Memory:
So in the pictures there’s me and my parents, my mother with her young brother who passed away, me with my parents and my great grandma, my parents my sister and I. In some of the pictures we’re in east Africa and that was my first time and only time going to there, from which my mom is from— specifically Rwanda. My dad is from Togo, west Africa and we are proud Ewe, stewards of the land in the southernmost coast among other tribes. These pictures remind me of my roots, my origins, what anchors me when I’m lost in the superficial matters of Western Liberalism. When I also look at those pictures I remember I was loved, deeply even if my parents dont always show it, I understand that trauma and colonial violence left a huge mark on my kin. At last the picture of my mom with her young brother JC who passed away, I remember that she was just a girl who had to grow up and take responsibility so early. She witness the Rwandan Genocide and it haunts her, just like it does all Rwandans, but my mom is so strong. She thought me how to be a fighter, as well as my dad who comes from a long line of warriors and enslaved people who broke their chains. This is my legacy but those pictures remind me the beauty of it

Submitted by: Angel

Connect:@angelgotwingsss