“The struggle is great, but my love is greater.
The toll is taxing, but, my child, you are worth it.”
These are the words of the woman who birthed, fed and cared for me,
Abiding by the traditions of our culture,
Giving me all any mother could ever give or offer.
Filled with the heart and spirit of the continent,
She nurtured me,
With the passion only a woman could engage.
A refuge, a rock, a teacher, a mother,
A parent, a foundation and a friend,
To me, she was all these things and more.
Even in our darkest moments,
When the sweltering heat beat upon our door,
Stifled me to the point of suffocation,
Dried the tears in my eyes,
She was the rain, the cooling storm.
That brought relief from the harsh world.
I promised I would be strong for her, just as she had been for me.
Even today, as I traverse the world,
See cultures and religions, great and wide,
There is no love that captures me
Like the love of my African mother