an afternoon. the last but one saturday of september 2019.
a group of young women, goddess bless them, have convened the dozens of people here; rallied them round to march for women & girl’s lives, to protest against patriarchal violence. all clad in all-black, placards & posters aloft & afront, they’re out on the streets of accra, marching.
accompanying them are a pack of policemen whose demeanours spell disinterest, miens that silently scream: i’d rather be anywhere else but here at this thing. the protesting ones share the streets with cyclists, motorists & other pedestrians. among whom are persons who regard them with bemusement, and others who leer with scorn & spite. still, there are the ones who honk horns in solidarity, wave a hand or beam a smile in support.
as is customary with these things, they have a litany of cri de coeur on their lips, and they’re mouthing them: stop beating your wives. stop raping women. ask for consent. protect girls... they call, and some men respond along the way, with rather callous counterpoints: stop talking too much. stop being so troublesome. start dressing properly. we will beat. we will rape…
it was somewhere between this muck that he clocked the portrait. it’s of a woman, a hawker, with wares atop her skull, whose whole being lights up with enthusiasm when she registers the purpose of the fleet of chanting humans marching past. she is very, very, very pleased is what the look on her face tells the beholder. her lips part, her arms flail, her body vibrates.
& the rest of group is marching onward. & he is dawdling, craned backward, arrested by this woman who seems to be frantic with gratitude. or perhaps with the sheer pleasure that must come with witnessing that one’s struggles are acknowledged, and that there are human efforts towards the cessation of these struggles. in any case, she is indisputably overwhelmed.
and the rest of group is marching onward. and he is dawdling, still craned backward, yet to be released by the overwhelmed woman who, as a parting gesture, takes her palms to her face and brushes her lips against her fingers.
& then she throws the kiss to the slowly-disappearing bunch of protesters.