I am thrilled to share a thing or two about what it feels like to wear the shoes of an African woman – but my story may not exactly be what you expect. Generally, I have found that many people anticipate a sad, long-suffering, painful, and then eventually, an endearing life story for most African women. One that suggests that it was very rough and tough until a moment in time where things shift and you walk a different path. Honestly, I get it. There are so many told and untold stories of African women that have had the worst of life, but have forged their greatness by blood and sweat. Respect to them.
My story is quite different, though. I have led a pretty decent life, with more or less the common challenges of life – you know, financial struggles, self-esteem problems, self-worthlessness, to mention a few. I have lived life with the bare minimum, and I have watched from afar and close by the potential of abundance. See? Common, right?
So, when I was preparing this conversation about self, to celebrate the Black History Month, I had to introspect. If I would say anything about my life, what would it be? I did not fight for independence. I haven’t had to fight for basic needs. My rights have not been violated. So, really, what is there to talk about? Then I got it.
Amongst the threats of life in Kenya like heightened sexual harassment for women – which I myself have experienced – and crime and violence especially surrounding elections and tribalism, I would love to say that I have been dealt a kind hand by life. But, when I think about it, it was always God.
I am raised Christian – or as I like to put it, born and raised Christian. My parents did a pretty decent job at taking care of me and training me in the ways of the Lord. It has counted for so much, considering that I stayed in the faith even in the not-so-easy moments. I cannot feign that I spent nights without food, but I can very well remember the pain of financial struggles. I know what it feels to not have enough to go around the table, so a few have to compromise. I know all too well what it is like to settle for things that are way below average because that is all you could afford. I understand the struggles of footing your own school bills because there are other mouths to feed – and that is just one side of the coin.
The other is about being too close to danger that it becomes the norm. While I have never dealt or used drugs in my life, I am very familiar with the awful smell of marijuana, khat, and various forms of alcohol – they paint our neighborhood day and night. I see how corrupt the system is when drug dealers go scot-free because they can afford to pay the law enforcers. Sexual perversion has been the order of business all year round. It is the kind of place where there is no need to spot the perversion, for it is so evident all around. For example, instead of identifying the prostitutes in the community, it would be easier to count the remaining ‘good ones’. It is as though the guilt and shame of perversion is no longer there. I have, for many years, seen these moral ills as regular and quite common. Teenage pregnancies and dropping out of school were too common. Did I intentionally choose not to be part of it? Not quite. I promise you that it is a miracle I made it out without becoming part of it – in the world but not of the world, huh?
The Lord has persistently fought for me. I have been spared and preserved from so much because God was always watching out for me. Having grown up amidst so many moral ills (our neighborhood was not the safest – to say the least), I would have turned out a lot worse than all of them. We may have always been surrounded by potentially dangerous folk, but we were certainly surrounded by a hedge of fire. No matter how far I strayed or wandered, the Lord was always watching out for me – what a Shepherd!
Did I always acknowledge and appreciate it? Not so much! But now that I have the chance to look back, I truly thank God for salvation. He called me first. He loved me first. He allowed me to wander around until I could find my way back to Him. He made me a Kingdom woman, so that African womanhood would have a different definition. So, for all it’s worth, I am a proud, black, African queen, who has had her share of tough seasons in life – but that is not the whole story. The true story is that I am a kingdom woman. I represent the kingdom of heaven. So, when I show up to tell my story, it must be a reflection of where I am from – I am from the Father!
John 16:28 – I came forth from the Father and have come into the world…
