Once upon a time, there was a nappy headed girl.
Once upon a time that same girl went to the park – everyone at the park looked different.
As she started to understand, she realised in horror, that even her mommy looked different.

So she decided there and then, that something was fundamentally wrong with her.

She started to observe and what she discovered played out as follows:


Her hair was wrong…

It wouldn’t grow into lovely dark waves like her friends.
Hers was stubborn and frizzy and not pretty at all.
It was hard to tame and frustrated her (white) mother so much – one day she cut it all off.
Her hair was different and it wasn’t wanted.

So from that day on, she understood that something was fundamentally wrong…with her.

She began playing a new game, the game of SMALLNESS. 

As long as she tied her hair back as tight as possible,
no one would know what it actually looked like.

Tame it, braid it, cover it, relax it.
Just to fit in, and be a little less different.


Too big, too tall, too big, too tall.
Too tall, too big, too tall, too big.

The soundtrack of her life.

Men’s shoes from the age of 13, because what normal girl has size 8 feet?
At school all her clothes were a size or two up from the other kids.

Too big, too tall, too big, too tall.
Too tall, too big, too tall, too big.

‘Look at you, you’re such a big girl! Haha, you must like your food, don’t you? And how tall you are! Sure hope you find a tall enough man one day…’

Too big, too tall, too big, too tall.
Too tall, too big, too tall, too big.


Everyone else’s skin was fair.
Even her turkish friends looked more like everyone else.
There was no denying that she didn’t, she was different.

Caramel chocolate skin, big nose, big lips.

‘Why’s your nose so big? Can we call you dino? Is that dirt?
Does it come off? 
Why does your mom look like us and you don’t?’

She understood that… something was fundamentally wrong with her.


Kids are cruel.

‘Why don’t you have a dad? You’re not allowed to be here you’re a bastard.
God doesn’t like bastards.’

She wasn’t quite sure.
All she knew was that something, something was fundamentally wrong with her.

At home, there was no shortage of men.
But somehow, somehow they all seemed more interested in her mom than her.
Maybe if she did what her mom did, acted like her, maybe they would notice her?

Was she ugly? Was she a bad girl?

Someone once said, that if she hadn’t been born,
everyone’s life would’ve been so much easier. 

She knew, something was fundamentally wrong with her.

Maybe that was the reason her dad wasn’t around?
Maybe, maybe if she was a good girl, and always behaved, maybe then her dad would come back? Or one of the other dads might stay?

Although some, some of them she didn’t want around…

She knew, she knew something was fundamentally wrong with her.

She’s all grown up now.
She knows now, that in theory nothing’s wrong, in theory those were all lies.

The path to get here was marked by HEART-ache and HEART-work, but finally she can breathe…

Finally she begins to understand, that she was never the problem, that nothing was wrong with the color of her skin, the texture of her hair or the shape of her face. 

Now she can’t help but wonder how many more like her are out there and she prays that someone, someone would take the time –
not once, not twice, but all day everyday to listen and then tell them that they are beautiful. 

That they are not just accepted but wanted. 

That their hair is stunning and their skin is lush.
That the shape of their nose is divine and the size of their hips is perfect.

She hopes that one day, she will get a chance to raise up daughters who know who they are and that nothing, nothing is wrong with them.

That being black is a gift.
hat they are called to be leaders, world changers, peace bringers. 

That they can be anything they want to be. For the sake of humanity’s future.

Daughters who know, that they are fundamentally beautiful.

Fundamentally right. Fundamentally wanted.