The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [61]
Lunch was slow-cooked beef and a stiff cornmeal porridge called mealy. She told me that she had gone to the trouble of preparing South African traditional food so that I would not be shocked when I met it again. I didn't tell her that in the United States we ate the same thing and called it baked short ribs and cornmeal mush.
A startlingly beautiful woman spoke to me. Her skin was blue-black and smooth as glass. She had brushed her hair severely, and it lay in tiny ripples back from a clean, shining forehead. Her long eyes were lifted above high cheekbones and her lips formed themselves in a large black bow. When she smiled, displaying white even upper teeth but bare lower gums, I knew she was from Kenya. I had read that the women of that country's Luo tribe have their bottom four teeth extracted to enhance their beauty. She was bright and tough, describing Europe's evil presence in Africa.
Mrs. Okalala from Uganda, a squat tugboat of a woman, said she found it ironic, if not downright stupid, to hold a meeting where people discussed how to get colonialism's foot off the neck of Africa in the capital of colonialism. It reminded her of an African saying: Only a fool asks a leopard to look after a lamb.
Two Somali women wrapped in flowing pink robes smiled and ate daintily. They spoke no English and had attended the lunch for form's sake. Occasionally they whispered to each other in their own language and smiled.
Ruth Thompson, a West Indian journalist, led the conversation, as soon as lunch was finished.
“What are we here for? Why are African women sitting eating, trying to act cute while African men are discussing serious questions and African children are starving? Have we come to London just to convenience our husbands? Have we been brought here only as portable pussy?”
I was the only person shocked by the language, so I kept my reaction private.
The Luo woman laughed. “Sister, you have asked, completely, my question. We, in Kenya, are women, not just wombs. We have shown during Mau Mau that we have ideas as well as babies.”
Mrs. Okalala agreed and added, “At home we fight. Some women have died in the struggle.”
A tall wiry lawyer from Sierra Leone stood. “In all of Africa, women have suffered.” She picked at the cloth of her dress, caught it and dragged it above her knees. “I have been jailed and beaten. Look, my sisters. Because I would not tell the whereabouts of my friends, they also shot me.” She wore a garter belt and the white elastic straps on her left leg evenly divided a deep-gouged scar as slick and black as wet pavement. “Because I fought against imperialism.”
We gathered around her, clucking sympathy, gingerly touching the tight skin.
“They shot me and said my fighting days were over, but if I am paralyzed and can only lift my eyelids, I will stare the white oppressors out of Africa.”
The spirit of overcoming was familiar to me, also. In my Arkansas church we sang,
“I've seen starlight
I've seen starlight
Lay this body down
I will lay down in my grave
And stretch out my arms.”
Nineteenth-century slaves who wrote the song believed that they would have freedom and that not only would souls cross over Jordan to march into glory with the other saints, but the grave itself would be unable to restrict the movement of their bodies.
When the lawyer dropped the hem of her dress all the women wrapped her 'round with arms, bodies and soft voices.
“Sister, Mother Africa is proud of you.”
“A true daughter of a true mother.”
The Somali women had also touched the scar. They spoke unintelligible words of sorrow and stroked the Sierra Leonian woman's back and shoulders.
Mrs. Tambo brought out a large bottle of beer. “This is all there is in the house.”
The lawyer took the bottle with both hands and raised it to the sky. “The mother will understand.” She turned and handed the beer to Mrs. Okalala. “Auntie, as the elder, you must do the honor.”
I followed the general movement and found myself with the women bunched together in the center of the small living room. The woman faced us, solemnly.