I was searching for the mothers. Women like me who saw the world in multiple fragments. Women who dared against the wind. Women whose hearts were as strong as they were soft. Women whose words created worlds beyond their physical spaces.
I thought the sky had moved a little close to my head until, I met with Wangari, I listened to Chiwoniso, and ate from the palms of Maya's offering. In a world where role models can be found anywhere, I wanted women whose bodies resembled mine. Women whose laugh would remind you of mine, women whose arms were wide open to the discomforts, women who dared to speak the unspeakable in their own loving ways. The African woman I've learned must prove herself. She must walk in spaces calling on her ancestors just to be heard.
I don't live here. I don't live in validation or approval. I learned from women who bore kings. That a Queen looks them straight in the eye, a queen forgives those who don't know that she is the mother of civilization. Oh, African woman. Your strength emboldens me, your grace uplifts me, your mind a beautiful canvas. Take space among the sacred. Let them catch the wind of heartless masters. Hold on to your land, your mother tongue, and the sacred life. There's beauty here. There's freedom and liberation here.