Dear African Man,
I saw you standing to the side with your head held high, broad torso and wise eyes, trying not to draw attention to your magnetic presence. I noticed that you endured wars, suffered my humiliation, and labels like Garcon! Boy! N***er! whilst still holding your ego in check.
I walked towards you and you proudly clasped my hand and gazed into my eyes, and at that moment I knew all would be well. You reached for my child, she smiled and I noticed a tear roll down your cheek and your vulnerability became apparent to me. I know you blamed it on the wind, but my child is wise, for she winked at you, and I knew.
You are my African Beauty.
Africa is reflected in your face, her deserts, hills, valleys, and forests are seen in the depths of your eyes, and her pain and suffering is apparent in the scars on your back. You are her child. Your sociability is revealed, when I see you amongst your friends and colleagues, they look up to you, my dear, for they sense your core faith and stability. You are love, for you have crossed continents for me, been shackled up and locked, torn down and whipped into a fashion, unbecoming of your glorious Self, so you may fit into a preconceived notion of what YOU should be. And then I saw your dignity.
Stand out my Brotha! Stand tall my man. Shout loud and sing proudly for there isn’t a beauty like…
My African Man.
Your broad feet touch the ground so gently as you carry my family, my hang-ups, my African Womanliness. In your strong able arms. I am yours for I am Wo-man fashioned from you, here to encourage you to be stronger, better, faster and to be proud, loving and respectful of those around you. I will teach our son to emulate you and to love his woman as you have loved me, with care and pride and a sense of comedy, and I will teach my daughter, to look out for a man like you, with grace and agility.
May your dreams and the desires of your heart, be fulfilled with me, for I applaud you my love, My Beauty.