Imagine we’re sitting in a quiet corner of a softly lit room, with no disturbances, just us. Coffee or tea warming our hands in lovely mugs, a piece of our favorite snacks, maybe some chocolates, within easy reach, having serious, heart-to-heart girly girl convos. Just like a late-night call, or that call from your bestie during face scrubbing or spill-the-tea time.
I will say it loud and clear: I SEE YOU. And when I say it, know that I truly see you, beyond the surface others try to paint. Tune out those fake-sweet voices attempting to define you. Brush off those lingering, possessive looks that try to dissect you piece by piece. I’m not talking about those cheap thrills of a “sexy” this or a “hot” that, a “body bear” or any of that nonsense. Forget those tired labels that shrink you down to nothing. That’s just plain nonsense, and it’s not what I mean at all. Nope, my dear.
I see that little “ahh” that comes out when you finally unhook your bra, peel off that tight abaya, and slip into a cool, soft dirac. It’s like taking off a suit of armor and finally being able to breathe, right? Trust me, I know that feeling. I’m a girl too, and I deeply understand that silent exhale, that moment of finally breathing free.
From there, my gaze shifts to the hushed pre-dawn, and I almost awaken to the echo of your wakeup ringtone! I hear that melody, so familiar in its urgency, and in that first fragile moment, I sense of “AHH, Already morning?” that universal reluctance to greet another demanding day. I see the silent ritual that follows: the hurried movements in the dim light of the kitchen.
That dedicated hour to the sizzle of canjeero on the pan, that aroma of maraq simmering gently, that sweet steam of morning tea filling the air. That gentle yet firm waking call to your siblings, coaxing them from sleep to prepare for dugsi or school. And then, I notice the omo-stained fingers, a testament to the often-thankless hours dedicated to the quiet order of home, tracing lines in a sink full of dishes, scrubbing stubborn stains from clothes.
I see you, all those minutes of getting ready paying off in that proud look in the mirror, that little ‘Yep, I look good’ moment. I can almost hear you singing over as you putting your outfit and taking your sweet time with those nails. That perfume? Ooh, I can almost smell it wafting over here. I catch those dancing moves in the mirror, that own private jam session. That mind calculating the tasks ahead, and what’s next on the list minutes. That quick little goodbye glance at your room, your safe space, before the hustle to the bajaj. Yeah, babygirl, I see you like that.
I hear that “Yes! I did it!” echoing within you, that silent cheer for your victory. I understand, because as Gen Z women navigating a world that often feels weighed against us, especially those of us tethered to the realities of the African continent and low-income lives, that grappling with identity is a far more intricate knot than those who came before us ever faced – that unspoken responsibility that demands we be both fighters and firefighters, to carry the weight of the extinguisher and the rifle at the same time.
I see that boss lady strutting in there, running a tight meeting, crushing those deadlines, getting everyone to work together like a well-oiled machine, and always thinking ten steps ahead. I see you juggling all those hats – the admin girl, the officer, the intern hustling, the director calling the shots, the leader inspiring the team, the volunteer giving back, the student hitting the books, maybe even a mother holding it all together. I see all those roles you play, all that you pour into everything you do. Your hard work? Yeah, babygirl, I see that paying off.
Ooh, Abbaayo, I understand those battles intimately, that “literary it girl” or “thought daughter” moment all too well. There you are, in the middle of a room filled with males, as you so thoughtfully discuss facts and bring forth your insightful debates. And yet, that familiar sting of being ignored, a devalued voice as if it carried no weight.
That sucks, I know that feeling deep down. I intimately understand those nervous butterflies fluttering in your stomach, that urge to shrink away while you yet force yourself to stand tall. I know, girl, that minute they judge you as a woman when you just want to be judged as a human being. That’s what I do feel too; I face that same disheartening dismissal. But you know what? It’s me, and it’s always going to be me, who refuses to let those old, outdated, frankly, bullshit rules win, and precisely that’s why I made this heartfelt call, for you to join me.
My love, your selflessness does not go unnoticed. I see that coming home moment, the weight of the day momentarily lifting as you bring chocolates and sweets for your younger siblings. I witness the warm hugs and handshakes you share with your family, that precious minute of “I came hoooome,” a silent exhale of belonging.
And yes, I see that quiet act of giving, slipping shillings to your sister or brother for their needs, for that small joy of shopping, while you make do with what you’ve had for years, finding a quiet satisfaction in their happiness. That fierce love propels you as you fight to keep siblings fed, to shield a fragile family from the storm. While your own needs, your own desires, become a distant whisper, yet that very selflessness, that beautiful giving spirit, is seen, is heartfelt!.
I see you in those precious moments of joy too. I see you on that night of a picnic, maybe a solo date with the moon and stars, or a vibrant girl gathering filled with laughter and shared secrets. And oh, how radiant you are on that wedding night, adorned in the flowing elegance of your dirac Soomaali, the soft fabric whispering against your skin.
And yes, girl, I see these crazy Faarax’s circling you, trying to enter your world. I see those who approach you with honeyed words, so sweet on the surface, but with eyes that gleam with selfish intent, always looking for what they can take, the toxic ones, those who seek to dim your light, hoping to trap you in the dark. I see these crazy Faarax’s around you.
But, really a giggle of love escapes me by the time I see the careful walls you erect, the guarded responses. That’s you, my girl. Proud of you – you devour their nonsense and leave absolutely no crumbs for them to feed on. Incredibly proud of that constantly assessing, constantly protecting act to that beautiful, kind heart of you from those who would seek to claim pieces of it without offering anything real in return.
I see you In these times, where the weight seems to lift, your beautiful face unburdened, that inner child playing freely, eyes sparkling with genuine delight. It’s in these times, bathed in the soft glow of connection and celebration, that the fierce provider, the thoughtful daughter, the protector, beyond the roles she so diligently fulfills allows herself to simply be, to revel in the beauty of life and the pure joy of being seen for who she truly is, and to cherish these moments, knowing they are entirely, beautifully hers.
Deep down, I see that soft spot in you, that little kid that still feels things so deeply. That crybaby. those quiet moments when your brain finally shuts off, and it’s just your heart beating. Maybe a little tear sneaks out over something small – a kind thing someone did that you never forgot, or a line in a book that just gets you, or just the sheer unfairness of everything hitting you at once. And even when everyone else is calling you this brave, strong woman; I see that little breath, pushing down how self tired you really are, but just keep going, to keep self and family proud and safe.
So, hey girl, I see you – truly see you. You are seen, deeply valued, and your quiet strength is a profound testament to the enduring power of the human spirit to not only endure but also to discern, protect, celebrate, and ultimately, to heal. Let those tears flow; they are a testament to your beautiful, feeling heart. And heard this: You are not alone. I am here. We are here, heart to heart. So hugs!! Sending hugs wherever you’re.
