In Response To The Gambia’s Pen

About two weeks ago, I got home tired, after a day of rigorous school work. In one of my classes, the lecturer had digressed into the growing relevance of e-reputation as a criterion for employment. Once I’d completed my daily routine, I turned to the all-efficient Google to see what traces I had left, and continue to leave on the Internet. An article in the Daily Observer caught my attention and I got even more excited when I read the signature: that of The Gambia’s Pen, Momodou Sabally. It was an opinion piece (“To Gambian Women: Love, Honour And Respect!”), written to celebrate Gambian women on the occasion of International Women’s Day. In one paragraph, the author wrote “To the young ones, the up-and-coming I say keep it up and don’t you ever give up! There are thousands of young Gambian girls with great promise but let me mention a few I’ve recognised of late: Jama Jack, Aisha Sulayman Keita and Satang Nabaneh. To them I say keep pushing, the future is bright adorned wih starry lights.” I was honored to receive such encouragement as I, together with my colleagues, continue to advocate for the cause of women.

In today’s Daily Observer, the author sings…but with a different tune. I couldn’t help noticing the disclaimer at the top of both articles, detaching the author from the feminist circle, but that is of little significance in the face of the contents of today’s article. “To Gambian Girls: A Message For Self-Preservation And Empowerment“, this title read. I braced myself for yet another inspirational read; one I could draw lessons from. After reading the introduction, however, I was forced to close the tab and set off for school. It was to be completed upon my return, and after proper assimilation of its contents.

I read and re-read the article and attempted to summarise the contents in a few lines. In short, the author’s message was: Dear Gambian girls, the world has changed and you have bigger opportunities to excel now. Grab them all, succeed in whatever you do, but remember that even with that success, you can never be equal to men and society expects you to remain chaste till marriage.

I marvelled at the double standards our society strives on. I wondered if the encouragement received in the first article was also to be taken with the notice in the second. The author tells Gambian girls that “you can and should be bigger and better than any man in any calling that suits you, including leadership roles”; a direct contradiction of the opening paragraph, where the author unreservedly declares that “…men and women at some level are not equal for man was made to be the leader and woman the follower”. You wouldn’t blame me for my confusion, would you?

At the MILEAD Institute in Accra last year, one of the dynamic resource persons highlighted the importance of redefining gender roles and doing away with the patriarchal and mysogynistic norms our society lives by. Being born female means only one thing: that one is a human being and is equal to all others in the eyes of the Creator. In our traditional societies, however, being born female means being raised as a woman…a lesser being automatically condemned to certain expectations that clearly infringe on one’s liberty to live as one pleases. Our biologically-defined organs become an instrument for the socially-constructed notion of gender, allowing us to create variables which identify differences in roles, responsibilities, opportunities, needs, constraints etc. I dare say  that these roles, which end up as natural elements in our daily living, are designed with little regard for the person’s interests or social orientations. The status of females, determined by (a patriarchial) society must change to accomodate the evolution of our times and acknowledge the capabilities of our womenfolk, without restricting them to traditional roles, while asking little or nothing of the opposite sex, as far as society’s expectations are concerned.

After ‘advising’ Gambian girls to “preserve our purity and delay our biological urgings”, the author turned to the boys, perhaps as an afterthought and in an attempt to avail himself of any accusations that might be advanced by the girls. How difficult is it to instill the same moral values in ALL of our kids REGARDLESS of their sex? Why should chastity be a priority only for girls, who risk great condemnation if they are found wanting in that department? How would the Gambian public have received that song quoted in the article if, instead of advising the girl to “baayi goor yiko jaii jiko chaii chaii”, the artists had opted to ask of the boys that they “baayi jiko chaii chaii yinyor jaii haleh yu jigeen yi”? Afterall, doesn’t the act of premarital sex go both ways for heterosexual individuals? Wouldn’t it be fair that where we ask girls to guard their chastity, we also ask of boys to lower their gazes, if spirituality is the backing we use for our ‘advice’?

I couldn’t help noting another contradiction in the poem which ended the article. The author tells the young girl to “dress up and parade”, to “do your thing with checkess”. I assumed this would be done in those same high heels which are “more suitable for girls than boots and overalls”. Isn’t this an evident, if even subtle portrayal of the woman as a sexual object, made to beautify herself and parade for we all know who? Yet, she still must guard her chastity and be “mindful of her reputation and that of her clan”. Hmmph!

We live in the 21st century and the feminist movement still faces enormous challenges, despite the milestones gained in the years since the Beijing conference. I’ve always been of the belief that we can only register significant success if we break the gender barriers and work together, both men and women, towards creating a better world for the human being. I believe the women’s movement cannot and will not make a breakthrough if there is no collaboration and solidarity among men and women, especially in revisiting and redefining the patriarchal norms and values by which we are expected to live our lives. I understand that the author has the right to an opinion, just like I do, and he has put it forward, even with the disclaimers. However, when one attains a certain status in society and is looked up to as a source of inspiration for young people, I think it is only right that one pays attention to the messsages put forward and the implications it might have.

To conclude, I throw a last look at the first paragraph where the author declares, “I am not a feminist” and that I ” am free to call him chauvinistic…”. I’ll honorably pass on that offer and , instead, suggest a very powerful video  by the amazing Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie at one of the TedxEuston events. The title ‘We Should All Be Feminists’ is enough for me to rest my case.

Link to Daily Observer article: http://observer.gm/africa/gambia/article/opinion-to-gambian-girls-a-message-for-self-preservation-and-empowerment

Suma Doomu Ndeye

(Adapted from the Legend of Ndateh and Khandiou)

The villagers were subdued as they moved singly or in small groups towards their various homes. They spoke in hushed tones and their eyes darted hither and thither. Back in the main square, a few stools littered the open space, forgotten by their owners as they made for the comfort and quiet of their abodes as soon as the last of the Elders had spoken. The village of Mbassu had just witnessed the revival of an ancestral law: any young lady who failed the virginity test on her wedding night will be shot to death. Mothers walked with creased brows, each wondering if her daughter’s wedding night would eventually lead to a morning of sorrow, when they wouldn’t even be allowed to mourn in public. Fathers let out low grunts, hands finding a preoccupation in the counting of prayer beads even as their minds wandered to that place of shame if their daughters failed the test. It was equally a test for them all… to determine the success of their parenthood and their status in the eyes of their peers.

The light from the setting sun shone on two figures, their fingers laced together as their feet added to the light patter that could be heard on the dusty path. Maram and Begay had been best friends since childhood. Despite the major differences in their characters, they remained true to each other. Where Begay was docile and was hardly seen at village functions, Maram was very outgoing and was the favorite for most guys. Sometimes, she would desert Begay and opt to go to the wells or the farms alone, having made plans to meet up with Majaga, Samba or Njogu.  Fallen tree stumps, tall shrubs and isolated huts became rendezvous spots where the men proclaimed her beauty and wove their way into her heart, at least for that moment. The air between them was taut, as Maram’s adventures were no secret to them. Their worry was too heavy for words, their tongues numbed by the reality they faced. Each had a wish of her own. Begay remained hopeful that her friend was still a virgin, that she had only played along with their male friends and that she was wise enough to save her chastity for her wedding night. Maram, knowing better, prayed for a lesser humiliation…that of never being sought for marriage.

As fate would have it, only two weeks after the proclamation at the square, their last hopes were dashed. Girane, a son of the village, sent his uncles to Maram’s home, bearing cola-nuts to ask that she become a part of their family. The elders, believing in hastening all good deeds, set the wedding date for the next day. In a state of panic, Maram sought out her friend, tears streaming down her face as her nose caught a whiff of death, only hours away.

-Begay, I don’t know what to do. I shall either leave this village or commit suicide.
- Suicide? Why would you think that way, when we should be preparing for your wedding?
-Begay, you wouldn’t understand. If I stay alive in this village on my wedding night, that bullet will surely be fired through me in the morning.

Begay was stunned! She recalled the many times she had advised Maram to desist from her ways, reminding her that her beauty could eventually become the source of great pain. She recalled one of their recent conversations…

_Goor nyi denyui jel aye khotu bouteille, sampa ko chi yornu ndawu haleh yu jigeen nyi teh ku chi defut ndanka, ding chi jaar. Su borbaa, lan lenyor wakh ndeye ak baaye? Lan la waa deka bi di wakh?
- Lolu yomba naa tontu. Su borbaa, Baaye neh du dega, Yaaye dal di neh aye joww la. Waa deka bi nak nyor laa balel khotu bouteille yi bamu set wech, ngai fecha beh cha tenn ba teh dara dula chi feka.
-Huh! Mangeh nyaan Yalla dimbaleh nyu ba nyu aanda beh cha tenn ba teh dara banj nyor dall. Ndah elek du agne, du rerr waye lou meuta saayda la

Maram’s sobs brought her back to the present and the weight in her heart got even heavier. She had to do something. She had to save her friend’s life and guard her dignity and that of her family.

-Maram, I shall never let any harm come to you. I know just what to do. Tomorrow night after Bajen has performed all the rites for the jebaleh and prepared you for your husband, find an excuse to come into the bathroom. I shall be there waiting for you.
-What do you plan to do Begay? There’s no way out of this problem.
-Just trust me. Do as I say and we shall sort this out together.That bullet will never hit you as long as I’m alive.

The next night, after all the festivities, Maram was ushered into the bathroom and bathed as was usually done for all brides. Her Bajen showered prayers on her, laced with praises of her ancestors. Launching into the traditional lehmou, she dressed her in white cloths and led her into her new room, where a raffia mat draped in equally white sheets lay prepared. Looking at her for the last time, she encouraged her to stop crying. “Bul joye. Denka naala sa ligayu ndeye ak baaye. Denka naala Yonent bi. Denka naala Yalla.” Maram used that moment to return to the bathroom. Upon confirming that all the required rites were performed, Begay set to execute her plan. She asked Maram to hand over her white cloths and beads in exchange for her own clothes, and then wait for her. After much hesitation, they changed into each other’s clothes and Begay went into the bedroom, leaving Maram speechless. She was to spend the night disguised as Maram, sleep with her husband and save her friend’s life with her own chastity.

Before sunrise, Begay slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, suppressing the pains she felt and aiming solely to get to the end of her plan with success. She retrieved her clothes and handed Maram the white wrappers, revealing the red stain of pride and purity. She swore her to secrecy and they vowed never to utter a word about what had happened that night. Back in her own hut, Begay crawled unto her mat and just as she shut her eyes to sleep, she heard a voice calling out to her.

-Begay! Begay! Let all your worries disappear. You are pure of heart and body! You shall be a virgin twice! Dinga dorn ndaww nyaari yorn.

A month later, it was her own wedding night. Despite the sacrifice she had made and the doubts she had in the veracity of the strange voice’s proclamation, Begay remained very calm. Through the interrogations with her own Bajen, she never let out their secret and urged this latter to remain confident, as she shall never bring shame upon her family. Night fell and she went through her own rites. Maram lay worried, her thoughts on the news that would reach the villagers’ ears the next morning.

At the crack of dawn, Begay heard her husband’s voice calling out to Bajen.

-Bajen! Kontaan naa. All I ever wished for has come to pass. Begay has made me proud and whatever you ask of me, I shall give.
-Alhadoulilahi Rabb’il al amin. Begay has made me proud. Suma dorm ji waacha na. Dormi Samba Linguere, kuko tekk chi leket, mu def cha lako warr. Suma dorm ji labaan na!

The two friends had both escaped death. The years passed and they gave birth to beautiful daughters, who grew up to perpetuate their mothers’ friendship. The two became inseparable and were the mini Maram and Begay.

(20 years later)

It was the rainy season, but the village was as dry as the Sahara. The farmland cracked from the heat of the sun, the waters in the wells dried up and with them, the hopes of the villagers evaporated. In Maram’s home, things were not so bad. She had enough to feed her family and offer some to Begay, who was not as fortunate. As the days went by, her generosity and loyalty to her friend started to waver. One hot afternoon, Njillan, Begay’s daughter returned home with her empty buckets, confirming that there would be nothing to eat that day. Begay sent her to Ya Maram’s home, after much hesitation from Njillan, who felt they had asked for help one time too many. Reluctantly, she walked the dusty path and met Maram seated in the middle of her courtyard, picking pebbles from her rice. Her daughter, Ndebou, stood beside her, pounding coos for that night’s dinner. She greeted her cheerfully and sat next to her, already helping with her task.

-Asalamu aleikum Ya Maram. Mother sent me to ask if you had any rice you could lend out to us until we can sort ourselves out. There’s nothing to eat at home. 
-Eh, get up. Go back and tell your mother that I’ve got nothing for you. Nit mun naa deka chi nyaan rek? Jogal dem wah sa yaye neh suma tehn bi wow na!

Embarrassed, she returned to her mother and explained what had happened. Begay was shocked and insisted that Njillan go back there with a message. The sun was unbearable, but she took her usual shortcut and upon reaching Maram’s home, she paused for a second and delivered her mother’ message.

- Ya Maram! Ya Maram! Ya Maram! Suma yaaye neh, tehn bi guenon nafeh wow, mu roht, rohtal la. Once, the wells were drier than they are now, but she fetched enough for the both of you!

Upon hearing those words, Maram’s mind got filled with images of her wedding night and the sacrifice Begay made to save her life. She turned to Njillan with her own message to Begay.

-Sor demeh wahal sa yaaye neh, howma ban tehn lenyor wahati. Waaye tehn bi, boromam dem na. We shall talk of the owner of my well no more. 

With that, she ran out screaming and plunged into the well. This time, even Begay’s friendship and selflessness could not save her from the clutches of death.

Spiritual Dilemma

I hear his voice calling out loud
Rolling my name around his tongue
Seductive whispers, a softness that’s hard to resist
Yet loud enough to drown out all other voices
Of reason, of sanity, of maturity and spirituality
A jealous lover, yearning to have me all to himself
To hold tight and together, explore forbidden lands
Blanking out all consciousness; my mind his prisoner
Lust blinding my vision, so he’s all I see.

Seconds of rationality tell me to halt and revert
Retrace my steps and keep to the straight path
A path of righteousness that’ll gain me eternal favour
One void of regrets, disgust and shame
But I give in to the temptations of my flesh
Subsequently owned by that which I own
Desire overpowers me, the voice of reason fades
God’s forgiving nature, I take for granted
As I get closer to my short-lived pleasure.

I descend from the euphoria, my Eldorado slipping away
My sight focused on a flash of revelations
A spectrum of darkness and evil, a life of sin
My heart closed to the privileges of His mercy
Facing Him for forgiveness, my unconquerable jihad
Stripped of my worth to enter into his presence
Yet aware of his mercy, beckoning me forth
A reminder that all sinners, He does forgive
But even that status, I dare not claim.

My being resonates with fresh resolutions
Not any different from the ones before them
Certainly made to be broken, discarded and forgotten
Afterall, I am only human, most fallible
A thought to console me, rejuvenate my hope
From the cold embers of that burnt-out passion
An urge to answer his lustful call
A desire to be righteous and deserving of mercy
This is my spiritual dilemma!

IWD 2013: Take The Promise

It’s March 8th again. It’s International Women’s Day; a day set aside to celebrate all women in the world, irrespective of their backgrounds and differences.

We celebrate appreciation, respect, love and admiration towards women. We equally celebrate the numerous achievements registered in the social, political and economic spheres among others.

“A Promise is a Promise: Time for Action to End Violence Against Women” is the theme for this year’s celebrations. Somewhere in New York, Governments, activists and supporters of women’s rights are gathered for the 57th session of the UN Commission on the Status of Women. Discussions revolve around the priority theme: Elimination and prevention of all forms of violence against women and girls. Earlier this year, the world witnessed the greatest movement of feminists and supporters on February 14th, demanding an end to Violence against Women. The ‘I Rise’ campaign reached out to people from all parts of the world, united towards achieving a common goal. Yesterday, in the United States of America, the Violence Against Women Act was signed into law by President Obama. It is only the first quarter of the year, but I can’t help celebrating these great achievements, while remaining positive for even greater things by the time the year rolls out.

The conversation continues, but the call for action has grown even louder. Do you hear it? Are you ready to take the promise? Are you ready to deliver that promise?

It starts from the smallest unit in society: the family. Take the promise to protect the women and girls in your home from violence and abuse of all forms. We’ll sweep the world clean, one home at a time!

Today, I honor the women in history! The strong Lingueres who paved the way for today’s feminists. The brave ladies who broke the traditional norms to speak up and demand that women get their basic human rights.

I celebrate the thousands of activists, carrying the torch forward and standing firm on their feet. The resilient men and women who shall not rest until the woman is treated as an equal, a human and one of God’s noble creations.

I stand in solidarity with all victims and survivors of violence and gender-influenced mistreatment. The world owes you justice. I stand tall with you and add my voice to your cry, growing louder until the world pays attention. I pray for those who didn’t survive the abuse and hope that their deaths will be avenged.

I salute my male comrades, who’ve broken the barriers and stay firm in their pledge to support the cause of women. I strongly believe solidarity and cooperation are indispensable to the success of our campaign. Equality can only be achieved when all parties concerned understand what it means. Our dear we-men, your efforts are appreciated.

I challenge all goverments and people in power to live up to their promises, assume their responsibilities, respect the rights and provide for the needs of the people they are meant to serve. The promise goes beyond signing and ratifying conventions and treaties. It extends to concrete and effective action to uphold and put into place the many recommendations they put forward! The world is watching and I implore you to act now!

Time is running out. One act of violence is one act too many. We can not afford to lose any more women, to death, physical disability, emotional breakdowns, psychological trauma among others.

Speak up! Act now! Do whatever you can! Don’t sit back and wait till it gets to you or those dear to you. Every woman’s cry should be your cry too! Live the promise!

“Though she’s half a world away
Something in me wants to say
We are one woman
And we shall shine” -One Woman song

Have a joyous International Women’s Day!

Yours Sincerely

Hey!
I thought of writing a letter addressed to you
Got caught in this dilemma, didn’t know what to do
Cos you and me, we’re no longer intimate
The bond that held us close not any more legitimate
So I wondered if I should keep it cordial
Or perhaps just opt for the formal
But you see, that didn’t even seem normal

I was taught to start my letters with ‘Dear’
But that’s too much pain for me to bear
With your memories still near
And the truth in your words forever rare
Makes me wonder if you ever did care!

I pick up my pen and stare at the blank sheet
Willing my mind and my heart to meet
Come to an agreement to keep me rational
For the venom in my words was fully intentional
I threw a glance at your goodbye note
Left sticking out of your only coat
Why you left it here, I still don’t know
But in the bin, that crap, I’ll throw!

A few lines of everything and nothing
Jibber jabber, yada, yada, the usual stunting
Then you end it with Yours Faithfully
Scratched and replaced with Yours Sincerely
Got me thinking ‘Did he really?’
Coz in my mind, it’s nothing but silly.
Talk of sincerity while peeping at that other beauty
Eyes squinting, your member bulging
As you watch her pop, lock and drop it
Your being consumed by that heat
Got you weak, couldn’t stand on your own feet

You say faithful, I see hateful, despicable
Going around doing the unspeakable
Come back home reeking of her perfume
But my attention, you’ll greedily consume
On your face I read the evident guilt
And I refuse to be contaminated by your filth

So here’s my letter to you, Mr not so true
My heart’s stolen and I’m up to sue
The court of love won’t give me my due
Coz the guys over there don’t even have a clue
For my justice, my vengeance, Dear one-time boo
Is to keep smiling, keep living, keep loving… Not you

This is from Yours Faithfully, Yours Sincerely, Yours Ever… Once upon a time

Talibé

Muye maaga, nyu naan ko dorm jaangal
Sor maageh teki, nyepa jeriñu
Ndekeh boba denj banj kulen tanhal
Teye mu togg gestu, neh nyii weru nyu
Janga, jonga, jangaat
Bobu njumteh dou lumuye nangu waat
Olof bi, kamil bi, boleh ko ak nasaraan
Bunj kor chi oubil tayreh mu daal di naan
Di jonganteh ak metit, hel mi wekh ni fourit
Sen baat yi di delusi, njahlem di laww
Janga, maaga, teki, nopalu, nopaleh
Nyaar yi chi jiitu, mu nyefeh
Nyeta yi chi tegu, aka nyor jafeh
Deka chi jame, taka, tiki
Ba teye jii banya teki
Nopalu don lumuye jemaat
Nopaleh, mom reka laye helaat
Teye ndaw done na makk
Janga njerinyu ko, holam jehh takk
Liko ndeye ak baye geum lor won
Teye heye na, dindi ko, baayi yon
Delu cha dorin ba, sega chi daan doleh
Saani tayreh ya, di moytu nyakor boleh
Reychu wèss na, waye doleh dess na
Nyaha, nyefeh, beh haye teki
Mom Talibé, li leh ko sohal.

You Are Woman

You are born, the only one crying in a room filled with laughter and smiling faces…your cry either natural or induced by a large palm on the small of your back. Sometimes, there is no laughter… the smiles replaced by grim looks on the faces of those around you… disappointment and fear lining their eyes as they take a quick glance at your sex. It doesn’t bulge out… it is flat… tame… as you would be expected to be… all the days of your life.

On your eighth day, you are given a name… carried onto the basang by your bajen. You hear it first from the Imam… and then it sticks on… to be used by all around you…. uttered on the lips of many who meet you… in varying tones as per the varying situations. Your mother will use it…as she sings to you each day… telling stories of going to Saloum…Saloum of the three rooms… a fourth being the kitchen… belonging to the Buur… that Burr of Saloum. Your father will use it too… as he calls out for water… for his meal at the end of a long day… for one to run a short errand for him. He’ll use it when he discusses with your mother… of your coming of age… of the time to make a full woman of you… of your visit to the ngaaman. This latter will use it as she prepares her instruments… the same ones she had used on your friends before you… telling you to calm down…promising you it wouldn’t hurt… assuring you that you will be worth a lot more when you come out of her room…a part of you missing. She does not only cut your flesh off… she cuts off your feelings… your sense of arousal… the ownership of your body… a part of your femininity. Your family uses it as they receive you… a second welcoming… your coming of age… amid dancing and drumming… feasting and merry-making… while you bleed somewhere within your chest… and further down.

You grow up… growing increasingly conscious of yourself…your feelings… your features… your surroundings. Your chest has turned heavy… curves mirroring those on your lower limbs… your hips… still capturing the defined contours of your face… your lips when you smile… your brows… suspended atop your large eyes. Yes, you are aware of these changes… just as everyone else starts to notice them too.Your mother lives to rain admonishment on you… telling you to be careful… to stay away from men… that a mere touch could get you pregnant… that your father will not hesitate in harming you for bringing shame to his name. That name he had proudly handed down to you… waiting for a suitable person to add his own to it… waiting to hand you over to another… a new owner… for a price. Your father…he says nothing to you… choosing to warn you with his eyes…his grunts… his refusal to let you attend the school party. He warns you silently… for his silence is louder than any words he could use.

You count yourself lucky… one of the few who go to school… even when you have to return to waiting chores. You are brilliant… a fast learner… fired up to shine among your peers… easily gaining recognition from your teachers. You keep growing… more beautiful… smarter… and as you grow, your dreams grow too. Your vision expands and you can’t wait to turn your dreams to reality… even as you hurt… even as your days are often marred by painful memories…painful moments…painful truths. You resolve to grow out of them.. to choose a different path… refusing to let them define you… reflecting the strength of the women you look up to… women who share similar stories but have overcome the pain…or so it seems. You keep trying… succeeding sometimes…failing most times. They’re a part of you… etched in your mind…your feelings… your being… until that last day… when you shall take your last breath. You force yourself to work hard… to take up more responsibilities than you can handle… to zone out of this world… to live a life void of pain and suffering. Your work pays off… at home… in school… as you weave your way to your final years… a secondary school certificate in hand.

You want to go to the University… to learn some more… be introduced to more ideas… philosophies… theories. You want to create your own… become a professional… from whom others could learn. Your family has other plans… different from yours… tied to the destiny of another… willing you to complete him… while he completes you…makes a full woman of you. You are entrusted in his care… but in fact, you are the caregiver… to feed him and cater to his needs… succumb to his demands and respect his wishes. His wants will be your wants… and all he loathes… you shall loathe too. This is expected of you… as it was of your mother… and her mother before that. You turn has come… and the legacy is for you to continue… your family’s pride in your hands… your wishes a non factor. You still have dreams… and still wish to see them come true. You were wronged once…left with the painful memories to live with… never having  a say in what concerned you. Not anymore… you tell yourself… not anymore. On your wedding eve… you walk away… covered by the darkness of the skies… the heavens aiding you… hiding their lights… yet guiding you. Your feet lead you on… even as you heart threatened to burst through your chest… and your head swam with a million thoughts. What if you get caught… what  will your father say… do? You still went on… starting a new life… an unsure one… one full of doubts… but still a new life.

The years go by… and you’ve survived them all. With God and his angels on Earth, your dreams start unfolding… when you thought you’d lost it all. You are independent…made it through life… the envy of many… most of whom do not know your story. They see your poise… the spring in your heels when you walk… the clothes you wear… the confidence in your every movement. They hear you speak… in that calm voice…yet so strong…commanding respect… willing everyone to listen. The women you’ve seen… once loved… once wished to become. You are them… they are you… the roles have changed… transforming from that night you walked away. You made a decision… a choice… to defy… refusing to conform to the norm… to let your future be planned…ruined… by another. You brought back life… to yourself… to your daughter after you… to her daughter after her.

Yes… you found love… even when you thought it impossible. You had been condemned to a life of solitude… by your peers…your colleagues… your neighbours and your friends. All they saw was a woman with too much power… too much education… a high-earner… an intimidating woman. They said no man would want you… that they would be afraid to approach you… that you should tone it down and settle for what was available. You… you stuck to what you believed… that which made you walk away… that which drew you through the pains…molded you and kept you strong when life threw rocks at you. Your growth wasn’t easy…but that was only for you to know… and with that knowledge, you  set your standards…for you deserved the best… never choosing to settle for less.  They talked… you worked… you earned… you built… you smiled and stayed happy… until love came knocking.  It knocked softly… and was let in… bringing all you deserved… worked for… started a new life for.

You had been hurt… a victim of tradition… of society and its beliefs… a patriarchy. You had a reason to crumble… to let go… accept whatever else was thrown at you. Yet…you chose to walk away from it… starting a new journey… with routes different from the usual… getting scorned by your family. They eventually came back… when you had made it…and you took them in… for they were still family. You traced a new path… for yourself… and for many after you… giving them the courage to make their choices… to own their lives…to live their dreams… to refuse to adhere to the rules that will only crush them. You are molded by the past…you are the present… you are the future.

You are hope… you are love… you are life. You are woman!