Angry black woman.
This is history, a story, a tale we should tell our children; it's time we stop hiding like we are some horrible scar and embrace our history because it is a story as old as time.
My self-defence was seen as aggression and treated as transgressions. I was raised not to retaliate, not to speak back because my skin colour did the talking, and what it had to say wasn't pleasant.
What was Rachel wearing they asked? Where was she? Why was she out so late? She probably even liked it, they said. She had been judged and prosecuted for the sins of others and her story washed away like so many others.
“Do it for the kids, they said”, “Stoop to conquer, they exclaimed”. As she slept in bed with her oppressor. Her scars faded without healing and her story washed away.
Every action taken in our lives is a gift to someone else. We are told self love is important, but we aren't meant to love ourselves too much. No that's not for us. As a black woman loving yourself is being sassy, rude and threatening. Our self love is only validated so long as we don't make people feel uncomfortable. We spend our lives trying to please everyone but us.
Blessed with hands yet we cannot write.
Blessed with legs yet we can’t walk.
Blessed with eyes but we are not allowed to see.
We are Blessed with a voice but we cannot SPEAK.
They are deaf to our cries but sensitive to our action. We are trained to listen and when our voices don't echo how they see us. We are called aggressive and termed as violent.
Being black is hard but being a black woman? That’s an unpaid job.
Written by: Ojuromi Rachel
Edited: Ndubisi Isaac.
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