Sisters

I belong to the sisterhood of African women braiding hair. Membership doesn’t come easily to someone with White skin, but after years of acquaintance, I’ve been accepted. Having a child who shares my name bonds me with my African sisters and truly it is the most wonderful thing ever. It’s a chosen family where I find community and support.

Only my African sister would message me with, “Mama we’re coming over. We’re hungry. You better start cooking.” I’ve always said, “The worst thing about having company is inviting them,” so this makes me happy.

When I broke my leg and couldn’t cook, my African sister took over the kitchen – my White sisters did too. The best fish I ever ate came from her Liberian table. I even dared a bit of the very spicy pepper to add more flavor.

If possible Laurence and I will seat ourselves with the Africans in the fellowship hall. The discussions might get a bit too noisy for Laurence, but his wife delights in them.

Last evening, Sundaymar sat in the recliner doing her daughter’s hair. I lazed on the couch across from them. While Mama moisturized and braided,  we had the opportunity for storytelling, sharing wisdom, and strengthening our friendship.

I caught Bee nudging her mother when she thought Mom overstepped in talking about the Whites.  No offense on my part. I’m happy if I can be thought of  as one of them.

Berniece