In my mothers gaze I see... In my mothers gaze I see a white woman who is able to look at a black person and see a person. That is a feat even if it doesnt look like one - it isnt one for the non-thinking, the non-reading people who are not aware of racism and its impact on the numerous minorities. Shall we just speak about peoples heart beats going wild and haywire when a black man enters a lift and the many other threats that people imagine when... when... when there arent any? My mother has an ability to see black body, black beauty and black hair.The hair thing indeed and you know how political that is to us black women! Oh, ask me, I know. I can remember her discussions with black mothers about the benefits of ricin oil to manage my mini childhood afros and the trying out of various hair brushes - boar hair hairbrushes and others. I was 7 and it is still all so vivid. And as a teen, despite being forbidden to relax my hair, I would sneak out to do it at friends places and hope she wouldnt notice - but my hair was more obedient to her than I was, it stayed curled and kinky for ages. And now, in my 40th year, mom sends me videos of the great girl team De la Populace on... Hair! Yes, you got it. Once a mother of a black child, always a mother of a black child! But thank goodness, I have gone natural! https://youtube/watch?v=fcFaIftS66E What is of utmost importance is how my mother handles black bodies. I have seen three things as I kept her company on her visits to the old Mama Yemo hospital: patience, tenderness and efficiency. To my mothers surprise, men and women, some part of the medical staff, would call her sister. She checked with me if it referred to people thinking she was a nun and I had no answer. I do know now that it takes a spiritual being to go everyday to a hospital to wash, watch, feed, dress and play with abandoned babies at ones own expense. This happened the last time I was in Kinshasa, my hometown, in 1998. The children who had had no stimulation and wouldnt cry or respond at the beginning became fussy within days - wanting food, warm water to be bathed in, smiles, no ear buds in their ears, no nails clipped, just songs and play and chat and comfort - feeling and becoming normal babies again through care and stimulation. Weight gain, dimples, shouts and laughter within days of commitment from her. I know she was introduced to that ward but a friend but I only saw my mom visiting. As grace would have it, all the beautiful children were taken in by the Missionaries of Charity - one of Mother Theresas mission in Kinshasa. And the hospital I am referring to was called lHôpital Général even then - Mobutu managed to be born of a splendid woman hence my wanting to remember the old name. As I raise my own daughter, I grieve not really knowing of her life before she was 5. She and I giggle and get all excited whenever we take out the 6 photos of her when she was really small. We were lucky to spend time with my godchild Imani, her godsister, so that we could have a sense of what a 3 year old thinks, feels, sees. It gave Ester and I a chance of living what we have never lived. She and I can more easily fool people in believing that we are biological than my mother and I of course - she white and me black. So what do I know of my pre-adoption days? Nothing more than the fact that my mom-pre-mom would give me biscuits and come when I cried. I also know that she and my dad cannot agree on which one of them came to fetch me from the army camp where myself, my then just dead biological mother and brother were taken to. I do know that I had scabbies and that it is a highly contagious skin disease but when I was 17, I was told by an old friend of my mother do you know that she carried you non-stop? Wherever she was, you were on her hip. My mother is quite small. Besides for her height, my daughter takes totally after her with her athletic body, wide shoulders, thin and long muscles and fast metabolism. I have seen over and over how when there are no blood connections, there is some physical, spiritual and mental inheritance. My daughter, like my mother has narrow hips and yet, they are both able to carry babies and small children and bring them comfort. I hope that those 2 bodies will meet one day as I am the link between 2 generations - 2 women who mean the most to me. In my mothers gaze I see her childhood dream of black doll and I know I was this live black doll. Odd is it not that her heart was opened through play and that this, Grace used, to bring me a home. In my mothers gaze I see things that I hadnt seen when I was small... because I was too self-conscious, too uncomfortable, too shy and too hurt. But I see that she sees a person of beauty and therefore I am. I am!
Posted on: Tue, 28 Oct 2014 19:35:14 +0000
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