There’s always reason for us black women to complain about that ‘no good, lazy ass black man’. He’s always portrayed as a philandering, beer-guzzling specimen whose only worthwhile contribution has been sustaining an ancient myth about his ‘to-be-feared-by-god’ loins, which make him desirable to even the most chaste of virgins.

Well, I want to be the first to conquer this un-travelled road of pro black nature and say: I LOVE YOU BLACK MAN!

This anti-black man movement probably started in a lot of kitchens in the apartheid regime where men where forever absent, only to be found at local shebeens quenching their thirst for freedom. I’m sure most girls remember their moms shouting obscenities with such profound vigour, it was hard not to believe that dad was indeed a no good son of a gun.

Fast forward to today and the movement has become a religion.

Women are the consumers of anti men anthems chanted with utmost devotion and conviction, there are anti men columns in prominent newspapers (written by single mother/self confessed man hater, Kuli Roberts), feminist literature and my personal favourite, do it yourself orgasm manuals. Also a popular choice is turning lesbian.

With all this going for us and against men, there is also a ritual which is performed on a regular basis. This particular rite involves a girlfriends plush apartment, a couple of bottles of wine and a lot male bashing whilst a steady flow of feel good music trickles at a gentle decibel.

All good and well, all the above mentioned make us feel like we are in control but as responsible women unto ourselves, when do we stop shifting the blame and start looking inward?

Could it not be that the way we treat our men comes from that little girl whose daddy didn’t come home, thus projecting images of insecurity onto your own man?

In psychological terms, it’s called projection. Instead of looking at our own life’s short comings, we tend to look at our ‘honeys’ through the obscure lenses of our mammas. So with our nagging and negative talk, a ‘maybe good man’, becomes complacent and starts to believe he’s unable to love because he’s a philandering, son of a gun. And then what happens? Your ‘maybe good man’ begins his journey towards ‘son of a gun land’, he behaves like the man you believe him to be, thus feeding the gluttonous habit of the girlfriend ritual. Ahh…tears, wine and love songs. The perfect combination for girlfriends! (especially the single ones, and the ugly ones)

But since this piece is about why I love black men, I’ll give insight into my own life and share a couple of experiences that I’ve had with black men to make me feel the way I do about them.

My first affair with a black man is an ongoing one. I could call him my first love. This man has practically known me since I was born. He is a very special man. He’s watched and helped me grow. He’s seen me at my best and worst. I’ve claimed, a couple of hundred times, to hate him and he’s genuinely hated my rebellious nature. He’s doubted me but throughout all those turmoils, we’ve never lost the essence of both love and trust. Yes, my father has grown old and in his eyes, I’ve lost innocence but I can never part with the love he’s instilled in me for the black man.

My father is every bit the man I’d like to end up with and I don’t mean it in an insidious kind of way, but I really admire my father. He isn’t your typical black man. He did his best for his family, he wasn’t conservative in how he brought his children up, and best of all, he wasn’t afraid of his feelings. I think his greatest challenge was bringing us up and conveying to us through his actions that a man can be respected by his family and not through violence or verbal abuse, but with a steady hand, understanding and with ample parental love to go around.

I’ve only had about three serious relationships and all three have proven that black men are a coveted treasure. Guy number one helped me through turbulent situations with my family, guy number two moved all the way to Cape Town just to be with me and guy number three stopped me from breaking up with him because of my own silly speculations about our future. My boyfriends have been unconditional with their love (maybe a bit apprehensive in the beginning), supportive in their nature and taught me a thing or two in the sack. No one can treat a black man the way a black woman can, so Black women, love yourselves then project this love onto Black men and you’ll be amazed how much faith you give him when it comes to how he’ll treat you and the longevity of your relationship.

With all this said, I’m not declaring black men to be holier than thou. Nor am I saying there’s no room for improvement for the black man. I don’t think a couple of ‘I love you’s’, a ‘you look better than Halle Berry’ and a few ‘no you don’t look fat in that’ could help a girl through a hectic week.

I think the main issue that black women have with black men is their lack of affection. They can be stone cold especially about their deep, dark fears and they don’t share their hopes and aspirations with us. This definitely leads to the hostile nature that I refer to in the beginning of this piece. Share…I compel you to share yourself with your black queen or you’ll find yourself sharing her with a couple of other brothers who promise that they can make it better. And I mean better in every sense.

So tonight, I encourage all of you to turn the lights down low, give a massage or just open yourselves up to loving and being loved with no reservations.

Writer: Lerato Ngakane