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Mofe Adeniran is a third-year journalism and digital media student at Mount Royal University.
I was in grade school and a girl in my class had skin like crushed coal and teeth so sharp and white that when she smiled, they shone brightly against the backdrop of her unblemished skin. I remember her being much taller, she was the first girl I ever had to look up at, and her beautifully slender frame. Her arms draped themselves at her side with an effortless grace I had never seen before. I was brushed mahogany, while she was immaculately polished obsidian. If I was tempered bronze, she was something else entirely. She was lustrous, her skin absorbed the sun and she gleamed from within. I held her high in my mind, simultaneously ashamed of my internalized hypocrisy.
The playground held my first brush with the subtle prejudices that spoke volumes of the harm of the past.
I knew what beauty was supposed to look like: blonde hair and blue eyes, just like what I had seen on tv. At that age we were possessed by spirits of competitiveness that went beyond being picked first in dodgeball. Whispers of “who is the prettiest in the class?” would travel from ear to ear at the speed of light, creating a cruel ranking system that we swore by. I knew that the closer you looked to the ideal standard of beauty the closer you were to being what was truly beautiful. I had counted myself out from the ranking right at the start. I deemed my hair too coily and packed too close to my scalp. My black eyes were too dark to shine and far too common to be ideal.
But my eyes could find no faults in her.
Her dark eyes, coily hair, and rich melanin mirrored my own, but I felt unmoored with myself, unknowingly trapped in a white standard I don’t remember choosing. It felt like I was doing what every other kid at that age did; stuck in the rigidity and rules that were passed unconsciously to me. She broke the mold, my friend, who was so kind and understanding. The only other black girl in my class.
The two of us happily represented the majority of the minority, playing grounders and skipping rope as some of the few black girls in our whole school. My only partner in a sea of kids who had nothing in common with us. Through being her friend I was learning to love myself. Our ancestors came from the same land, hers from Sudan and mine rooted in Nigeria. As precious as our friendship was, I still drew away, pressured by the internal racism that plagued me in my growing years, fueled by my prepubescent insecurities.
Once, a loose braid fell from my head after swimming lessons at the YMCA. The boy behind me picked it up, waving it over his head and took it upon himself to announce to the class that my hair had fallen out. She was the only person who didn't laugh.
Internalized racism is a shadow over the bright lights of black achievement. We fight against this pit inside ourselves and lash out at the people who could understand us the most. Black excellence was forged from a millennia of hate. Hate that we don’t remember choosing. Hate that was chosen for us. But in spite and in self-love we overcome. She was my best friend and the only other black girl in my class.
What an act of rebellion.
@mrulife Read Mofe's full poem online at mru.ca #yyc #mountroyaluniversity #mrulife #blackhistorymonth #poem ♬ Same Cycle Different Day - xJ-Will
An ode to black love
I aspire to desire
beauty instinctively
i love the way you come to me,
absolutely astounding the shape of your hips with curves of your smile
black skin that glows within and the way your eyes beguile
i step closer to you in style
honey
I won't be riled
how I feel for you is multitudes carefully tucked away and filed
baby I ain't mild.
I want to be rocked with you as if I were a child
In long braids and hair shorn short
In tight coils wrapped in a bonnet for support
In hair tied in a afro puff
I can't seem to get enough
Your love is what the doctors prescribed
my one goal in life is to be defined by your love.
Baby you make me feel like it rains from above.
And I'm swimming in the sweetest water around your heart is where i'm bound
The sweet music of your voice is my favorite sound.
They way you make me feel gets me unwound
Your skin is soft like crushed velour
there is nothing that our love cannot restore
we don't have to suffer anymore
it doesn't matter who we were before
I just want you next to me
And hand in hand we will be
Just a pair of new lovers
cruising merrily.
Mofe Adeniran
About the author
Mofe Adeniran, more commonly known throughout her life as ‘Mo,’ was born in Lagos, Nigeria before being “whisked away” to North America at the age of two. A third-year journalism and digital media student, she says the inspiration for her story and poem came from her struggles with accepting herself and her internal anti-Blackness during her formative years.
“I had moved from Houston, Texas, where I saw people who looked like me at church and at school constantly, to suburban Calgary, where I was lucky to see someone who looked like me in passing. I yearned to be understood by someone who knew what it was like to be from a predominantly Black area,” Adeniran says.
“When I moved to Calgary it was a total shock. I was not happy with the changes in my life, and the awkward burgeonings of puberty and that led to a lot of negative feelings about myself. As I grew older and started to look outside of myself, I really fell into Black love and self-love.”
Adeniran says that for her, creative writing is a way to tap into feelings and expressions that are unable to be said aloud.
“A lot of transformative works like James Baldwin and Maya Angelou changed how I felt about myself through their words and ultimately aided in overcoming stigma through prose,” she says.
With a love of poetry and prose extending from childhood, Adeniran tries to explore creative expression whenever she can. Her hobbies include reading horror and comedy novels, as well as writing the occasional extremely brief screenplay.
Throughout the month of February, MRU is presenting the voices of Black writers from the community in recognition of the power of words. If you have a submission, please email mbodnar@mtroyal.ca.