No Sanctuary for Black Girls


My good friend Athi’s reflections… worth reading… and remembering

KwaVokotheka

As I sit in a corner with a sharp, painful feeling in my stomach as I shout ndiyalunywa there’s a burning ache at the pit of my stomach. An ulcer that grows with each day my body floats between spaces that point at it, touch and violate it.

Yesterday as I walked towards to bus stop six young men rushing to catch a train paused and began pointing at me, nudging each other to speak to me, the lady with the big bum in front of them. I looked away hoping they would not say a word to me but they did, laughing among themselves asking me if I was dumb, why was I not saying anything back. Taunting me, laughing because  they knew in that instance they had power over me.

I remained still and walked slowly so that they would walk past me and I wouldn’t deal with…

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