a child that follows you from room to room isn’t being clingy or difficult, they are reminding you that YOU are their favourite place. their safe space.
Happy 79th Birthday to the late Steve Biko. An anti-apartheid activist, he founded the Black Consciousness Movement.
On 12th September 1977, Stephen Bantu Biko died in a prison cell in Pretoria. 20 years later, an Afrikaner police, Gideon Nieuwoudt, admitted to killing him.
When grifters, liars, and the disingenuous see YOU as disruptive…
Job well done.
You’re doing something right.
Light has a way of making roaches scatter.
I’ve been broke as hell before.
Not because I lacked intelligence, or talent, but because I lacked a system.
Had to tell myself never again and set a higher standard.
Men that protect and provide for the women and children around them are powerful men. Because strength finds its purpose in service, not domination. This is quiet power. Grounded power. Not loud, not performative, but felt.
She couldn’t read.
She couldn’t write.
But in 1828, she walked into a courtroom and destroyed a white man’s case.
Her name was Isabella.
History would know her as Sojourner Truth.
Ulster County, New York. 1797.
Isabella was born enslaved—not in the South, but in New York, where slavery was fully legal.
She spoke Dutch before English. Enslaved people were forbidden to learn to read. Knowledge was power, and power was denied.
By nine, she had been sold twice.
By thirteen, sold again.
Each sale meant violence, loss, and erasure.
At eighteen, she was forced into marriage. She had five children. She loved them fiercely.
But the law said they weren’t hers.
In 1826, New York passed a law promising the end of slavery on July 4, 1827. Her enslaver, John Dumont, made her a deal: work harder, and he’d free her early.
She did.
He broke his promise.
Before dawn, with her infant daughter in her arms, Isabella walked away. No money. No plan. Just faith.
She found refuge with Isaac and Maria Van Wagenen, Quakers who opposed slavery. When Dumont came to reclaim her, Isaac paid $20 to secure her legal freedom.
At 29, Isabella was free.
Then she learned the truth.
Dumont had illegally sold her five-year-old son, Peter, to an enslaver in Alabama—violating New York law.
Everyone expected her to accept it.
She didn’t.
An illiterate Black woman—recently enslaved—sued a white man.
In 1828.
She couldn’t read the documents.
She couldn’t sign her name.
But she spoke.
She named the law. She named the crime. She named her child.
The judge ruled in her favor.
Isabella became the first Black woman in American history to win a court case against a white man.
When Peter returned, his body was scarred—but he was alive. He was home.
She had done the impossible.
For years, she worked as a servant and preached wherever she could. Her voice carried weight. Her presence commanded silence.
Then, in 1843, at 46 years old, she chose a new name:
Sojourner Truth.
Sojourner—because she would walk.
Truth—because she would speak.
With 25 cents in her pocket, she set out across America. She memorized Scripture by listening. She spoke without notes. Her words were raw, direct, unshakable.
In 1851, at the Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio, some white women wanted her removed. “This is about women,” they said.
Sojourner stood.
What mattered wasn’t the dialect later added by others. What mattered was the message:
Black women are women.
Strength does not erase womanhood—it proves it.
She spent the next three decades fighting—recruiting Black soldiers during the Civil War, challenging segregation on streetcars, lobbying Congress, confronting racism and sexism wherever she found it.
She never learned to read.
Yet she dictated her autobiography.
She debated politicians.
She met presidents.
Sojourner Truth died in 1883, at 86. Poor. Landless. Unbroken.
Over a thousand people attended her funeral.
She freed herself.
She beat the courts.
She spoke when silence was safer.
Born enslaved.
Died free.
Illiterate—but unstoppable.
Sojourner Truth didn’t wait for permission.
She walked.
And the world changed.
That’s the truth.
Suicidal ideation, for many, isn't about death.
It's about relief.
From shame.
From feeling overwhelmed constantly. From feeling like a fucking burden.
The goal isn't always "not wanting to be alive"
It's just not wanting to live like this.
Some people don't get to live soft lives. We get handed chaos, grief, betrayal and we have to learn how to bloom anyway. We become the ones who know how to carry others when their world falls apart. We're not here because it was easy. We're here because we didn't give up.
Your coworkers aren't your friends. Stop seeking their attention and approval. Stop pleasing them. Stop sharing your blessings and plans. Oversharing is how you leak energy. Do your job, fulfill your responsibilities. Get your check. Build your life elsewhere. Protect your peace.
Professor James Small sets the record straight;
"I'm not FBA, I am not ADOS"
Again, FBA is an anti African/ Caribbean/ Black immigrant xenophobic online cult group,not a lineage ..They don't speak for Black Americans
Go out there & show love to a Black American, Nigerian..etc
See this is that bs immigrant anti
Black American babble
You can’t disguise your hate for black Americans because you dress like us
Viola Davis
Anthony Mackie and Ving Rhames
Are products of Juilliard
And Charles S Dutton is a product of
Yales school of drama
And I could go on
You know nothing about film/theater
Hollywood hires black uk actors/actresses
Over black American actors now days
Because they are simply cheaper
Than black American actors
Samuel L Jackson even said this
If anyone knows these gentlemen let em know I drew them. 🖼️🖌️🎨🌪️ - doesn’t take much.
Woman artist - Nanlib Invasion.
Nas & Dj Premier as Bernstein Bears.🐻🐻
Don't want to keep doing this shit that we all fucking pretend is important anymore. Struggling just to survive. Plugging along just to barely enjoy anything from life. What's the fucking point of existing to serve a handful of ungrateful losers. What are we fucking doing.