Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

To be a woman, a vast continent within, like anthills of a savannah. Owner of the drink of life. Mountains at your footstool. Breath as sweet as the earth. Voice as deep as thunder.

To be a woman, full of silence and survival, unafraid to walk to the unknown, past landscape spells of bitter sun and blood, moving towards light glistening like pearls, builder of dreams and freedom, birth through fire and a haze of blue flames.

To be woman soundless as the sun, yet brighter and unbearably brighter, with arms outstretched to one who protects. To pass through heat and still come out unscathed liked gold. The rush of joy for freedom and deliverance from hell.

To see years slip into months and now a day. To surrender the memory gladly hoarding no trace of bitterness or fear. To be transformed like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. All this and more is to know the grace of God. They say good people suffer many troubles, but God…

The above was inspired by an anthology of African women poets that keeps giving me life and freedom to stand with grace.