
Before I turned eighteen, I was conscious of black feminism. I don’t think I formally adopted its label or flew its flag, but I was drawn to the spirit underlying its letter. I could identify traces of it in literary works, visual art, and social movements. I could name some of its movers and shakers: Alice Walker, Angela Davis, Audre Lorde, bell hooks, June Jordan. Not once did it cross my mind to include a non-American woman in that list.
At the time, the black feminism I knew was of the North American ilk. I knew little of the black women in countries of my birth (Nigeria) and residence (Britain) who articulated their frustrations about multiple, intersecting oppressions. We didn’t learn about them in school. There was no room for them in the syllabus. There was no room for Walker, Davis, Lorde, hooks and Jordan either. But I could easily find information about them outside the classroom—in local libraries, bookshops, and on the Internet. In suburban England, black feminism seemed to be an import. Its face was distinctly American.
Recently, I found myself absorbed in two books that shift attention from the black feminism of North America. First released in 1987 by feminist publishers in Britain—The Women’s Press and Virago Press—these texts showcase the manifold perspectives and writings of black women in Britain. These books emerged at a time when “black” was read capaciously and adopted as a marker of identity by women with roots reaching into Africa, Asia and the Caribbean.
The first book, Watchers & Seekers, was edited by Rhonda Cobham and Merle Collins. It features the essays, stories and poems of black women like Maureen Ismay, Grace Nichols, Rita Anyiam-St. John, and Bunmi Ogunsiji.
Let It Be Told is the second book, edited by Lauretta Ngcobo. Alongside creative writing by ten black women including Grace Nichols, Maud Sulter, Marsha Prescod and Ngcobo herself, there are personal reflections from each contributor about their writing practice and philosophy. These reflections shed light on the quotidian routines of creative work and the difficulties of writing against erasure and stereotypes.
I have been struck by poems, passages, and sentences in these books that I wish to highlight here. My hope is that the works of these women will be, not necessarily championed, but more widely sought, read, and digested.
From Veronica Williams’s ‘One Angry Woman’ (Watchers & Seekers):
I am a woman and I’m angry
At having to behave in ways female.
I’d like to climb rocks and build a bridge
To shoot the menstrual cycle up in a spaceship.
But I’d like to be pampered after building
With long slim glasses of cherried liqueur
Under starlit, moonbeamed nights
From Grace Nichols’ ‘My Black Triangle’ (Watchers & Seekers):
My black triangle
sandwiched between the geography of my thighs
is a bermuda
of tiny atoms
forever seizing
and releasing the world
From Merle Collins’ ‘Same But Different’ (Watchers & Seekers):
My friend and I
travelled home together by night bus
My friend is white
As we parted at the station-shop
she said
that her fears
were of rapists and robbers
for me
that too
But as I walked the distance home
on pounding tiptoe
Each sudden shadow
was a threat of the National Front
From Monique Griffiths’ ‘Girl Talk’ (Watchers & Seekers):
Cha, me tired of men whistling at me
when I walking the government street.
And why the knowing glances and stares
when our eyes accidentally meet?
I’m fed up of being furtively fondled
without my knowledge or consent.
Wonder if those loving words
were contrived or lovingly meant?
If you’re black and on the game
who can really tell?
Who wants to hear from a commodity
that we never ever sell?
And if you’ve ever had an abortion
does even your best friend know?
Or did you tell your boyfriend
you had a particularly heavy flow?
From Grace Nichols (Let It Be Told):
It’s difficult to answer the question “Why I write” because writing isn’t a logical activity. It’s a compulsion like a disease that keeps you alive. At a simple conscious level I would say that I write because writing is my way of participating in the world and in the struggle for keeping the human spirit alive, including my own. It’s a way of sharing a vision that is hopefully life-giving in the final analysis.
From Lauretta Ngcobo (Let It Be Told):
…the Blackwoman is pressured by three conflicting motives: the instinct to write for its own sake, the artist for herself; the demand to keep faith with our own society; and the need to defend our culture against further erosion.
***
I don’t think I know why I write, I just know I must. I scribble a lot that I know will never be read by anyone, for since I was a little girl by conditioning, I never expected anyone to read anything I wrote, outside my classroom assignments. I feel the need to communicate with myself. It is a duty to myself.
***
How does one free the woman without burning the whole society down?
I’m sure I’ll be combing through these books for a while; lots to return to, re-read and reflect on. Their covers alone, illustrated by Fyna Dowe (Watchers & Seekers) and Folake Shoga (Let It Be Told), are enough to pull me back.
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