The revolution will not be televised, the revolution will be on Instagram live.
The revolution will be planned on mood boards, the revolution will be on zoom calls.
The revolution will come in form of snapchats, the revolution will come in form of hashtags.
The revolution will begin with a change of heart, the revolution will begin with an appreciation of art.
The story of Africa through the African’s eyes was the greatest story never told. I’m having a hard time trying to figure out how we went from Copper, Silver, and Gold, to only being seen for the poverty, hunger, and young Kings out in the cold.
Africa is the origin, the place where we have history that the rest of the world can try to imitate, but could never recreate. Now forced to comply with a foreign standard of beauty, don’t you see the cruelty? The words in out languages form melodies as they echo through the air, our heritage is as complex as the kinks in our hair, the way we weave sisal into baskets with flare.
What if an African woman knew that her thick hips and big lips which they try to imitate is nothing new? We have the skills of the black man in Africa who was wearing hides and skins, they said we were uncivilized before they came but we had Emperors and Kings, and I would like to believe that the African kings still lives. I look at my African brothers and say, ‘you don’t look like a John, and you do not look like a Tom, and I do not look like a Lisa, but isn’t that the type of name they’ll want when I’m applying for a Visa?’ They took away our names, put our pictures in museums in frames, made us feel ashamed, made us forget that we are all the same.
Africa is the future, Africa is the past, Africa is now. So go ahead, tell an African Queen her hair is too rough, tell an African King his name is too tough, enough is enough. And if I have offended, bring me before whoever you think is greater and tell them my name is Mumbi, is means creator.