eclectica
2004-02-25, 23:51
The following is an assignment my wife did for her school. She is working to get her Master's degree in Public Health.
Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou
Pretty Women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the Joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Since receiving this assignment, I have been in agony because I dread anything asking about my community. I am an international “army brat” and my family is considered multicultural. I wrote a whole assignment about the issue of having no roots and feeling like a “citizen of the World”. Then, I read that paper and found it to be too whiny. I discussed it with one of my classmates who happens to be a Muslim with a Chinese father and a Black-Indian mother. I decided at that moment that she was more entitled to talk about multicultural issues and I wanted to write something uplifting and optimistic. Therefore, I chose Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman”.
Choosing this poem did not make matters related to this assignment that much easier because it forces me to revisit unpleasant memories of not fitting in. However, I wanted to present the positive parts of this issue. Not fitting in can be a blessing once one grows up and understands life a little better but as a child and later a teenager it is a curse. I grew up being taller than everybody else in my age group and gender sometimes even taller than some older boys were. Besides being awkwardly tall and skinny, I was neither cute nor adorable. I was a withdrawn child and due to my family background, I was always the “new kid on the block” with the strange accent. These factors combined did not help make me confident. I was what my sister calls an obnoxious “tomboy”.
As I grew up, one would think that my height would have served some purpose besides making me the designated helper in class whenever some heavy lifting was needed, but it did not. I never came out of the awkward phase. While other girls my age were getting breasts and hips, I remained flat as an ironing board until age 16, when two invisible olives showed up in place of the voluptuous breasts I was awaiting. My hips stayed the same as when I was 7 years old and my body never reached the gracious stage it is supposed to reach after the teenage years. To make matters a little better, my brothers nicknamed me “ironing board”, “zipper”, “fille-garcon” which means “girl-boy” in French etc. And let me just say that they were not shy about using these lovely nicknames in public.
By the time I reached my early twenties, the olives had become lemons and later oranges but they were still not what one would call voluptuous. I grew up in West Africa until age twenty when I moved to Europe. West Africa is not a haven for skinny tall girls who are neither cute enough to be models or strong enough to be athlete, and even if they had one of these two elements, they would not be popular in this part of the world. In West Africa, the norm is chunky with a thick rear end and legs. They are not interested in mammal glands. This is to say that I was out of luck. Let us just say that I did not turn many heads.
When I moved to France, things changed. I had spent my summers in France when I was growing up but I never lived there until I was 20. Living in France created an epiphany for me. I realized that people around the world had different opinions of what was attractive. They actually liked tall girls in France and they favored chicken legs and ironing board hips. They did not think that my large shoulders made me look like a World Wide Federation wrestler. Well, at least not everybody thought so, I do recall that someone in College in Valenciennes said that I looked like a rugby player. In my new gained confidence, I decided to ignore him. France was heaven. I could be slightly popular here, why didn’t I move here earlier?
Something else happened in France that I did not notice in the past, West African men were interested in me! I was shocked and I started realizing that people were actually attracted to what I projected not necessarily what I looked like. I must have projected the “WWF wrestler with ironing board curves” image to most people and that is why I did not believe that I was interesting. Gaining a little bit more confidence made me more attractive. I was still a little skeptical as to why some men were attracted to me. This is where Maya Angelou comes into play. Her poem although not describing me to the “T” is talking about women like me. Women who do not fit in any specific criteria of beauty but are still attractive. Women who have been told “it’s too bad that you do not have this because you would have been this…and that…”. That is the group I belong to. Yes I could have been a model if I was more cuter and in better shape, I could have been an athlete if I was more fit, I could have been many things if I many things were into place, but I am me, no “ifs” necessary. I am me and I like being me and I am still attractive to many people. If somebody does not understand, they would never understand it. It is a certain "je ne sais quoi” that just makes me phenomenal. In French, they call it “avoir du chien” (literally to have dog but means to have charm) and when people told me things I cannot understand why this person is attracted to you, I not only found it incredibly cruel of them but I also told them that it was “my dog” working its magic. “My dog” is made of charm, intelligence, humour, as Maya says it must be in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need for my care.
What can I say? I am a phenomenal multicultural woman, mother, student and professional. That is my community. The community of not only phenomenal women, but just phenomenal people whose uniqueness tends to be visible to everybody but only understood by other phenomenal people. Moreover, just if someone is interested this is neither a low self-esteem manifesto nor a show of arrogance but a much needed and awaited confidence manifesto.
Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou
Pretty Women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the Joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.
Since receiving this assignment, I have been in agony because I dread anything asking about my community. I am an international “army brat” and my family is considered multicultural. I wrote a whole assignment about the issue of having no roots and feeling like a “citizen of the World”. Then, I read that paper and found it to be too whiny. I discussed it with one of my classmates who happens to be a Muslim with a Chinese father and a Black-Indian mother. I decided at that moment that she was more entitled to talk about multicultural issues and I wanted to write something uplifting and optimistic. Therefore, I chose Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman”.
Choosing this poem did not make matters related to this assignment that much easier because it forces me to revisit unpleasant memories of not fitting in. However, I wanted to present the positive parts of this issue. Not fitting in can be a blessing once one grows up and understands life a little better but as a child and later a teenager it is a curse. I grew up being taller than everybody else in my age group and gender sometimes even taller than some older boys were. Besides being awkwardly tall and skinny, I was neither cute nor adorable. I was a withdrawn child and due to my family background, I was always the “new kid on the block” with the strange accent. These factors combined did not help make me confident. I was what my sister calls an obnoxious “tomboy”.
As I grew up, one would think that my height would have served some purpose besides making me the designated helper in class whenever some heavy lifting was needed, but it did not. I never came out of the awkward phase. While other girls my age were getting breasts and hips, I remained flat as an ironing board until age 16, when two invisible olives showed up in place of the voluptuous breasts I was awaiting. My hips stayed the same as when I was 7 years old and my body never reached the gracious stage it is supposed to reach after the teenage years. To make matters a little better, my brothers nicknamed me “ironing board”, “zipper”, “fille-garcon” which means “girl-boy” in French etc. And let me just say that they were not shy about using these lovely nicknames in public.
By the time I reached my early twenties, the olives had become lemons and later oranges but they were still not what one would call voluptuous. I grew up in West Africa until age twenty when I moved to Europe. West Africa is not a haven for skinny tall girls who are neither cute enough to be models or strong enough to be athlete, and even if they had one of these two elements, they would not be popular in this part of the world. In West Africa, the norm is chunky with a thick rear end and legs. They are not interested in mammal glands. This is to say that I was out of luck. Let us just say that I did not turn many heads.
When I moved to France, things changed. I had spent my summers in France when I was growing up but I never lived there until I was 20. Living in France created an epiphany for me. I realized that people around the world had different opinions of what was attractive. They actually liked tall girls in France and they favored chicken legs and ironing board hips. They did not think that my large shoulders made me look like a World Wide Federation wrestler. Well, at least not everybody thought so, I do recall that someone in College in Valenciennes said that I looked like a rugby player. In my new gained confidence, I decided to ignore him. France was heaven. I could be slightly popular here, why didn’t I move here earlier?
Something else happened in France that I did not notice in the past, West African men were interested in me! I was shocked and I started realizing that people were actually attracted to what I projected not necessarily what I looked like. I must have projected the “WWF wrestler with ironing board curves” image to most people and that is why I did not believe that I was interesting. Gaining a little bit more confidence made me more attractive. I was still a little skeptical as to why some men were attracted to me. This is where Maya Angelou comes into play. Her poem although not describing me to the “T” is talking about women like me. Women who do not fit in any specific criteria of beauty but are still attractive. Women who have been told “it’s too bad that you do not have this because you would have been this…and that…”. That is the group I belong to. Yes I could have been a model if I was more cuter and in better shape, I could have been an athlete if I was more fit, I could have been many things if I many things were into place, but I am me, no “ifs” necessary. I am me and I like being me and I am still attractive to many people. If somebody does not understand, they would never understand it. It is a certain "je ne sais quoi” that just makes me phenomenal. In French, they call it “avoir du chien” (literally to have dog but means to have charm) and when people told me things I cannot understand why this person is attracted to you, I not only found it incredibly cruel of them but I also told them that it was “my dog” working its magic. “My dog” is made of charm, intelligence, humour, as Maya says it must be in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need for my care.
What can I say? I am a phenomenal multicultural woman, mother, student and professional. That is my community. The community of not only phenomenal women, but just phenomenal people whose uniqueness tends to be visible to everybody but only understood by other phenomenal people. Moreover, just if someone is interested this is neither a low self-esteem manifesto nor a show of arrogance but a much needed and awaited confidence manifesto.