They told us to forget.
Forget the names that carried the rhythm of the stars.
Forget the gods who walked with us in the forests and spoke through the fire.
Forget the words that danced off the tongues of griots and mothers alike.They told us to forget how we gathered under moonlight,
how we knew medicine from the trees,
how we loved each other before the shame.But memory, like spirit, cannot be killed.
You may burn the village, but the ashes still remember the dance.We remember.
We remember the lullabies they called incantations.
The drums they called savage.
The languages they labeled primitive.
The stories they rewrote with foreign ink.We remember the warriors buried nameless under concrete and crosses.
We remember how they beat memory out of our backs and into our bones.But even in our silence, the ancestors kept whispering.
And now, we rise.
Not just in body — but in remembrance.We remember to reclaim.
We remember to rebuild.
We remember to become what was never truly lost.✊🏾 To remember is to resist.
✊🏾 To speak the forgotten is to ignite the future.🖤💚💛 PowerAfrika: Memory is a Map. Follow it Home.