A Salute to Sisters Helping Sisters

Part III of IV – Guest Editor: Brenda Brunson-Bey, Founder & CEO, Tribal Truths

by Gha’il Rhodes Benjamin
(spokenword performance artist)
I was always listening. As far back as I can remember, I was paying attention. I listened when my father took the mic on WJLB radio every Sunday morning, and later on during church service as he made the weekly announcements .His voice was full of confidence and authority, each phrase clear and distinct.
However, it was the women, many of them, that pushed me to the stage.

Three of the names I won’t forget are Magnolia Taylor, Floretta Harvey and Daisy Cole. These women frame my childhood memories with precision. They were always present, guiding me toward the microphone and instructing me to make those announcements when my father was hosting other events mostly on the East side of Detroit. These Sunday morning hat wearing women recognized my calling early on.

I listened to their instructions, gradually becoming my father’s understudy. They helped me to honor my gift of public speaking. I was never scared. It came naturally; and was much more than memorizing a Christmas or Easter Speech. It was more like empowering the people and giving them hope; while discovering the power in my own voice.

I also remember, so clearly, my oldest sister Marguerite standing at the top of the stairs when I came home from school with stomach cramps. She hugged me as if I had passed a test. She told me I was becoming a young lady and taught me the importance of cleanliness, pride and style.

She had the remarkable ability to move into a new home, paint it and decorate it and by nightfall it would be ready for a Good Housekeeping photo shoot. I carry that same sense of color and spacial definition with me, always aware of how each scene or backdrop unfolds visually. I’m often imagining as I enter or exit the stage that my sister who transitioned during Covid, is my angel of encouragement cheering me on from the wings.

It was Momma who washed, pressed and curled our thick kinky hair and made our clothes on her Singer sewing machine. On any random day she would line us up and give us a lesson on posture and etiquette. She would place a book on our heads and make us walk across the room without letting the book fall.

One day while Momma was at the stove cooking ..I found my words and my courage and told her that a member of our community was touching me inappropriately…she listened in the silence…I don’t know what action Momma took, but it never happened again.

I barely listened when my cousin Launa chased me down and scolded me when I told her I needed a break from school. She pushed harder and asked me what my plan of action was. I didn’t have one. Thankfully I gave in and followed her wisdom, graduating from undergrad and grad school. Her dream of me being an educated woman was fulfilled. She was prouder of me than I was of myself as I walked across to receive my degree at both graduation ceremonies.

I had seen her lots of times walking or driving around Brooklyn. She was beautiful, confident with a smooth low cut. Her clear skin and strong cheek bones proudly exposed her truth. I listened to every single word as Brenda Brunson Bey the creative force of Tribal Truths Fashions spoke to me. Her language was tribal and poetic. She told me I was an artist. I echoed her affirmation.
“I am an artist”

It was the words of these women, the hands of these women, the wisdom and artistry of these conscious, purposeful women that nudged and molded me into the woman that I am today. Every stage I stand on is because they saw the vision long before I did.