The look in her eyes, was like an effigy of sorrow;  full of resentment, naivety and hope. Maybe no one will understand the wrath she had kept inside her. Standing far away from the crowd, with her a agricultural products on her head(that she     had brought to sell on that market day),her little one on her back,she truly portrays the kaleidoscope of African culture.

She stands with her pale-ragged clothes that she hardly changed, looking absently and innocently at the crowd in the market. The clatter of sound that emanated from the other side, made her to turn around, only to see the "modern" girls who had come to the market on that day.

She stares at them admiringly. She just doesn't know the power she holds, she doesn't know the strength of her voice. She doesn't know how her impact she is to the society and to her family.  I speak for such women.

I speak for the women, who wake up very early in the morning to go to their gardens, dig till midday while carrying babies on their on thei way back home,carry a log of firewood. They don't know the definition of charcoal nor electricity. They have always used firewood, that has 'increased' on their years.

They fetch water, carry it on heads. They rarely plait the hair. I speak for the women who have trusted their gardens for everything. Who have educated their children, fed them and got income from their gardens.

A modern African woman may not understand it. But a true traditional African woman defines what hardworking is. These are the heroes of the society. Not everyone is built to handle the rough times, but these women have managed, somewhat.

They are the only ones who know the true definition of pain. The women who have protected their marriages,  the women who have never divorced, who have suffered quietly in their marriages. They are the only ones who know the pains of true love. I speak for such women.