African Woman, feminism, I am not a feminist but...., Learning to Live a Balanced Life, Life Lessons

Black history month is here! Feminists, independent or autonomous black women?

My black history number one is always Wangari Maathai and all the women who have led the way here. Do you guys remember the Fourth World Conference on Women that took place in 1995? I do. After the conference, my father and the men of my childhood started to deal with women’s insolence, opinions and expectations with the answer “this is NOT Beijing, woman! If you go on like this, you have to move to Wangari Maathai!” Wangari Maathai was in Beijing in 1995 and she was divorced. When people in my childhood spoke about her, they said “she left her husband.” However, when I read about Wangari in the teenage years of discovery and defiance, I read that her husband had divorced her with the verdict that: “Wangari was too educated, too strong, too successful, too stubborn and too hard to control.”

Well, that made my mind up right there. When a man left me, I wanted him to say exactly those words, and nothing else. By the time I was twenty years old, I was referring to myself as a feminist, a word treated with contemptuous sneers in the circles I grep up in. A woman’s commitment to self-sufficiency astounds and scares. In Sweden, I sometimes get the question or the affirmation regarding how neglecting African men were of their women and how independent African were as a consequent. In the same sentence was the well-meant concern for how exposed the African women were to the men’s whims. I have not experienced African women as more exposed to men’s whims than the women of any other continent. Women in Sweden were and still are, in my observation, as vulnerable and exposed as the women in Kenya. The main difference I can discern between Sweden and Kenya, is that in Sweden, the word feminism is thrown about proudly, together with equality, human rights and other powerful words of the 21st century.

D:DCIM100DICAMDSCI0416.JPGMy mother was brought up by strong women and she made sure to extend us the same courtesy to my sisters and I. Obviously, we, as in most other societies, were brought up to be men’s support systems and reproduce. Therefore, we were military trained to find mates as soon as we could reproduce. I was, among other things, taught how to be a wife, a mother and a daughter in-law – to soothe, distract, coach, massage egos and nurture. A contradiction of myself, submissive when it served the family and tough as nails when it served the family. I was advised to always have a secret stash of money for myself that he didn’t know about. It was recommended that I find ways to keep myself busy so I wasn’t spending my days waiting for him because, apparently, idleness makes a boring, uninspired and irritated companion. I was expected to be his whole support system when he had none. However, I was also expected to be able to raise the next generation on my own, dependent only on other women’s wisdom and support. Hence, we were explicitly, implicitly and repeatedly taught to actively and consciously separate our support systems from the men’s. We were challenged to make our own friends, independent of the men and incorruptible by the men. Although impregnation or fertilization is dependent on men’s presence and continued existence, motherhood was not. A healthy, self-sufficient, holistic, autonomous individual that could live with or without a man. A rock.

Kenyans moving towards feminismDid the men get the same training? I have no idea! But here we are.

Both in Kenya and Sweden, most women always worked and still work just as much or more than the men. There is no fancy word to describe their freedom or captivity. Historically, men were of course the official bread winners, in both societies. However, women have always contributed, only without the trumpets going off to announce and thank them every time new shoes, blankets, curtains, school books and pens, children’s underwear and other necessities appeared miraculously. Traditionally, at least in parts of Kenya, women could not inherit property from their parents. So, the options were either to marry or make money and buy their own property. Even when a woman succeeded to get married, if she failed at generating her own income, she would be keenly aware of her destitution if the marriage ever fell apart. Her only hope was that the children, if she had any, would inherit their father and take her in when she was too old to take care of herself. No woman in any continent thinks that is fair or sustainable, therefore women’s perseverance at work and marriage.

In a world of shit hole countries and inter-country walls, I am learning to become untriggered, but I can still get a little sore when I am asked how I could become such a feminist, coming from Africa where women are so oppressed, with suggestions that maybe, I am reacting to the oppression. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was not taught anything else.

Is that feminism or autonomism? Does it matter what it is called?

 

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African Woman, How to Live a Lifeless Life and Sustain a Loveless Life, I am not a politician but..., Life Lessons, Love is..., Loves of a Life Time, Mental Health

Love Is…Undeserved Compliments

Hi lovely people! Have you been wondering how to know that the man/woman etc human in your life loves you?!

London show your rump to trumpWell, it is easy. You know that day when you wake up feeling like a sack of rotten potatoes?

No?

Ok. Lucky you!

A crate of rotten eggs then?

You know like the one the lovely British people planned to throw at POTUS a couple of weeks ago?

No? Oh well. Then it just me.

I have these days covered before they even arrive. I have several bad-hair-day scarfs and paraphernalia. I have a hat. I have umbrellas. I have hoodies. I have an afro in braids. There is that fleece that  I only wear when I am feeling like crap. It’s grey and it is sooooo comfy and it smells of laziness, sofa and TV.

20180113_181714Since I am a beehive of activity even on my worst days, I need to throw the rubbish out. On the ground floor. I drag myself from the sofa, take my red coat for a flush of color. My older sister always said that a click of red lipstick, or anything red, on black skin makes you look like sunshine. Even on wintry bad days.

My human says: “WAIT!”

I look around at him ready to pounce.

Me: “What?!” you know, daring him to say something awful.

20180113_181716(0)My human: “You look great! Let me take a photo!”

Me: “Really? Dude? What do you want?”

click. click.

My human: “Look!”

And I do look OK. It is not the end of the world. So I pull myself together and smile at him.

20180113_181704“Take one more photo then!”

I still have an inner child that loves attention and thrives under the gaze of love. But I do this thing when I am very happy that gives me #crazyeyes.

What does it matter when there is one person in the whole wide world that sees something good in me?! Something that looks good even on my worst days.

#YouAreNotCrazy. You are #Passionate.

/Linda

 

African Woman, I am not a politician but..., I am not a racist but..., Life Lessons

Born, bred and intellectualized in #EastShitHole

ShitholeThe land of many many wonderful people who reared me with confidence, civility, trust and love.

We are here. If colonialism, dehumanization, the slave trades and all the other genius plans in history didn’t kill us off, nothing will. Except the nuclear bomb that will not discriminate the shit holes.

We are here. Live. With. It.

 

 

African Woman, I am not a politician but..., Life Lessons

#SlaveryOfBlackAfricans in 2017

In Libya, a man became a slave today, a strong farm hand for $400. We will never be able to deny that we knew. It could be my brother Eric. It isn’t. A Privilege. Slaves are being sold in Libya. They are black. In 1526, the first transatlantic slave voyage to Brazil was completed successfully. After that, the trade ports were open. I cannot imagine there were any news about this development. Maybe there were, who knows? Today, thanks to technology, we all know that slaves are being sold in Libya and we know just about how much a live human body costs. If you didn’t know, google it. Now. You couldn’t Google things in 1530. You can now.

We may not do anything about it. That is OK. A prerogative. We may not even acknowledge that we know. But we know. And we know that we know.

London demo against Slavery-original

I have been trying to teach my mother to use Skype. She is not teachable. She refuses to save the sequence of events that lead to a video call, even though some days, she could bite a bee to see my face. But, irony of ironies, my mother performs all her banking activities in her mobile telephone. Being very private about her finances, who isn’t?! She does not need help with mobile banking, medical insurance payments or a myriad other activities a woman, almost seventy years old, can perform on the phone to move money around the world. An open digital economy.

In 1985, one of my friends was born in London. Her grandmother in Kenya did not meet her until seven years later, when they came back to Kenya to visit. Some photos had been sent by snail post during the years. A number of telephone calls were made over the continents in an attempt to create a bond between child and grandmother. Bonds are a strange thing, they are created in the subconscious. My sister in Nairobi had a child last year. Within an hour after the birth, I had pictures of mother and baby in my own telephone. In my hands. In my home. Kisses, hugs, faces, laughter and my siblings’ voices telling me about the new baby. Trying to convince me that the new baby, a girl, had smiled immediately after birth.

Technology won’t sell a human body, just as the gun won’t shoot a running boy. Technology won’t free the slave, just as a scream doesn’t sooth pain. We still have to do the dirty work of mending the world. But, technology is sending us images of slaves being sold. And my mother can move money around in her telephone. A slave will give birth to a child tonight. From cradle to death or to castration? Someone who deserves, who feels entitled, will earn some cash. The future is secured.

African Woman, Amateur Love Doctor, I am not a feminist but...., Learning to Live a Balanced Life, Life Lessons

World News: World’s most eligible bachelor is off the market!

Skin Thickener lotion

This morning, I showered, dressed and put on some make up.

Make up for me is a click of foundation and a little lipstick.

My skin doesn’t like make up that much. And I don’t give that much of a crap to make Makeup look good.

Before I left for work (today, work is a summit for Data BI Nerds), I browsed through the news. One day too late as usual, I find out about the attack at Westminster that took place yesterday.

I click on to read about this terrible news. Where is the world headed? How can we save ourselves? Where do we hide our fear? Where do we hide our courage? Who do we the civilized world have to attack to make this stop???

…huh?…mmm…huh? To the right of this important news item, there is even worse news!

The WORLD‘s most eligible bachelor has been taken!

I feel crushed: nooooo. not him! no. no. no. after all this trouble with lipstick that ends up on the cheek?

Then I wonder despairingly: who??!

And then I realize: oh. him! I don’t know him!

Why is he the world‘s most eligible? Why don’t my relatives know of him?

My very beautiful cousin is single and the aunts have been going nuts pictures & work titles about all the bachelors she could capture if she paid any attention.

Is he nice? is there any news of him doing nice things?

Is he kind? is there any news of him doing kind things?

Is he respectful? is there any news of him doing respectful things?

Is he sober not abusing anything?? is there any news of him doing sober things?

None of that crap.

Lots of information about how much money he is worth and where his properties are to be found.

Due to promegneture, pregonut, primegenite, primegerosorous, primogeniture?

I read that the one who has captured him is his high school sweetheart.

So was he ever The World’s most eligible in the first place? You know, being in love with someone can takes care of that.

Being the world’s most eligible; that means the whole world including China, Thailand, Guinea, Vietnam, US, Mexico and all the regular suspects?

gemmacorrell-nope-square-greeting-card

That any girl woman, including my cousin in the world had a chance until he was snatched right under our sweaty pimply noses?

The spin in my head: So..

if she just pulled herself up by the bootstraps cheap broken zipper,

wore her best dress Polyester from Ellos,

took some time on her makeup from H&M,

Used her teeth whitener cheapest Colgate from ÖoB more often, and then went out to Debaser Medis as we did when we were younger;

She would have a chance to meet the world’s most eligible, take him home and make him hers?

Why doesn’t someone mail out a newsletter with this kind of data shit to unmarried women under 30 every month?

Given data in time, anyone, & I mean anyone, could have captured this bachelor!

 

African Woman, Borrowed, I am not a politician but...

My Design Proposal for US-Mexico Wall

Mexican Wall

Well. I am feeling a little creative today.

You can guess which sides of the wall each design fits. You could even mix and match them a little to make things spicy.

Usually, my creativity ends in a PowerPoint presentation, visio process, architectural or infrastructural model.

This, as you understand took ALL of my creative juices. I will be resting after this.

I am also starting to doubt whether I will ever be allowed to enter US soil. ever. Being:

  1. Swedish
  2. writing this
African Woman, Art & Culture, I am not Pathetic but..., Life Lessons, sex, Therapy Sessions

Recommended Art: The 2 movies to watch this Month

If you don’t do anything else this month, do this!

2016 ended with the hysteria of Have a Valentine Dinner with Idris Elba. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have had my moments with Idris, but he is getting on; isn’t he?

trevanteDare: In 2017, let anyone, & I mean anyone, up a video like that with Trevante Rhodes on it! I will be all over that shit like a bad rash. Oh. God. Please. Let Someone.

Last weekend I had 2 dates. Good dates.

The 2nd date was on Saturday with a friend who is culturally cultivated. The movie was the highly recommended Moonlight.

Forget about the movie. I don’t really care about the movie. It is him, he doesn’t become wonderful until the end.

First, it is a clumsy boy who everyone loves to abuse, disabuse & ignore. Except the drug dealer of course. Whatever his name is.

And then it is a teenager who is gay and lost. Abused, disabused & ignored. Or not. And there is another teenage boy who is not so important touching him at some point.

chironSuddenly, from no where, he is this man. No, he is these muscles. these fantastic muscles and the wonderful eyes. He has these awful golden teeth but who cares when you look at those eyes and those muscles.

His regular smile, without the golden teeth, is beautiful.

He is supposed to be gay but I don’t believe it. I would not be having all those feels if he was gay. or? Because if he was gay, only the gay guys would be feeling anything looking at his muscles and his so “come here” eyes. And the lips; just slightly open. Just look at those eyes and those lips!

After Moonlight, I left the movies wondering: “what do I do with all this heat, warmth, wanting love?”

The explanation for my not so lady-ish, catholic nun-recommended feels? I watched Moonlight just 24 hours after watching 50 shades darker. As you can guess, this was with a kind of loose canons gang of friends.

50 shades is ART. Real art. The shit. There is even an art display room called the Red Room. Art in its best form.

I never saw 50 shades of Grey. I read the book. I am pretending to be better that those who watched the movie.

smiley-emoji

Someone once said to me that the 50 shades franchise is for middle aged women who are starved for fun and sex. This was during a weak moment when I was pretending to be better that those who watched 50 Shades of Grey.

That someone was wrong! Totally not true! They were speaking about the movie. Not Mr Grey.

Mr Grey, the master is h.o.o.o.t. Watch 1:02-1:04 and let me know if that is for middle aged ladies!

I left the movies wondering “what do I do with all this heat, warmth, wanting love??” My wonderful friends recommended a sex shop where I can actually buy the “balls” and other paraphernalia that can be useful.

But just for this night, it was too late to buy any of these wonderful recommendations.

You will thank me after you’ve watched these! Or not.