A girl child that couldn’t go to school
The closest she came was counting her fingers
And watching her hands divide the crops she was forced to grow
School was a foreign concept
And opinions were reserved only for boys
Women found themselves boxed in huts
Serving as toys: little beings used for entertainment
When my grandma was a little girl
All text was spoken
Books in the form of the minds of the wise
Letters formed as drifting thoughts
Because the classroom was no place for girls
Mubwi kalile buhalo
The mantra that was forced into being
Suppressed by societal chains demanding she stay bent at the waist
Ploughing and feeding
Sweeping and cleaning
As I sit on the reed mat in front of the hut she once called home
I’m tempted to reawaken her spirit
Perhaps I could give a voice to her spirit
Today we have a right to be smart
Her daughters occupy spaces that men once used to command
No longer do we have to search for water
It now flows readily from taps
Grandmother
Oh how you would have loved this world
Where dusty streets are paved with hope and possibility
And the knowledge of the queens in your bloodline has granted dreamers like me new life
Ros Limbo is a Namibian writer and avid yogi. She has a BCom Degree in Accounting from Rhodes University (South Africa) as well as a certificate in Afrikan Feminist and Gender Studies from the Thabo Mbeki African Leadership Institute (TMALI). She also contributes to The Mighty, The International Bipolar Foundation (IBPF), and The Depression Army.