This morning, on my daily walk to the nearby river, I saw Malome Thabo. Now, Malome Thabo is an old man who is always sitting under the same tree, shouting out things people do not understand. Everyone thinks he’s crazy but he doesn’t bother anyone so people usually just wave or giggle and go about their day. Little children are scolded by their mothers when they hang around him too long. I too, always see him but today was.. different. Because today when I passed by, he saw me too. His wandering eyes followed me as I continued on my journey to the river.

When I arrived there, I was met with the usual smiles and waves from the other women. We shared short parts about our lives and mostly what was most common to all of us, our lost men.

These are not men that have been lost on the way home from war or possibly even dead somewhere. No. These are men that told us they loved us, sold us many dreams and promised us many fortunes but when time came to actually deliver, they disappeared.
They left in us their seeds. Seeds that we need to fend for and love unconditionally. Seeds that would constantly remind of the dreams and promises they failed to follow through.

These conversations usually left me nostalgic. Or sad. Or just..angry. Angry at him, at my children but mostly at myself. For allowing this man to take so much from me but usually, I am comforted with thoughts of the joy my daughters have brought me. You see, these are my seeds. These are my children. I look at them and stop seeing him, but instead see all the hard work I have put in.

I think about this on my way back and again, Malome Thabo is watching me. Strangely, he calls me over. I am reluctant. I believe he is wise but what could he possibly that is worth listening?
I decide to go to him anyway.

He looks at me for a while with an estranged look on his face. It was almost as if he was shocked that I was standing right in front of him. I was.. uncomfortable but I stayed anyway.

“Why are you always sad, my child? Why are you always angry? I see you day in and day out with a bitter look on your face. Is it because your king has left you? Did he take away your light? When will you find another, my child? When will you find someone to make you a queen again? When will you find someone to return your light?”

This frustrated me. I was so frustrated, I couldn’t respond. Instead, I decided to walk away and funny enough, he continued with his normal activities like nothing happened.

How dare he? How dare he think I am no longer a queen? As I said this, realized I was not talking to Malome Thabo anymore. But rather, my daughters’ father. The man I loved so deeply but who hurt me so much. He didn’t just leave like the other men. When he left, he was laughing. He was laughing, saying that I will never find someone else like him. Shouting that I will never be anyone’s queen.

It’s true that we live in a world that a woman is only considered worthy of the title of ‘queen’ if and only if she had a king. If she is a subordinate of a king. A woman’s value is determined by a man. When a man runs out on a woman, the woman’s worth is questioned. Otherwise, why would he have left? They do not question his cowardliness. They do not shame him for leaving a pregnant woman with two other young children. But instead, they shame her for not being able to keep a man. And quite frankly, I am tired of it.

I came to terms with the fact that Nkosinathi, my lost love, would never come back. I reached the point where I didn’t want him to. I reached the point where I didn’t need a man at all. I stopped thinking that I need a man to help me raise my children and to make me feel worthy. I stopped letting them make me believe that I have lost my worth and I couldn’t be a queen.

I am strong. I am brave. I am beautiful.

I am a queen. A black queen.
I have worked the grounds of this world but this same world I’ve worked so hard for, hates me. Everything, from my blackness to my womanhood, is a burden. However, it is a burden I carry with pride because I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sure, it would be easier and less draining to be a man but everything about being a black queen is beautiful and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I am strong. I am brave. I am beautiful.

Yes, I am mad but the anger that they describe is everything they are afraid of. Why are you afraid of me? Is it my anger that scares you or the strength that emanates from my queenhood? Does my queenhood and my blackness threaten your masculinity? Is the reason why you constantly try to put me down, to demobilize me and to box a way to protect yourself? To protect yourself from the truth? The truth that women are powerful. That women do not really need a man to be a queen.
That we are enough and can be enough, without you. And even more so, that you do not actually get to decide if a woman is a queen or not, when you yourself are everything short of a real king. No king treats their queen like they are unworthy. No king makes anyone feel less than as a means to uplift himself. And for the longest time, that is exactly how you made me feel. So excuse me for not waiting for you to put me on a pedestal. The same pedestal you used put me in a manner of maintaining your control over me.

I am strong. I am brave. I am beautiful.

As I thought this, I felt all the shame I once felt melt around me. I felt my heart and soul gather all the broken pieces that were once me, and I felt whole again. I felt my spirit re-position the crown that had almost fallen over when you shut the door the day you left. I felt my black skin glow brighter than it ever did. I felt a warmth that could only from the fire in my body. The fire that burns all the self-doubt and insecurities I once felt.

I feel taller. I feel stronger. And more confident.

I feel like a queen.

So, I guess in essence..

I feel like myself.