I am from two different clans, by the name of Bundudu and Mutetela, but because of my father being the head of the family, I am from the Mubunda clan.
These clans are based in the heart and soul of Congo, just like those weird names mentioned in the beginning. Overall, I am a proud African girl, still learning how to fly in a society or should I say “a prejudiced world”, and not forgetting the bias, towards race, religion, culture as well as gender.
You see, just like T Miller, along with the supposed “angry black woman” and every other black female activist’s/poet out there, I’m mad too. You see, I’m mad of being brainwashed about my homeland, and I’m mad at black men (not African, because we all are) for undermining my position as a girl. For deciding and assuming that I as a black girl, cannot have an education, whilst they kill all my hopes and dreams of becoming a “somebody” and going somewhere too, just so they can satisfy their own protagonist ways.
I, nor the thousands of women in Somalia, Zambia, Zimbabwe and many other countries, I cannot even begin to count, do not belong to you nor do you own our thoughts, bodies and decisions! You know what upsets me the most? The music industry. Not only here in Africa but across the globe. Listen, don’t get me wrong, some of them are doing an excellent job, music wise, but they have belittled women in so many ways.
Dressing them up in all kinds of things, that I cannot even refer to as clothes. Yes, these women have choices, whether to agree to it, or not. But let me ask you this, don’t you think being practically naked or half naked, in front of a camera and getting paid for it, is far worse than prostitution?
When this topic is mentioned today in this “safe” society in which we live in, people are finding it normal, especially our young boys. I’m 17 years old, I’m just a girl wanting to be a woman but I cannot do this, because of impacts such as the media.
The media has made me afraid. It has taken away the little spark I search for in the very darkest patch of the moon. That patch, that sparkled every time I smiled at it, or was it when it smiled at me?
The media, showed only the broken and the shattered pieces of a place I once called home and wish to call it again. Shivering rivers filled with all sorts of dimes, I wish I could drown myself in, just to shine. Land so beautiful, I can feel the tingle underneath my barefooted feet, but then again, it’s just a thought! Ah the drums! Rhythm so accurate, that you would disown yourself just for missing a beat, which I’m sure I would.
I can’t embrace these things because of the culture I’ve never got to experience, and I’m so pissed off at the idea of not being able to! That moon held the symbolization of hope, hope that wherever that moon goes, I’ll always go with it. And now, I don’t know whether we’ll both be able to smile at one another, in an inkless night sky but we’ll ink it together with our memories.
Every star would be our step to discovery. Like I said, I’m just a girl but don’t get me wrong, I’m not naive. I smile far too much but please, I’m pleading for change. And this is why I’m mad.
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