by Bee Quammie

Historically, important Black women are determined. They’re risk-takers. Their art inspires culture and their culture inspires art. They defend their people, encouraging us to dream bigger, stand taller, and speak louder. They rewrite history, urging their community to embrace the authenticity within our birthrights, even when others say we shouldn’t be proud of who we are. They may do one or some or none of these things, but there is one woman who did them all: the Honorable Dr. Louise Bennett-Coverley, better known as Miss Lou.


Her life began in Kingston, Jamaica in 1919. And Toronto, Canada was where it ended in 2006. Her 86 years on this earth were marked by notable achievements like being the first Black student to attend England’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, and being the inspiring force behind Harry Belafonte’s “Day-O” song, which he styled after Miss Lou’s recording of “Day Dah Light.” An award-winning Jamaican folklorist, writer, and educator, Miss Lou was many things to many people, yet one could argue that her greatest impact was in her ovation of Jamaican patois, or Jamaican Creole.

“Creole” is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as “a mother tongue formed from the contact of a European language (especially English, French, Spanish, or Portuguese) with local languages (especially African languages spoken by slaves in the West Indies).” The Collins Dictionary describes it as “a language that has its origin in extended contact between two language communities, one of which is generally European. It incorporates features from each and constitutes the mother tongue of a community.” The community of West African slaves who were forced into servitude in Jamaica created this mother tongue from the languages of their colonizing masters and those of the homes they left behind. Speaking patois was an act of survival, an act of solidarity, and an act of rebellion—and patois itself has grown and morphed from those days until now.

“Miss Lou made Jamaican Creole valid,” states Marlene Gaynair, a doctoral student at Rutgers University studying Black Atlantic history. Miss Lou’s life spanned the days of Jamaica’s staunch British allegiance through its independence in 1962, and from her time as a Kingston girl to her time as a Jamaican in Britain, in Canada, and beyond. Her work reflected those experiences. In a climate that was rife with the effects of colonialism alongside bubbling Black pride, Jamaica tried to assert its identity through the perception of social conservatism. The country that has more churches per square mile than any other country in the world cloaked itself in respectability imposed upon it via colonialism. Patois, the language of the community, was cemented as something undesirable, improper, and “broken.” It is because of these things that Miss Lou’s work was so radical, and so necessary.

In her 1944 poem “Bans O’Killing,” Miss Lou speaks to a figure intent on “killing” the dialect of Jamaican patois, and illuminates the fact that so-called “proper English” consists of many dialects itself. Invalidating Jamaican patois while celebrating Cockney slang or Irish brogue was simply a way of centering the superiority of whiteness, and Miss Lou did not shy away from making her audience confront those beliefs. “Formerly colonized spaces are automatically seen as backwards or primitive or regressive. But Jamaicans like Miss Lou were going back into Jamaica's history to find something worth celebrating or being proud of,” says Gaynair.


Miss Lou’s work explicitly focused on instilling pride in Jamaican culture, folklore, and language. Her method of writing, speaking, teaching, and performing in patois was intentional and unapologetic. In the face of her critics she pressed on, becoming one of the Caribbean’s strongest advocates for the rejection of colonial thinking and investment in cultural pride. Miss Lou’s influence is in the background of conversations defending Rihanna while music critics call her dancehall-tinged single “Work” gibberish. Her upliftment of Afro-Jamaican patois and culture is reflected similarly in discussions of the nuances of AAVE and Black American culture, linking with the literary expressions of noted authors like Zora Neale Hurston. Her presence inspired and continues to inspire others to embrace the essence of who they are, motivating us to “walk good,” as she often said as a farewell.

Miss Lou described her motivations by saying:

Some thought Jamaican-English was vulgar, out-of-order language. It came out of the African heritage and at that time anything African was bad: hair, colour, skin, language, music. But I thought it was fascinating. Everything had a rhythm. It was a creation of the people. One reason I persisted in writing in dialect in spite of the opposition was because nobody else was doing so, and there was such a rich material in dialect that I felt I wanted to put on paper some of the wonderful things that people say in dialect. You could never say 'look here' as vividly as 'kuyah.'

Richness. Rhythm. Creation. Uniqueness. Strength. These are pieces of what makes Blackness great, and parts of what made Miss Lou tell us to be proud of “fi wi language.”


Bee Quammie is a Toronto-based health care professional, writer, and founder of ‘83 To Infinity and The Brown Suga Mama. Recognized by Black Enterprise & the Black Canadians Awards for her digital work, Bee aims to live '83 To Infinity's motto: "It's never too late to learn something new, do something new, or be someone new." Follow her on Twitter at @beequammie.

by Nikki Yeboah

It’s the holiday season. And to all my Afrocentrics, you know what that means: Kwanzaa! To all my non-Afrocentrics, a brief explanation: Kwanzaa is a week-long celebration that originated in Los Angeles during the Black Power Movement of the 1960s. (Not in Africa, as most people believe.) Dr. Maulana Karenga developed it, motivated by the desire to recover a lost sense of black identity through a uniquely African-American holiday tradition that would be rooted in African principles. Most African-Americans don’t even celebrate Kwanzaa, but go ahead and treat my use of Kwanzaa in this article as a stand in for any and all of the ways Black Americans celebrate their African roots in culturally suspect ways.

By Jaimee A. Swift

When I read Ms. Zipporah Gene’s article on how she felt that Black Americans need to stop culturally appropriating African culture, it struck more than a nerve – it actually brought me back to an interesting time where I battled with what seemed to be a missing part of myself.

By Zipporah Gene for Those People

For the life of me, I need to know:

by Veronica Maria Brown-Comegys

About thirty years ago, I was walking down posh Avenida Nossa Senhora de Copacabana, where I lived with my white Brazilian “family.” The crown that Mother Africa had given me was evident. In other words, all traces of my perm had vanished. Suddenly an Afro-Brazilian man stopped me. He pointed at my head, and said in English, “Black Power,” then he cackled for so long that I thought he would become breathless.

Interview by Moiyattu Banya

As For Harriet is a digital media space and online community for Black women across the Diaspora, we seek to celebrate and shine light on other women doing similar work. Patricia Miswa is one of these women. Miswa is the founder and editor-in-chief of AfroElle Magazine, a digital publication that celebrates women of African heritage. She started the platform 5 years ago and has made tremendous strides in achieving the goals she set out to achieve. AfroElle magazine has featured over 500 stories of women in Africa and the Diaspora. They are business owners, change-makers, artists, non-profit directors, and more—including women like Nelson Mandela’s granddaughter Zoleka, Hollywood actress Lisa Raye and many more.

by Veronica Maria Brown-Comegys

The day I arrived in Rio de Janeiro a muscle-bound German stranger followed me from the reception desk into the hotel elevator. After the door closed, he began shouting in halting English, “You are American. I want to be with you tonight, why not?” “Why not?” I side-stepped to the elevator panel and wildly pounded the buttons. The door opened and I raced to my room.

White Brazilian and European male visitors gravitate to the eroticism of the woman of African descent. Yet they do not express their admiration in romantic sonnets and songs. Instead, white Brazilian men say in Portuguese, “As negras tem fogo no rabo.” The translation is, “Black women have fire in their ass,” according to my white friend, Carlos Marques, a fifty-six-year-old activist and historian. The activist, of Porto Alegre, in Rio Grande do Sul, said, “Rabo is a VERY bad expression, extremely graphic. It is machismo and racism.” Cesar Renato, 19, a black aspiring rapper, in Natal, Rio Grande do Norte, added, “They say worse things than that.”

Carlos Santos, 30, of Goias, a black decorator and house painter said, “It is true that the white man says the black woman has an appetite for sex, and is hotter than the white woman. I agree that black women are hotter. This is obvious. But, oh no, to say they have fire under their skirt, this is too much. This is hyper-sexualization of the black woman.”

The crude expression is directed at all black women. Yet it is the black woman who has tan, gold, caramel and light-to-nearly medium colored skin, who is preferred. Marques said, “Light-colored girls are a species of sexual fantasy for many men, Brazilian and foreign. They are something like a sexual fetish.”

Dr. Norma Cavalcanti, a white psychologist, said “In Brazil a woman has only two rights; the right to be a mother, and the right to be a ‘boneca gloriosa’ (glorious doll).” Willing or not, I had all the necessary attributes to play this role: light brown skin, heavy-lidded, big brown eyes, full lips, and most importantly a five foot seven-inch body, which was far from thin and shapeless. Far from being a brown Playboy centerfold, but not to be ignored.

Within a few days I had another encounter. I ventured into a store to purchase a bikini. I was talking to a young clerk when her blond blue-eyed boss moved her aside and said in perfect English, “I will help you.” The merchant handed me several bikinis and led me to a dressing room. He grinned as he backed out of the room. “Take your time,” he murmured. Unbeknown to me, he did not go far. As soon as I was naked he jerked the curtain aside and burst into the cubicle. He leaned against the wall chuckling and getting an eyeful. Of course, I grabbed my clothes, dashed into another changing area, hurriedly dressed and scurried from the business. An elderly male member of my white Brazilian “family” explained that “American men are cold. Brazilian men like women. Brazilian men are warm.”

African-Americans should recognize this black sexual image. “Wherever black men and women go they are closely pursued by the shadow of white-created sexual stereotypes,” Dr. Alvin F. Poussaint, M.D. wrote in Why Blacks Kill Blacks. According to Dr. Poussaint, “Many Caucasian men perceive any and all black women as prostitutes or ‘easy lays’ – a projection of their own lechery and exploitation of black women.” These myths and stereotypes came from the slavery era and still prevail.



During the 2014 World Cup Season male and female journalists were distained “international gringos who come to Brazil with the wrong idea.” Carol Apaloo, an African-American school teacher, whose family relocated from Los Angeles in the late 1970s said, “The Germans are the worst.” She discussed the lewd way they were dancing with the black Brazilian girls at Carnival. One journalist said that the foreigners are only part of the problem. Their behavior matched customary treatment black women receive from white Brazilian men.

Marly Ferreira, 57, a black Brazilian writer and Professor of Biology said, “The image still exists of the black woman as sexy, good in bed, to be used as an object. This image is a benefit to tourism. There are many schemes to make the color black agreeable, to be used by everybody.” More than two decades ago, white historian, sociologist and anthropologist Gilberto Freyre said, “The mulata is treated like a product. Our mulata is not different from other women, but she is being exploited as a sex symbol, and the majority are being turned into prostitutes.”

One white Brazilian impresario Oswaldo Sargentelli built his fortune on the sexual allure of black females. He advertised that his nightclubs featured “mulatas that are not on the map.” He called the black performers his goldmine. During the two-hour show the women strut across the stage as a master of ceremonies tells saucy jokes. Occasionally, an eager man is invited to dance with a performer. In interviews, the late promoter, has said, “I don’t require them to be literate, but they must be professional.” That means that they must not date the customers, or accept messages from them. After each performance a guard escorts the women to their home.

One Oba Oba dancer, Rece Fatima Serafim told me, “Sargentelli is trying to protect us because he knows that in general, the treatment of black women in Brazil is very bad.” Another performer Maria Elizabeth da Silva said, “We are treated as artists but, in general black women are not treated with respect.” Most dancers stay at the club for about three years before leaving to marry, travel or work abroad. Ms. Serafim was training to become a singer while Ms. Da Silva planned to teach dancing. When I returned to the United Press International Bureau, my white American boss asked, “Well, how dumb were they?”

Some activists have denounced the nightclub owners and show producers, along with the mulata mystique. In Brazilian Women Speak: Contemporary Life Stories, one woman said,

“We’ve got one here who is an incredible exploiter of black women. She said, “When they go into these clubs, these shows, they are labeled mulatas, and, even worse ‘the mulatas of so-and-so.’ They start having an owner, a master. And they are prostituted on the stage. The men in the audience have always wanted to prostitute these women, but the women might not be aware of this, and anyway they have to survive. I don’t know if they earn much-they’ve never shown much interest in talking to us. They seem to think that if they say anything, they will lose their jobs. What they do say is, ‘Well if I were not on the stage I’d end up in some madam’s house.’”

According to the activist many of the performers have little education. “They don’t need to talk, just to wiggle. When they get old, they beg.” However, many dancers recount the triumphs of others who married well, moved to Europe, or worked in fashion houses, film and television. One woman married a wealthy French Count. The young dancers called her the “most successful mulata of all times.”

During one of my vacations in Rio de Janeiro, I met a British graphic artist on Copacabana Beach. He had been a resident of Australia when he went to Rio for Carnival. However, he quickly decided to relocate, driven by his lust for black Brazilian women. He stuttered, “Th, th, these black girls here re, re, really know how to shake their asses. Plus they are cra, cra, crazy about men with blue eyes.” He arrived in the country ready for action. Unfortunately, jobs were few, and payment was slow. Within three years his savings and fondness for the natives had dwindled.

Meanwhile my landlady, who was a psychiatrist, expected me to become accustomed to rabid attention from men. She said, “Look Veroni (family nickname), this is Brazil. This is the way Brazilian men are. In my home state, blondes have a hard time catching a man.”

Brazil: People and Institutions presents a 18th Century poem from Rio de Janeiro folklore which attests to the appeal of the Afro-Brazilian woman.

If white women were for sale,
Either for gold or silver,
I should buy one of them,
For a servant for my mulata.

In Order and Progress: Brazil from Monarchy to Republic, Gilberto Freyre wrote, “Moreover, a historian quoted a white man born in 1887, who said, he had been happier in ‘his friendship with a negro woman’ than in his marriage to a white girl. He followed his uncle, to whom a white woman was no woman at all. His German friend agreed. The European considered the black woman the “queen of all womanhood.” Nevertheless, the white woman retains the exalted status. In Race in Contemporary Brazil: From Indifference to Inequality, Afro-Brazilian feminist Sueli Carneiro said, “Black women are not ideals of anything. We are women identified as objects. The aesthetic model for Brazilian women is white.”

“Even in the 21st Century, and in spite of the advancement of the black Brazilian woman, she is still a product for consumption and exportation,” said Marques, who teaches English to black youth in the poor areas. In Brazilian literature the black woman has superb culinary skills, according to Dr. Cavalcanti, of Rio de Janeiro. “But I never heard of one making it to head cook,” she said.

Recently, a white Brazilian ex-politician even denied that black women were sexually abused during slavery. Demostenes do Demo said, “Black women were not deflowered and sexually violated during the slavery era. They played a game of seduction and yielded their bodies with complete delight, freely.”10 The politician distorted history, according to Priscila Luiza Coscarella, 45, of Campinas. “How repugnant,” she said. Sandra Helena Figueiredo Maciel, black feminist and former Coordinator for Racial Equality in Rio Grande do Sul said, the former politician has a reputation for being a racist, a misogynist, homophobic, and corrupt.

“In the past and the present no woman has been more raped, abused and humiliated than the black woman,” said William Reis, 27, community activist of Rio de Janeiro. Reis identifies himself on Facebook as William X Luther King.

There is a need for international feminism since the racist, patriarchal oppressors operate from the same play book. Regardless of language or nationality, the game is always: Treat the Woman as An Object.

Photo: dabldy / Shutterstock.com

Veronica Maria Brown-Comegys was a recipient of an Inter-American Press Association Scholarship. The grant funded one year of study and research in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where Veronica wrote some freelance articles, about feminism, African religions and crime, for United Press International. Afterwards, Veronica began a book on women, blacks and life with her white Brazilian “family.” In addition, for three years she studied graduate classes in anthropology at Michigan State University. Overall, she has visited Brazil three times, and Portugal, Paraguay and Mexico once. Veronica can be reached at: veronica.browncomegys@facebook.com.

by Jaimee A.Swift

“...I said physically we Afro-Americans might remain in America, fighting for our constitutional rights, but that philosophically and culturally, we Afro-Americans badly needed to ‘return’ to Africa — and develop a working unity in the framework of Pan-Africanism.” — Malcolm X

In a historical context, Pan-Africanism served as both a cultural and political ideology for the solidarity of peoples of African descent. Most notably championed and pioneered by Marcus Garvey, Jomo Kenyatta, and Kwame Nkrumah, Pan-Africanism aims to connect and understand the universal injustices within the Diaspora. However, the past Pan-Africanist calls of Garvey, Kenyatta, Nkrumah and countless others have translated into modernity; as neo-black liberation movements are advocating for the socio-economic, political and even psychological independence from those under colonial and now, neo-colonial regimes.

Although the #BlackLivesMatter movement was birthed after the tragic murder of Trayvon Martin in 2012, the movement itself extends beyond the extrajudicial killings of Black people in the United States and addresses how other structural elements such as racism are embedded in American society. However, the ideological application of Pan-Africanism is essential and crucial to the Black Lives Matter Movement because it serves as a holistic, liberatory mechanism for all Black people in the African Diaspora.



Just as Andre 3000’s poignant question on his black jumper he wore at Coachella alluded to — “Across cultures, darker peoples suffer. Why?” — the Pan-Africanism perspective must be embraced as a foundational premise to the movement because it speaks to the interconnectedness of the Black struggle, Black triumphs, and Black perseverance and resiliency within a global context. In this same vein, the articulation and reclamation of cultural, artistic and philosophical African legacies that have been continually denied and appropriated must be embraced to extend the movement.

Examples of this contemporary, cultural Pan-African articulation include the resurgence of embracing natural hair styles, wearing African-inspired fashions and jewelry, enlightenment to African Diasporic literature and teachings, the creations of Pan-African organizations and support groups, and even the reclamation of indigenous, African religions and worship.

Of course, with any such revolutionary movement, there are schisms present. With Pan-Africanism and its application, many barriers are evident much due to intercontinental divide and lack of cross-cultural understanding. Some of these barriers include stereotypes that African-Americans and Africans have of one another; the lack of understanding of race-relations in the United States; the inexperience of racism due to those who live in homogeneous societies; the way the media portrays African peoples worldwide; and those who are in fact Black but do not identify as a person of African descent.

Although these divisions are thoroughly embedded in the psyches of many, the Black Lives Matter movement, in conjunction with Pan-Africanism, serves as a catalyst to defy these divisions via the continued mobilization for global, Black solidarity and consolidation.

So, whether it is Haitians being deported in the Dominican Republic; the African-American addressing the systematic brutality by law-enforcement and vigilantes in the United States; the discrimination of the Aboriginal people of Australia; the genocide of the West Papuans; the Afro-Brazilians living in the favelas of Rio de Janiero; or the South African suffering under the present manifestations of Apartheid, all in all, from the Pan-African perspective, #AllBlackLivesMatter.

Photo: Free West Papua Campaign

by Maryann Adedapo

My first name is Maryann, a name that is almost exclusively given to White girls. It was the most popular female Anglo name in the 1900s. My mom wanted to give me a Yoruba name, but my dad was already thinking about the benefits an Anglo name would provide me in the workplace.

by Moiyattu Banya


What is African Feminism? Many feminists from around the world have contested the idea of whether modern conceptions of feminism are African or un-African. Indeed, feminism has existed in Africa since the times of Queen Nzinga of what is now Mozambique and Yaa Asantewaa of Ghana. These women have inspired contemporary African feminists, who have contributed significantly to feminism in various ways—whether it be through art, music, writing, policy. They have been committed to bringing the voices of African women into the spaces that they work within, and they are indeed change-makers—not only on the African continent, but also throughout the African Diaspora. As Women’s History Month comes to a close, we must take the time to celebrate the 20 African Feminists you should know.

by Bee Quammie

My black identity is bound up in my culture and my experiences; the consciousness-raising that I experience as a feminist and African black woman; and the relationships I have been able to cultivate with other women of color. Blackness is a thing I had to develop and understand. I believe many immigrants of color do as well. In reflecting on how I developed my sense of black womanhood, I needed to think about my journey from Sierra Leone in West Africa—where I was born—to who and where I am now. With the mass movement of people of color traveling around the world, the concept of blackness has become more intricate and continues to evolve, while still maintaining its strong historical connections.

by by Khanya Mtshali

by Bee Quammie


As we celebrate what’s left of Black History Month and look forward to Women’s History Month, it’s important to remember that Black women around the globe have made incredible contributions to world history. From Brazil to the United Kingdom and everywhere else, Black women have done incredible things, created incredible things, and have been incredible people. Take a passport-free journey through time and geography and get to know about 5 such women.

by Juhanna Rogers


During my first class in graduate school, my professor asked which of my college experiences had the most profound impact on me. At that moment I began to think about traveling as a critical learning experience. So I asked myself what traveling has taught me about being an African American woman. Elaine Lee’s 1997 book, Go Girl: Black Woman’s Guide to Travel and Adventure, was one of the first pieces of literature I came across that explored and exposed the highs and lows of traveling as a Black woman. The contributing writers to Lee’s text illustrated how regardless of the country, language, or time spent abroad, being identified as a black woman means something far beyond one’s American identity. These personal narratives solidified how travel challenges and affirms ideals on what it means to be a woman of African descent. This was further solidified during my first travel experience to the Bahamas with my mother, as well as the trips I’ve taken to the Latin Caribbean, Central America, and United Kingdom since. During all of these journeys, I too have learned unique lessons about what it means to travel as a Black woman.

by Zahida Sherman Ewoodzie

Let’s be honest. Black people have asserted that they aren’t “Black” long before Raven Symone’s sit-down with Oprah. Issues of racial identity often come to the fore in environments where Black folks from all over the world meet. Places like college.

by Nancy Laws

It took me three years to tell my family that I suffered from anxiety and panic disorder. Even then, I was still ridiculed for saying that I had panic attacks, and was told by a very close family member that I was pretending for more attention.

by Amanda Muhunde

Recently, I was speaking to a friend who works with a recruiting company for IT firms....or something close to that; she connects employers to potential employees. We were sitting at my mother's dining table and she was telling me a work story. There was a man she was trying to get hired but he was way more interested in her smile. Another asked her if she had a boyfriend. These guys were in an interview! To get a job! I was disgusted and did not conceal it in my "That's so sexist!" vociferation. At this particular moment, my brilliant and gorgeous cousin happened to be walking by. She made a comment on how militant I am and how "I'm the only one fighting." I think her point was "since no one else really feels as strongly about it as you do, why make things unpleasant?" I was incensed! "If it weren't for lone voices through the ages", I practically barked at her, "we wouldn't be wearing pants, or nail polish, or even talking about this openly!" I was screaming directly into her ear. The incident in question was an obvious example of misogyny, even she conceded to that, her issue was with how easily I scream "SEXISM!"