Superwoman is Black (and She Doesn't Wear Flats)

When we were in high-school Mikita wore her hair in box braids that were cut into a bob and then shaped into a wave that swooped from left to right framing her immaculately made-up heart-shaped face.   In order to get from class to class she had to walk carefully up and down the stairs with her head held very high in order not to upset the position of each individual braid.  I think that all of the girls at Columbia Prep, both black and white, admired her self-assuredness and composure.  She always seemed to have it together.  Her grace under pressure, and her ability to balance multiple priorities with style and humor is something that I have continued to respect about her as we have transitioned into adulthood.

Mikita has commuted three hours to work and then come home to prepare cookbook- ready dinners for her girls.  She has walked through the Bronx Zoo in platform sandals with a four year old on her hip.  She routinely plans celebrations for her friends and family that would put any professional event planner to shame.  Every time I come to her house she has a glass of wine and a cheese plate waiting for me.  As we sit in the backyard laughing and drinking, she gives great advice “Set boundaries,” “Let him pursue you,” “ Don’t pat people on the back for doing what they're supposed to do.”  

Mikita is my oldest and dearest friend.  We've spent summers in my grandmother's house in Maryland and battled malaria in Ghana.  We've partied together drinking 'Kool-Aid Koolers' until we both threw up in my sink, and had discussions so deep that the silences said more than the words.  We were pregnant together, and look at our daughters' spirits with a sense of wonder and protectiveness.  Mikita's circle is small, but it's tight- and I dare anyone to disturb a hair on her head.