authors?

Ola Akimowo: Yes, exactly.

Becky Mollenkamp: Now, with those first 100 books, was there a lot of overlap, or were you surprised by what you received?

Ola Akimowo: There was some overlap. Toni Morrison was very popular, especially Beloved. For the first year, I had so many copies of Beloved. I think I had 20 to 30 copies at one point. That’s why I started creating wish lists and making special requests to ensure the collection was diverse.

I love Toni Morrison, but I didn’t want the library to be just Toni Morrison. So, I started asking for more children’s books, YA, nonfiction, science fiction, books about health, pregnancy, beauty, poetry, travel—just to make the collection more varied. I even reached out to publishers, authors, and professors asking if they’d contribute books to the library. The community has been so kind, and I feel incredibly grateful for that.

In terms of popularity, Toni Morrison and Octavia Butler are always in demand, especially Parable of the Sower. Now that we’re in 2024, during the time the book takes place, people are even more obsessed. Bell Hooks is also very popular, especially her book All About Love.

Becky Mollenkamp: I’ll just point out that All About Love is about far more than romantic love, but I hear what you’re saying.

Ola Akimowo: Yes, but I think people reach for it thinking it’s about finding love.

Becky Mollenkamp: They’re looking for self-help on finding love, but Bell Hooks sneaks in a lesson on loving yourself and your community instead.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly! Bell Hooks is one of my favorite thinkers and writers. And I’ve noticed trends in what people gravitate toward. When I started, people were reading a lot of Toni Morrison. Then, when Black Panther came out and Jordan Peele’s race-based horror films became popular, there was a shift toward speculative fiction, sci-fi, and Afrofuturism. Now, with the pandemic and people dealing with grief, loneliness, and sadness, there’s been more interest in self-help, healing, and transformative justice books.

During the summer, people want romance and beach reads. In the fall, the reading trends shift again. I’ve learned a lot from these trends.

Becky Mollenkamp: Is there a “great white whale” for your library—a book that’s hard to get or out of print that people really want to read?

Ola Akimowo: I can’t think of a specific title, but there’s a strong hunger for books on sexuality and gender from a Black perspective. Not just queerness or bisexuality, but the concept of gender in Black culture. There’s also a demand for fiction featuring Black queer characters, especially for young people looking for representation.

Another theme is spirituality from a Black woman’s perspective. Our relationship with religion is complicated because it was used as a tool for colonization, but many people still want to connect with a higher power. So, there’s this conflict of wanting a spiritual relationship but not wanting to associate with something that was used to dehumanize Black people. It’s complicated—everything is complicated.

Becky Mollenkamp: It’s so interesting how all of that, whether it’s this project, this book, or any library, really, is a social art project because of all these dynamics that come out of discussing books. I mean, they represent our stories, and there’s just so much to it. So, to keep us on track, because there’s still so much I want to know, you went from 100 books in 2015 to over 6,000 books now, which happened fairly quickly. It’s been 10 years, but I think it happened even sooner than that. When did you start to think about that shift? Because at first, it was just you showing up with a trunk full of books. But once you hit 1,000 books, and certainly by 6,000, it must have been hard to manage. When did you get physical space for the library?

Ola Akimowo: I got the space about two years ago. Before that, I would take the collection of books to public parks, barbershops, clothing stores, museums, art galleries, and other spaces. I’d install the collection there and activate the space with a workshop, performance, or discussion. When I got to 1,000 books, it felt amazing. Then it became 2,000, then 3,000, and by the time I had 4,000 books, I could no longer keep them in my apartment. So, I moved them to a storage space. Every time I had an event, I’d go to storage, pack the books in boxes, take an Uber or Lyft to the event, unpack them, install them, and activate the space. Sometimes the books stayed for a weekend, sometimes a month, sometimes just for a day. But it was a lot, physically. I started feeling like there had to be a better way.

I considered getting a bookmobile or a van to drive around, or finding a brick-and-mortar space. In 2020, when the world shut down, I couldn’t do installations anymore, so I shifted to doing virtual workshops and events on Zoom. That allowed me to interact with people from all over the world, which was great, but I missed the intimacy of in-person interactions. So I decided to try getting a permanent space in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, where the library began and where I live. I launched a GoFundMe with a goal of raising $100,000.

Becky Mollenkamp: Did that feel realistic to you?

Ola Akimowo: No.

Becky Mollenkamp: Right. That’s a lot of money, especially relying on your network to share and amplify it. People were home, but also worried about money. So, you didn’t think it was going to happen?

Ola Akimowo: I wasn’t sure. I was optimistic, but if it didn’t work out, I was okay with that. Once we hit $60,000 or $70,000, I started to think it might actually happen. But it was a lot of work. Crowdfunding is hard work—raising money, asking people for money, getting them to trust you, being persistent, sharing the link every day, thinking of new ways to spread the word, and reaching out beyond your immediate community.

Becky Mollenkamp: Yeah, because your immediate community gets tapped out quickly.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly, and many of them don’t have money anyway. It was hard, but we made it to $100,000, and I knew it was happening. I started looking for a storefront. I didn’t want the space to be too big, and I wanted it to have a backyard so we could have a garden and outdoor space. It took a while to find the right space. I got scammed a couple of times, but eventually, I found a space, and after about seven to 10 months of renovations, we opened in 2022. It’s been great since then.

Becky Mollenkamp: Now that you’re in a space, it’s different from your original vision of activating different communities and popping up in various locations. It could start functioning more like a traditional library or store, but I know that’s not your aim. How do you keep it from becoming a business or a typical library? I know you do more than just book swaps, so tell me about the non-book activities, and then we’ll get into how the book part works.

Ola Akimowo: I wanted this space to be a care space, a reading room, a literary hub, a social site, a Black feminist archive, and a community care space. I wanted people to interact with the books in a way that felt good for them, but even if they weren’t interested in the collection, I wanted them to feel welcome just to come and relax. Bed-Stuy, and parts of Brooklyn, are facing serious gentrification, which is really scary and can feel violent. This neighborhood used to be a rich, Black diasporic community. You’d find Black-owned businesses on every corner and people from all over the world who identified as Black. Now, businesses and community spaces are disappearing, replaced by wine bars and coffee shops.

Becky Mollenkamp: For those who don’t understand gentrification, what happens is that as soon as a place becomes trendy, people from outside the community—often white people—move in, driving up prices and rent. That forces the people who are from that community out.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly. And it’s not just about the rent; it’s about changing the energy of the neighborhood. People move here because they think it’s cool, but then they try to take away the very things that made it cool. Like calling the police on an ice cream truck because they think the music is too loud.

Becky Mollenkamp: There’s also that white saviorism, where people think they’ve made the neighborhood ‘better’ because, in their minds, white is better—even if they’re not consciously aware of it. Then they don’t understand why people are upset.

Ola Akimowo: Right. Part of why I wanted the library in Bed-Stuy was to have a space for Black people. That doesn’t mean other people aren’t allowed—our space is open to all races, genders, and ages. We have non-Black people who use the space all the time. But I felt it was important to have a Black space in a neighborhood that’s historically and traditionally Black. There are people getting their homes stolen out from under them because of deed theft and tax issues. It’s really sad and scary.

The library is a community space, and it’s free. That’s a key difference from a business. You don’t need money to come in and sit, take a nap, use the computer, or fill out a Medicaid application. Shout out to Drew Barrymore, who donated 10 laptops to the library, so people can come and use them for job applications, health insurance forms, or anything else. We also have a period pantry offering free menstrual supplies because period poverty is real. Women struggling with poverty or unstable living conditions often don’t have access to those supplies, and that’s a huge issue.

Becky Mollenkamp: By design.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly. I had a woman who almost cried when I told her she could take whatever she needed from the pantry. She’d been using toilet paper because she couldn’t afford pads. These are small things anyone could do if they had the space, and they offer people their humanity back. Poverty strips people of their humanity by making them feel less than because they don’t have basic necessities.

Becky Mollenkamp: I can see how this feels different from marching. We need people out there marching, but I can see how this feels more empowering. You can see the direct impact you’re making, even if it’s just one-on-one or one-on-ten. Changing laws can take time, but helping people in your own community is life-changing for those individuals—and it sounds like for you, too.

Ola Akimowo: It really is. It feels so tender and encouraging. It gives me the motivation to keep going, knowing that what I’m doing makes a difference. It’s powerful for me. I believe in marching and protesting, but for my mental health and well-being, I’m glad I found something that works for me. It’s been very healing. I want to be the kind of person who leaves the world better than I found it, and I feel like I’ve found my way of doing that through this work.

The library is a library in that it’s a free, open space for people to come and read or work, but there are also mutual aid initiatives and free events every weekend—writing workshops, painting workshops, sewing workshops, film screenings, game nights, beekeeping workshops, herbalism workshops, community conversations about mental health, reproductive health, parenting, street harassment, self-defense, and more. All of these events are free because I want them to be accessible. Conversations about writers like Zora Neale Hurston, for example, might cost thousands of dollars in a college course, but here you can engage in rich discourse for free.

People are also learning real-life skills, like sewing, which could help them make or fix clothes, or even sell them to make some money. Learning how to use herbs to heal your body, or how to meditate to cope with stress—these are things that improve the quality of life but often feel inaccessible due to cost or location. Having a place right here in your neighborhood where you can access these resources makes a huge difference.

Ola Akimowo: The other thing I really like about the library is the intergenerational aspect—seeing teenagers interact with elders, people in their twenties talking to those in their seventies about things like pleasure, accessing pleasure in the body, dating, and relationships. Some of these younger folks may not have access to their own parents, maybe because their parents are incarcerated, have passed away, or they’ve been cut off because they’re queer. Those moments are just so sweet, and I love it so much.

Becky Mollenkamp: I can tell you do, and it’s beautiful. I want to talk about the money piece, but first, one last thing about how the library functions. The book exchange is a swap system, right? So, to get a book, someone has to bring in a book. It’s not like a traditional library where you check it out and return it, and it’s not a store where you buy it. It’s more of a trade, correct?

Ola Akimowo: Yes, that’s right. Every Sunday, we hold a book swap session from 1 to 6 p.m. You bring a book written by a Black woman or Black non-binary writer, and you can trade it for any book in the collection. Some people bring one book and take one; others bring two, five, or even 10. Your books act as your currency, and the books you take can be yours to keep forever if you love them. But if you decide to return them, you can trade again.

We’ve had people who have been trading with us since 2015, working through specific sections or reading the work of a particular author. It’s been a tradition from the very beginning, back when I set up those 100 books on a stoop in Bed-Stuy in the summer of 2015. The first trade I ever did was with an eight-year-old girl, and I’ve been trading books ever since. At this point, I’ve traded thousands of books with all kinds of people. I always take a picture of folks with the books they’ve traded, so if you check out my Instagram, you’ll see tons of pictures of people holding their books.

Becky Mollenkamp: I’ll put a link to your Instagram in the show notes.

Ola Akimowo: Great! You’ll be able to see what people are reading, what they’re trading, and who’s using the library. It’s really fun.

Becky Mollenkamp: That’s how I’ve been following along and getting ideas for my own reading list. I’ve noticed a lot of bell hooks and Octavia Butler, but it’s also cool to discover new books I haven’t heard of yet. I love stocking my TBR list with new finds.

Ola Akimowo: And a lot of Jesmyn Ward, too.

Becky Mollenkamp: I haven’t read her yet, but she’s on my TBR list.

Ola Akimowo: The New York Times put out a list of the best books of the past century, and Jesmyn Ward was on it a couple of times. After that, more people started coming in and asking for her books. She’s such an amazing writer, and I’m glad she’s getting more attention.

Becky Mollenkamp: Where should I start? I have a few of her books on my TBR.

Ola Akimowo: I’d suggest starting with Sing, Unburied, Sing.

Becky Mollenkamp: Thanks for the recommendation! OK, now I want to talk about money because we’re running out of time, and obviously, a lease in Brooklyn can’t be cheap. With gentrification, I’m sure it’s only getting more expensive. You started with that initial $100,000 from GoFundMe, but that was a few years ago. I’m assuming you’ve already gone through that with rent. How are you funding the library now? You mentioned GiveButter and that you raised $50,000 for this year. Are you still crowdfunding every year? Do you have an annual goal?

Ola Akimowo: Basically, yes, I’m still crowdfunding. I don’t use GoFundMe anymore because they’re a bit problematic, but I’m glad GiveButter exists now. With GiveButter, I aim to raise $50,000 each year to cover rent, insurance, water, internet, and supplies. If I can raise $50,000, we’re covered for the year. I was able to raise that amount for 2024, and now I’m working on raising it for 2025. Until I find some financial wizard to help me create a more sustainable business model, this is how I’m managing it.

Becky Mollenkamp: You mentioned earlier that you’re not set up as a non-profit, even though you’re not making a profit. You’re basically running like a non-profit without the official tax status, right? That status could open up more opportunities for charitable donations, but I know it’s complicated to set up. So, you’re still navigating that. But what I’m also hearing is you’re not getting paid.

Ola Akimowo: No, I’m not getting paid. Honestly, this might sound strange, but as an artist, I think I don’t have practical notions around money.

Becky Mollenkamp: The “starving artist” mindset.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly! I have a good friend who’s a Taurus, and I’m an Aquarius. Around year four of the library, she asked me, “Do you factor your own salary into your yearly budget?” I was like, “Salary? What are you talking about?” She told me that what I’m doing is a job, and people get paid for this work. That blew my mind. So now I have a Patreon, and whatever I get from that goes towards rent and groceries. But it’s not a lot of patrons, so I’m trying to figure out how to change that because it’s not sustainable.

Becky Mollenkamp: How are you managing to live without being paid for all these years? Are you in a partnership that helps with that?

Ola Akimowo: No, I was working as a set dresser and set decorator for film and TV up until about two years ago. I love that work, but due to COVID and industry strikes, the work has dried up. I’ve been looking for new opportunities, but it’s tough. I also have an artist residency at the Metropolitan Museum, which gives me a small stipend, and I had a residency at BRIC in Brooklyn. Those stipends help, and I live pretty frugally. I’m low-maintenance, so I can scrape by.

Becky Mollenkamp: But you’re still living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. If anyone’s listening, we need to support you because what you’re doing is incredible!

Ola Akimowo: It’s tough out here. I love being a set dresser, but the opportunities are limited with everything going on. I’m battling multiple isms—ageism, racism, sexism—on top of everything else. Young people from top art schools are getting the jobs I’d normally go for.

Becky Mollenkamp: Come on, Shonda Rhimes and Ava DuVernay! Someone should know about you!

Ola Akimowo: It’s a struggle, but I do what I can. I’m trying to push my Patreon, but it’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help.

Becky Mollenkamp: You’ve mentioned wanting to monetize without compromising the integrity of the project, which is admirable. But it sounds like you could still do more while staying true to your values. I imagine the people using or supporting the library would be thrilled to know you’re being compensated for your work.

Ola Akimowo: People are always surprised when I tell them the library runs on donations. They assume it’s city-funded, but when I explain that it’s not, they’re usually happy to chip in a donation.

Becky Mollenkamp: All those donations add up. And you’ve got merchandise, right?

Ola Akimowo: Yes, we sell merchandise—T-shirts, stickers, and more.

Becky Mollenkamp: Can people buy those online?

Ola Akimowo: Yes, they’re available online through my Bonfire store. I’ve been working with a graphic designer to come up with cool designs. Merchandise is a simple way to spread the message of the library and bring in some extra funding.

Becky Mollenkamp: There are lots of ways for people to support what you’re doing—through your GiveButter campaign, which covers rent and utilities, or your Patreon, which supports you directly. I’ll link to both in the show notes. Thank you so much for doing this, Ola.

Ola Akimowo: Thank you for having me. I know I ramble sometimes, but this has been great to talk about. I love that your podcast is called Feminist Founders because feminism is being commodified, and we need to reclaim it.

Becky Mollenkamp: I feel the same way. I want to take back feminism, and I always ask my guests about it because too often, feminism has been dominated by white feminism, and that’s not what feminism is. We can’t let people like JK Rowling take over the narrative.

Ola Akimowo: Exactly. People are still confused about what feminism really means. I just had a workshop on it at the library last weekend, and you’d be surprised at how many people don’t understand it.

Becky Mollenkamp: Sadly, I wouldn’t be surprised. Thank you again, Ola. I appreciate you.

Ola Akimowo: Thank you.