enough

I’m African and I’m a woman.

We are meant to carry stuff – on our heads, that is. I have always admired these African woman (and others) and their skill of carrying stuff, lots of stuff on their heads. And they walk the dusty catwalk as if the stuff is merely some designer hat on their heads.

I do that too. Wear a designer hat. But I’m talking about carrying stuff. Lots of it. On my head and in my head. My stuff makes me stumble, at times, actually often.

Today was one of those days. It just fell off. Too my disgust, again the same stuff!

Body ached and not having slept well because dearest, blessing girl has passed her stuff to me – eager germs – the flue. And I felt sorry for myself and I did not collect little graces of gratitude all day long to carry me through. No. Instead. I listened to the whispers that turned my eyes to self, believing it to be truth, “You should…, you ought to…, you must…, you have to…” Just never enough. Not enough was enough and I stumbled and it all dropped. I just plonked down on my catwalk of dirt feeling sorry for myself.

The two African males in the house looked on as I dropped my stuff…

They did not help to pick it up. But they did give me a little grace –
wisdom from above. They listened. I’m ENOUGH, they assured. Again and again.

I got up, dusted myself off, put on my HAT and strolled on home.

African women often sing as they walk.
This African woman hummed,”I’m enough, I’m enough, enough, enough!”

Then I had a pretty cup of tea while dreaming through a favourite magazine with crazy creativity.