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APRIL 2003

The Woman I Admire Most
by Aminata Cisse

She wipes the sweat from her brow as she paces back and forth from the ancient armoire. Her eyes remain alert as they scrutinize every aspect of the water-stained walls of her bedroom. She adjusts everything in her way, uttering complaints in a tone that no language barrier can disguise. The heat intensifies her state of unrest. The lack of rain wears on her being; she is worried about the harvest.

Kuumbaa Tiam, my paternal grandmother, has lived for approximately 65 years. Her skin, like the reddish brown earth outside has been darkened by the sun. Standing over 6 feet, she doesn’t fit the familiar model of the petite grandmother. Her intelligent eyes simultaneously reflect pain and strength. She has borne ten children and has outlived three. As the matriarch and senior wife, she is given the respect of her station.

The livelihood of Diossong’s inhabitants rests in its crops and its religion. It is late summer and the once-emerald fields have turned a brittle brown. The Saharan winds, blowing from the north, bring piles of stifling sand with them in an effort to extinguish all life. As the fields wither around her, my grandmother is left with nothing more than her daily prayers. No one internalizes the suffering of the land more than she.

I stand in awe of her. Born in a place and time when women are relegated to a lower status, she has disavowed the passivity fated for women of her culture and religion. She is pious, but hasn’t compromised her God-given nature to be strong-willed and outspoken. For over 45 years, she has endured my grandfathers philandering (albeit legal). He has married and divorced three of the five wives he has taken, in addition to her, over the years. She has stood as the pillar of financial support for the family, going into cow herding when my grandfather couldn’t provide for her and their children.

She has no education: she can’t read and write. I hear her thoughts through the inept translation of a cousin, speaking fledgling English, but where her words fall short her demeanor comes through clearly. She has never been and never will be cowed. She coddles her grandchildren and laughs with her daughters-in-law as they prepare the evening meal. When she has to, her tongue cuts deeply; her hands dismiss and nullify speech. Outside, nature fights her but she doesn’t bend. She prays for rain.

She has been a daughter, a mother, a sister, a wife, now a grandmother, yet she has always remained-defiant, bombastic-just like the red earth. My grandmother has lived her life with few material resources or comforts but in her presence one can see she has mined the deepest areas of human strength and dignity. #

 

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