Black Beauty

It's been a while since an image of myself startled me. Usually, it's for the wrong reason. For example, there's a picture of me taken at the journalism workshop I hosted in Kilifi last December where I was caught completely off guard, and just about ready to pop a blood vessel because those reporters had worked my last nerve, and I was exhausted from all the work I'd done to get the danged show on the road, and plus my hot flashes were REALLY kicking in, and all I wanted was to go sit by the pool....after I slapped the bejeezus out of a few folks, and, I mean....

I looked busted. (And no, I ain't NEVER posting that picture, so don't even ask.) It was a side view shot, and I looked like I was slowly melting down into myself, arms hangling limply at my side, shoulders slouched as I leaned back into a chair, wearing a grim, flat-line expression. Seeing that image scared me because I looked so much like my mother. Not from Miss Eloise's halcyon, "Fierce Force of Nature" days when she was in her 30's and 40's, but just like she looked just before she died. Resigned. Worn out. Too through.

Like a sad old lady.

Even though I know why I looked so bad in that picture, it haunted me for a while. I was like, "Wow, if that's how I'm gonna look in 20 years, I better start saving for daily facials and a 24-hour, on-call personal trainer, because...DAY-um!!" So just imagine how startling the image above was for me. If I do say so myself, I think I look quite lovely in this picture taken last Friday night. But then, I was probably just reflecting the glow from the women surrounding me, who were celebrating the birthday of the diva named Tina Monique who's wearing the dazzling diadem.

Let me just say that there is nothing like the range of beauty contained among women of African descent. I've traveled enough of the continent to have finally counteracted the last vestiges of an internalized European blonde, blue-eyed gold standard for beauty. I'm sorry, but African beauty is not only physically alluring, it has rhythm. And passion. And flow. And diversity. It can be as black as ink or as fair as cafe latte, and it's just as stunning. Just like the smiling, shining happy faces above. One in particular stand out, of course: mine. For the first time in ages, I almost didn't recognize myself.

I look so thin in this picture!!! I'm flashing a respectable amount of leg, and it doesn't look like a haunch of beef hanging in a store window. I'm wearing a nice, sunny, controlled smile, not like I usually do when I'm happy and wind up baring my gums like Mr. Ed. I look poised. In fact, my face looks significantly younger than what the calendar says it is.

So, look, here's the thing. Every now and then, we're all gonna have our bad days when we look and feel like 12 miles of bad road. But always remember that somewhere inside that sad wreckage staring back out at you from the mirror is the REAL you. And when you get right down to it, she's a stunner.