Posts tagged ‘motherhood’

It Takes A Village To Raise A Child…

There is an old African saying that….
It takes a village to raise a child.

How ironic this proverb is because no African person in their right mind wants to be associated with being a villager.

Simply because the connotations of a village African bares shame

The names Victoria Climbie, Stephen Lawrence and Damilola Taylor all have something unique in common.

These children are SAINTS…..

They stand for something very unique, their short lives revealed something dark and sinister in our society.

The Voice newspaper yesterday shared a story on fb about a black child whose life was short lived at the hands of his “evil” uncle.People had a field day using all their adjectives on him and the story.

I was outraged, had to say same something.

Since I became a mother I’ve stopped passing judgement on these stories the media like to perpetuate.

I have become very much aware of the demons that can run in a parent’s head. Especially a parent who is raising children alone, in a broken marriage and so forth…..

Every time I see or hear them I thank God for giving me strength and sanity.

Never in all my years on this earth has my SANITY be so precious to me than now as a parent.

A wise fool recently told me that, being an African and him being a Caribbean I don’t know how it feels to be a slave.

I was so hurt and as usual my wild imagination took me back to the villages of my motherland and I began to put myself in the place of a mother whose child was snatched away to be chained and shipped across the ocean……

It is not rocket science that 300 hundred years ago it was a miracle for a child to reach their 1st birthday and for an African mother to raise a son or daughter to the age of 16 years and be stolen!

And how her community would have treated her, it must be juju that is why only her child was perhaps stolen, whilst the ugly third wife still had all her babies around her.

The mother of this child reported killed by an uncle I know not much about, I read that she needed help and had to leave her child with her own brother.

I urged those fellow villagers on fb who were enjoying raining curses on the “evil” uncle to think about what they would have done if they heard something whilst enjoying an episode of Eastenders or Scandal.

I can only presume that the volume would have been turned up in the four corners of our Babylon homes, in which we feel elevated above our fellow brethren. 

So we too sit on the throne and pass judgement.I am raising a son alone.

When I need help, only total strangers will come to my aid. Not even church, but non Christians have been there for me far more than Christians. 

Where is the village?

I had a chat with a mother during football training and I really enjoyed the African wisdom she imparted into my soul this morning about motherhood.

Being a motherless child, sometime I am all too aware that I lack wisdom, knowledge and understanding on the purpose of being a mother…..

And So this nameless boy has lost his life because we Africans no longer live in villages. 

We now live in mansion and expensive apartments and whenever, we hear any commotion outside we do what the Romans do and peep through the window if we can be bothered or turn up the volume…..

This world where each man for themselves God for us all na wa O!


Black Woman Rise

In the depth of her silenced solitude she rose

She heard the shot when Yaa Asantewaa fired her gun,

While her infant was strapped to her back,

In a cloth barely enough to cover her hips

She saw when Harriet led the slaves on the underground

She saw the Truth when Sojourner provoked justice

She walked on theSahara, tracing

The footsteps of her lost children

She heard when Kilimanjaro echoed

The cries of her stolen children

She cradled King’s infants

When they asked for their daddy

She saw when they locked her

Mediba for twenty-seven-years

She heard when they said Winnie had

Become a fallen woman

She fed the starving Ethiopian

And rocked the orphaned

Ugandan to sleep while

Aids rained upon the continent

She’s the houchie mama

Who houched from pimp to pimp

On the streets of Harlem

To put food on her children’s plate

She’s the ghetto queen who bumped the brothas

To put her bastard son through college

She screamed when the body bag at morgue

Revealed the face of her son

And roll of thunder heard not her cries

While the rainbow was not enuf and the

Unmerciful cloud rained unto her cheap

Mascara to her payless shoes

She read when Halle got her Oscar

She saw when Jo-Lo was awarded

The benefits of what should have been hers

She read when Beyonce

Bounced her acclaimed bump

And became the commodity

Of the twenty-first Century

She rose out of the concrete

She travelled from Sahara to Georgia

She is the most knowledgeable

Most educated, most persecuted

She struggles through centuries to centuries


She is none other than a black woman

Black woman rise