black love

I have always been a little on the fence about this whole black love movement. I didn't want to embrace it because well; "men are trash" and black men have proven time and time again that they are not here for us. We have been on our own for a long time. But I find these days, that I want the love of a black man. I am thinking about our black babies with their beautiful hair and beautiful skin. I am thinking about that massive house that we have worked our whole lives to acquire. I am thinking about the culture and my beautiful wedding dress...trust, it's not going to be a traditional white wedding dress. I am thinking about the family, mine and his. I am thinking about our drunk uncles who will claim us at our reception and let everyone know that they are solely responsible for our successes. I think about the love of everyone for everyone. I think about the laughter, the music, the dancing and the ululating. I think about our aunts who have decided that despite the budget, they will wear aprons and cook everything by themselves with the help of their friends from the stokvel. I can see that wooden spoon and I can almost taste the gravy. All of it is so beautiful in my mind.

Then, I go back and I think about the lobola and the expectations that come with it. I then jump ahead and I think about my new family and my new sisters in law, who will, two weeks into my "service", call me lazy and spoilt because I definitely hate cleaning up after people. It triggers thoughts of slavery and it angers me....