Wit. Your first mind. Mother wit. Somethin-told-me. Intuition. Ancestral knowing. It’s still needed…and life-saving. -JBH
As I balance experience and protection for my now teenage daughters, I have to tell them these stories. I have to pull them closer to me to let them know the world is a scary place, and once your know that–you can navigate it. I am teaching my daughters to trust that intuition–what I tell them is their ancestral knowing or their first mind–because it will not steer them wrong. I tell my daughters for the want of being popular, trying to be seen, Instagramming your reality, people will override that still small voice.
I can’t speak to every other Black woman in the world, but I can speak for myself. I believe, and was told by my mother, that wit is something that every woman has. And it will reveal things to you, and show you things if you are willing to listen to it. I believe in this era of parasocial relationships, sliding in DM’s, viral likes and shares, it is easy to miss that tap on your shoulder to tell you that something is bad.
That something isn’t right.
That you shouldn’t go with that person.
Shouldn’t call that person back.
That something is indeed…wrong.
In this situation (much like Kenneka’s), I wonder if that intuition went off for Shanquella. If it went off for her mother!
As I look at this situation as a mother, sister, friend and Black woman, I have so many questions. Most of those questions are powered by my intuition! I wonder if Shanquella’s mother told her not to go, asked for her friends to come by the house. I want to know if anyone confirmed the itinerary–and that emboldened her friends to come by her mother’s house to tell her Shanquella was dead from (allegedly) alcohol poisoning.
I want to know if Ms. Salamondra Robinson’s eyes narrowed at these people when her daughter didn’t come back with them.
For the person who opened the door for this friend whom would later assault Shanquella, did your stomach drop?
Why did no one break this fight up? And how devoid of humanity must you be in order to leave a friend dead, only to have all the friends scatter?
I also want to know if Shanquella, resting in her hotel, thinking she was safe, felt the energy in the room shift when the door opened before her life ended.
I want to know if she felt something in her say, “Shanquella, don’t go. Don’t go with these people”. And she didn’t listen.
I pose the same question: If Black women are not safe around other Black women, where are they safe?