I’m an African woman whether you perceive me or not…
I’m aware of you war speak in the neighbourhoods of our old masters,
I’m an African woman whether you able to conceive me or not…
I’m aware of your fears in the unsavoury words of soiled plasters
Thanks but no thank you…
I am the African woman with a deep and broken voice, so what?
I am the African woman, the thorn in your self righteous cis-gender skin,
I am the African woman, bearer of broad shoulders, that carry me forth,
That carry you too, that carries us all, blind as we were in binary fixation,
You love your order and hate what you call, “your disorder!” that you say
Unsettles everything even Mother Earth but we are all mother earths…
‘You could hide the noise you provoke in the densest jungle, out of sight!
You could, for our sakes, not speak your name so we may feel right about
Ourselves, our ways of life before you came along.
You could have walked on by when in our selfishness we rebuffed you with
Vicious insults and laughed at our own insipid insults cast your way…’
Thanks but no thanks…
I am an African woman and proud. I am the descendant of proud women of
Strength: Healers, warriors, life givers, peace brokers who have sported a
Tash proudly in the face of narrow streamed conventions all cissexual. I am,
I am, I am Amina of Zaria, Tara the saviour, Oya of Niger and Benue Rivers,
Moremi of Ajasoro fame and Fumilayo Kuti of the Kalakuta Republic…
So what, if I dare to say so myself… I am an African woman after all.
I am the woman you desire whom because of your desire you must in turn,
Hate and hate for you face saving pride. Can you have forgotten aready that:
‘Pride is the beginning of the end, of ruination, or cataclysmic erasure of self!’
Hold a moment:
Are you a closet lesbian? Are you a closet gay man? Are you closer straight or
Are you closeting something or the other that you dare not speak of in broad
I am the African woman, the woman that stands proud on the battle field of
Will, words and if must do, war… Of Kiriji, of Aresa, of Gbogun, of two world
Wars, of Egba, of Ede, of Oshogho you name them, I’ve been there shoulder to
Shoulder with the warriors of all time…
So you did not know. So you did not hear. So you saw to it that no chronicle was
Ever to be kept, nor my name spoken but so far, I’m doing well enough by me,
By you my sisters, by you my brothers. To all your slurs just this…
Thanks but no thank you…
I’m doing well enough all by myself… I am an African woman, aren’t I?
Mia Nikasimo © September 2010