Always been super intuitive, but my intuition could’ve never prepared me for losing my mother. She was the first human being to ever break my entire soul and heal it at the same time.
Next month marks 12 years since she’s been my ancestor. Found out from city hall that I will be installing my art exhibit at Amtrak on the very day the medical examiner called to tell me they found her. I was all shaken up about it, at first, yet realized the inherent blessing it is. How she likely helped to orchestrate the decision lol!
I will honor her legacy that day as I do everyday by continuing to build mine, instead of grieving her death. We always had a deeply spiritual bond even through the abuse and turmoil and nothing has ever been able to stop that. As we reach toward each other always. Thank you mommy! 2nd 📷 Circa 1997
#afrikanface #ancestorsspeak #centeringmyblackness #dearmama #girlrillavintage #intuition #mamasgirl #mendesfamily #mymamasanancestor #ripmama #roothealers #shadowkeeperexhibit #theeamazinggrace #unconditionallove #westphilly #westafrican
Ancestors, we are winning despite how things may appear or feel. That our disappointments must be the source of our inspiration. That our lives are not defined by the problems we face.
Still I can smell the cesspool. All this really stinks. Thick air. Children in cages. Women groomed as little girls to never tell. Holding her brothers box of ashes with bare hands. White folk moving into the only hoods our black skin ever touched.
No time. No space for us to grasp or grip or grieve, yet we breathe, we hold you in high regard. Always. We know your truth leads our way. Rest in love and light to all those that have surrendered their breath. Thank you for this bit of peace you left behind.
#afrikanface #ancestorsspeak #ancestorssongs #girlrillavintage #mendewoman #mercuryretrograde #moondaymeditation #peace #pms #roothealer #selfiecorner #sierraleone #tbm #theeamazinggrace #westafrican #worldview
I think the easiest thing after a betrayal by someone we love is to question the validity and worth of ourselves in comparison to the betrayal. When in reality our worth isn’t tied up into anyone, but ourselves. That the betrayal likely started long before these moments. The betrayal might’ve been why we left in the first place. I found out on social media that a person I was recently romantically involved is getting married.
I’m sharing this because my heart is hurt. My heart is not hurt because they’re getting married. My heart is not hurt because I’m not happy for them. My heart is not hurt because I want to be in a relationship with them. My heart is hurt because I didn’t hear it from them. My heart is hurt because I thought so highly of this person. My heart is hurt because of the nature of our friendship, how intentional we were to remain. My heart is hurt because we respected each other. My heart is hurt because they didn’t grant me the opportunity to celebrate them. My heart is hurt because up until now we’ve been gently and lovingly transparent about EVERYTHING, even when it hurt.
For anyone feeling the sting of betrayal today, know that it has nothing to do with you. Know that our lives will go on, will thrive just as they always have. Know that we are enough during this transformative time. I recall my umi’s words, “We can wallow in self-pity for a little while, just don’t stay there”. We’re responsible to forgive the betrayal of ourselves for this person. We gotta create the closure we need. Take time and space.
In love and kindness, wishing them all the best.
This black woman has had enough of hateful ass white people. Standing in the condiment aisle at GIANT Grocery Store on Columbia. You know how we sort of get stuck in one place (descisons, decisions)? Several folks mirrored the same. His very old, ignorant ass shuffled back and forth several times. I noticed him for that reason. He stopped next to me and said, “OK, what gives? What are you doing here? You don’t have a basket or anything.” I’m like huh? He repeated. I said, “Too bad it’s not obvious.” He went on, “You should at least have a basket.” I asked, “Does it look like I’m in fucking captivity?!” He walked off mumbling “testy” “get a basket then”. He complained to whoever would listen.
Instantly, “I’m the angry black woman” when he racially accosted me in the condiment aisle. A young, white guy told him that he was out of line because he didn’t say that to anyone else. I thought, of course he didn’t say that to anyone else because no one else was black. No one else, he could use his false sense of entitlement on. Young guys sentiment wasn’t enough. I wish white folks would call other white folks exactly what they’re when that happens, blatantly racist. #racismwillnotwin #thisisamerica
Fully realized 😍! Thankful to the healthy first beginnings I shared with my young mother. How she (begrudgingly breastfed, cuddled, hugged, and sweet talked me) as I developed. The language was love in a less than favorable environment. A language, I translated to cultivate my own love experience. And no matter how the foundation bottomed out, the love she passed along did not. Gace face. Sharing for you mama. Rest well lady.
#afrikanculture #ancestry #girlrillavintage #nurturegrewmylove #nofilter #smilingformama #wcw
Greasing or oiling the scalp has historical roots for black Afrikans born in America. In fact as we’ve become more knowledgeable about the benefits of natural oils, scalp oiling has become common practice among people of all ethnicities to maintain healthy hair and scalp. This entry will highlight how it relates directly to the women in the #afrikanface show and to people of Afrikan descent. During enslavement, we no longer had access to #palmoil that we used in #afrika to care for our hair, so we used other oil-based products like #lard #butter #crisco to condition and soften our hair. Scalp greasing is a ritual.
Dr. Kari explains perfectly, “The days of washing our hair at the kitchen sink, detangling in the bathroom, perhaps blow drying, and spending time on your mom’s living room floor on a pillow, nestled between her legs for that routine scalp greasing. It was a ritual that, no matter how busy life got, was NOT forgone. Part by part, inch by inch, your scalp was doused in a “miracle” grease”…
Scalp time was our love time (I wrote a poem about this). It was a time to bond, for mama to lay open her hands souls to literally groom you. It seemed almost therapeutic for both of us (even when my hair was tangled, still a tender headed ass), the way she would place a dollop of grease on the back of her hand, comb, then grease, then part, then grease some more, then plat or braid. The jewel was how she managed to have full fledged conversations, sip beer, and brushed my baby hair all fancy, adding her finishing touch. Those were the days, nights, afternoons I still long for today. Come to the show to see how the hair ritual unfolds!
Thee Amazing Grace B