Femme Noir
To fall in love with a Black woman is majestic in a way that only those who have the courage to experience this type of intimacy explore.
I’m not sure which one I admire most, as they were all a conglomerate of similar values, poise, beauty, and respect. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I must have The Agojie warriors as my ancestral spiritual team, because I have been blessed with a tribe of women. “Demand your respect Meek,” one of my godmother’s once told me as a child, and because I did not know how to pronunciate, I proclaimed that I had, “Manned my spec!” in front of my older god-sisters who dominated my room, disregarding my presence in my space because I was younger than them. This was my first lesson of knowing my value and claiming respect as my birthright and passageway to navigate this challenging terrain called life. My mother was blessed with a tribe that I inherited, who consistently supported me as a child and now as a woman their prayers have manifested into my success.
A woman who can cut the most difficult person with the glare of her eyes then generously give them the energy needed for their nourishment with those same eyes, are some of her best qualities. Raised in Harlem and The Bronx, she was raised by a single woman from West Virginia. A star in her own right, she can be spotted a mile a way with her class, grace and style. As unconventional as she was, she raised me with structure and stability that I once disliked, but now value. She saw me when no one else would, confirming the potential she envisioned for my future that I couldn’t grasp. She always knew that potential would someday become my reality. Raising a dark skin Black girl in America came with its challenges, but she knew how to make me feel important in the midst of the resistance I’d face in the world. My mother taught me that to love meant to show up unconditionally. It wasn’t until I learned the nature of boundaries that I grew to adjust this concept to match my own. “If you put God first, everything else will follow,” said my grandmother, who became my ancestor earlier this January. Her words echoed to my auntie and my mother, then eventually to me. They laid the foundation for me to be the woman I am today.
Her prayers have saved me and still do. From the stroke of my hair with my pink Goody brush, to the sizzle of the hot comb placed delicately on the back of my head to straighten my kinky curls before church on an early Sunday morning, I knew joy began with her. Her intensity was a guard and it was clear, if I had not valued her love, it could just as much be taken away. I learned the fine line between love and discipline in those early development days of my life that have led me to great waters around the world, and her words of kindness always showed me that no matter where I go in the world, memories of her voice would always stay with me.
A Black woman does not always get the credit she deserves for the struggles she faces. She never folds under pressure. They are like super-women, whose capes are replaced with style and flare. I feel safe in a Black woman’s arms, knowing I am communing with someone who looks, sounds, and views the world similar to me. It’s a love that’s endearing, it keeps me on my toes, and accepts me for the quirky, artistic, and free being I am.
To fall in love with a Black woman is majestic in a way that only those who have the courage to experience this type of intimacy explore.
I am exploring this kind of love, confidently placing one foot in front of the other, remaining curious to know more about this kind of dynamic. It doesn’t surprise me that this is where I have landed in romantic love, given the tribe I was raised by. My tribe showed me what sisterhood means. They demonstrated non-romantic love for each other that somehow evolved into a kind of intimacy many do not acknowledge as important as the love a woman has for a man. I have fallen in love with a Black woman. It consumed my thoughts, illuminated my desires, and almost without warning changed the trajectory of my life. I have to thank the Black women who raised me, as they unintentionally shared what intimacy is with another woman, that I have grown to appreciate and desire for myself in ways that feel freeing. With a Black woman, I am loved, I know love, I am love.
A captivating piece, my fave for sure.