Africa the pride of black raised

My grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi script on my palm, whispering stories Kannadasan once immortalized in song. She spoke of Africa as the cradle of humanity, a pride that colonizers tried erasing from our collective memory. Years later, scrolling through social networks, I found her wisdom reflected in a photograph. The image unleashed something forgotten within me—a connection spanning continents and centuries. Beautiful brown faces smiled back, unapologetic and radiant. Cash couldn't buy this heritage. No algorithm could diminish it. In that moment, I understood: our stories, our scripts, our songs form an unbreakable thread binding us all, across oceans and generations, reminding us we belong to something eternal.