Sandra

Black in business.

And her business was my business. To most, it was not a business at all.

To me—to her—it was so much more.

I did not want to be in business with her. I was ready to be the best. I knew in my mind that I could be. Until I met her. And then I wanted to be better still.

So I watched. And I learned.

Hesitantly, at first.

And the more I watched and learned, the more I realized just how far behind I was.

As is true of just about any female I’ve ever met, I envied before I respected.

But have you ever seen There’s Something about Mary?

I swear it was about her. I wanted to hate her. I did. But I couldn’t.

Because this woman is too strong.

Too true.

Too real.

Sincere.

Honest.

Loyal.

Loving.

I wanted to hate her and she wanted to befriend me.

Befriend.

Is that even a word anymore? Does Webster still claim it?

No one uses it.

Much less lives it.

But she did.

Thank God.

It’s not like a movie with her.

No slow motion, soultry, black-and-white hair flip when she enters the scene.

She’s goofy.

And honest.

And raw.

But she’s true.

Again...is that even a thing?

She’s no multi-millionaire.

No movie star.

She’s more.

Let me tell you about my best friend:

She shows the fuck up.

She is there whenever anyone needs her—friend or foe. There are no rivals because she sees the gold in everyone. She steps back and gives credit, even when no credit is due. She is a Black female who has had to raise her voice in order to have one. She recognizes that Jamaican American does not equate African American. Except when it does.

Except when people look at her and are taken aback because her complexion does not align with her last name. She has to put all her degrees in her emails—her accolades in her introductions, her awards and degrees on the wall—because, once people see her, they no longer see her.

Forget “What’s in a name?” Let’s talk “What’s in a race?”

People judge. They assume. They actually flinch and even retract.

She is the single strongest individual I know, but she hides it behind the brightest smile. Not because she’s faking it. But because she means it.

She is truth.

This is a woman who has earned everything and still fights—not even, just flat out works—for more. She is climbing her way up as she goes—not for herself but for those before her every day.

She sacrifices her own blood for children not her own, and no one sees it.

Sees her.

No one sees the discomfort.

No one sees the struggle.

No one sees how much more she has to work to be on top.

But she is on top.

And she will never be satisfied until her own children—the thousands whom she’s claimed—have done the same.

And not just meet her—not just rose to her level.

But surpassed her.

Madame CJ Walker, she is.

And always will be.

Millions?

Maybe not.

Not dollars, at least.

But her millions are in lives. In children’s lives changed.

Lessons learned.

Moments seized.

Scholars touched.

Students taught.

Pupils reached.

Millions upon millions.

Madame CJ Walker, she is.

Business woman.

CEO.

Boss.

For her business is education and her enterprise is her teaching.

And so her bank account may never, ever reflect the value of her soul.

You want a Black woman?

Leader?

Inspiration?

Soul?

It. Is. She.

Sandra.