Most of the positive parts of me were put there by the women who have touched my life.
I am considerate and caring for others due to how I saw my mother do the same.
How she made space for extended family to rest as they came through our town.
How she forgave my grandma for the ills she portrayed against her as she fought her addiction to alcohol.
How she still saw the best in my father even after leaving him, allowing me the opportunity to have my own relationship.
I tell stories the way my grandmother told me stories.
How she laid bare my family tree, flaws and all.
How she told me of African spirituality and our rich history of looking after each other.
How she healed with herbs and helped me realised I could heal with words.
I believe in myself the way my sister once did.
How she sent me back, with her hand in tow, to go face my bullies.
How she sent me to schools with few who looked like me, so I’d have access to opportunities that few who looked like me did.
How she saw me as being enough simply in my existence before I had done anything.
I know I belong in the spaces I inhabit because of my wife.
How she demands that I lay claim to my space.
How she knows of my inherent excellence before I do.
How she believes I deserve love.
No positive aspect of my person can escape their touch.
I am as I am because of the excellent women I have known.
They are the salt of humanity; they preserve and provide flavour to life!