My name is Asata and, I’m a writer and reluctant 
"Warrior Woman". 

 

I never stop asking questions. And, I don’t think I ever will. To me, everyone and everyone’s story is of value. My inspiration comes from years as a Journalist. It also comes from my Mother who never ran from a good fight and was an amazing writer herself. I strive to find common ground. I am open-minded but, not always patient. I want to know who’s behind that beguiling smile, and their external presentation.

 

 

I grew up in Boston, became a self-sufficient woman and single mother to a son in California. I was adventurer in Egypt, loner in Arizona. I became a fierce Nana to two teenagers and swore to always tell the truth to them. 

 

Who said a Black Nana doesn’t crack?

We have to look strong.

 

Black women do crack; only we just cry in the shower. We pay a premium price. It’s always been that way in America. Suppose we were born here as the original people or were snatched and forced to be slaves here. So slavery ended, but my mother died too young in a country that treated her with disdain and disrespect. She died from cancer, diabetes, and heart disease at 66. The same age, I am now. Ain’t that a bitch. I’ve had a head injury at work, epilepsy as a result, brain surgery, high blood pressure, a heart attack and I’m still here. Not because I’m always strong but, because I have determination and the support of loved ones.

We’re expected to be strong.

 

No kiddin’ stress is the number one killer of Black Women in America. I got a head injury and had a heart attack before the age of 65. Some could say it’s my choice. I should have eaten better, exercised more, and watched where I was walking at work.  

Without a doubt, I wish I had the luxury of living out the rest of my years in Nana peace. It doesn’t exist for American Black Women. Though I wish life would be easier for them, I grieve because I know it will never be true.

It hurts to be so strong.

We live in fear that our children and loved ones will fall into the black hole of institutional racism and violence. I also live with Traumatic Brain Injury, which has taught me resilience, scary times, and gratefulness.  I do my research before I shoot off my mouth, and I’m not satisfied until I believe my words will have an impact. Or at least I hope they do.

The Tears of A Black Nana.

Generational envy & hatred makes my Grandson and Granddaughter enemies of the state for no other reason than their skin color and hair wave. This is why this Nana is willing to fight back with words.

My mother was one of 17 kids and my father of 12. I’m the firstborn of nine siblings but grew up with only two of my four sisters and five brothers. It’s only recently we became connected. One of my younger sisters,  Jennifer  (he oldest of the third pack of three kids) died a year after I got to know her.  I am so grateful I got to know her, just a little, before she died from cancer.

And, finally, I’ve been married to a man from Sudan for over 20 years. A person I met on one of my adventures and who reminds me every day that my Mother’s words to never give up.  She told me to “Be easy on yourself and accept that you deserve to be cared for”—something almost unheard of for Black women in America. 

I wish my Mother could have had that kind of tenderness and care. It's wrong that she didn't but, she 
prepared her kids to expect it even when we were too hard-headed to listen to her advice.

Gloom and Doom? Not Always.

When you think of Martin Luther King, the first thing that comes to mind is his infamous 'I Have A Dream' speech. But did you know that after witnessing all the violence going on in Vietnam and disdain the 
country had of Black people, he recanted his 1963 monologue. He called it naive. I agree.

😉 Meanwhile, I’m a Nana, and I can’t stop asking hard questions or looking for answers.  Now, it seems I can get away with making a fuss because, with my silver hair, I seemingly don’t pose as much of a threat. It could be there is still some status that comes with being an elder. So, if I have an opinion, I express it.

🤨 Nana got mad because no matter what she did as a warrior for change over her entire life, she saw that her Grandchildren would have to fight the same battles I thought we’d resolved. White men still don’t want here to have control over her own body. Sounds like a new kind of slavery to me.

☹️But despite the odds, if I see something wrong, I’ll stand up and fight against it. If I have an opinion, I’ll express it.  Observe something wrong; I’ll stand up in outrage. And, finally,  if anyone troubles the waters, it’s probably me.  

😆And in conclusion, if people say, I’m blunt. I’d agree.  

Painful truths are better than lies, even when they're 
about me.

I wouldn’t say I like secrets. Ultimately they serve no purpose. I will push against denied doors, and I won’t say, “That’s not fair.” That is unless I’m willing to do something about it. I despise dishonesty and feel angry that we fought for freedom, equality, and inclusiveness after all the years. I watch us sliding back into hate, distrust, and fear. 

Ma said I should be tough. I wish I weren’t.

My words have cost me friends, and family members.

From Ma, I learned there is no need to worry about things you can’t fix and to save your energy for those things you can.  Over the years, I’ve had to accept that some things are better left unsaid. Reluctantly, I’ve had to do that more and more.  But, I am my Mother’s daughter, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and showed me how to defend myself with style, grace, and words. 

She showed me how to fight.

As a divorced mother, she took hits for her five kids, mostly alone.  She was the pure example of an activist. She fought for us. Even when I felt I wanted to close myself off from the world because it became too painful to me, her words have kept me going. “Never close your heart.” ❤️ I don’t always live up to those words, but I will give myself credit for at least trying.  

Like most women, too often neglected my wants, needs, or desire. But I'm still here. 
Being a Nana means feeling protective of my Grandkids because they give me a reason to stay on this messed-up planet even when I want to check out.