.png)
_edited.png){kind=small}
Healing From The Ground Up
- Zakiya Hakizimana
- 1 day ago
- 4 min read
On the second Saturday of the month the women started pulling up to Aunt Laura’s house like church let out early. Cars lined the curb. Somebody always double-parked. Somebody always forgot a notebook, but brought a dish anyway. The screen door stayed open because Aunt Laura said fresh air was part of the healing whether the doctor agreed or not.
Great Aunt Dorothy stood at the stove like she owned it, which she did emotionally. She had a headwrap tied just right and a wooden spoon that had seen more meals than most folks had birthdays. Next to her was Athena, her niece young enough to Google things but wise enough to listen. Athena had a cutting board covered in ginger and turmeric roots bright like sunrise and a blender already humming low like it knew it was about to work.
They called the gathering “Healing From The Ground Up”. Aunt Laura had written the name on a piece of poster board with purple marker and taped it on the wall. Every other Saturday morning the women came with questions, aches, grocery bags, and hope.
Dorothy cleared her throat. “Now listen,” she said, “before anybody gets defensive, this is not about throwing your prescriptions in the trash today. This is about knowing what your body responds to before the side effects start arguing with your spirit.”
Somebody in the back laughed and said “My blood pressure medicine be acting like it got a personal vendetta.” The room erupted.
Athena smiled. “That is exactly why we are here,” she said. “Food is information. Your body is listening.”
They talked collard greens, kale, and spinach - not cooked to death, but loved properly with garlic, onions, olive oil, and a little lemon. Dorothy explained how bitterness was medicine too, how greens cleaned the blood and reminded the liver to do its job.
They moved to fruit. Blueberries for the brain. Pineapple for inflammation. Papaya for digestion. Watermelon because hydration is holy in the southern heat. Somebody asked if peaches counted and Dorothy said, “Baby if God made it sweet and juicy on purpose then yes eat the peach.” The women laughed and chimed in with other fruit suggestions.
Turmeric got its own moment. Athena showed how to bloom it in oil with black pepper so it could actually work. She talked about inflammation, joints, and pain that moved like gossip. Dorothy added that her knees stopped talking back when she started drinking turmeric tea with ginger and honey. A cousin squinted and said jokingly, “You sure it was not just because you stopped arguing with folks?” The women laughed. Dorothy waved her spoon and said both things can be true.
Sea moss came next, soaking in a big glass jar on the counter looking like something pulled straight from the ocean’s prayer closet. Athena explained minerals, iron, iodine, energy, and immunity. Somebody whispered it looked suspicious and Aunt Laura responded, “So did half of y'all exes and you still trusted them.” No lies told!”, Athena raised her hands in the air.
They talked herbs too. Peppermint for the stomach. Dandelion for the liver. Garlic for the heart. Thyme for the lungs. Rosemary for memory, which Dorothy said was why she still remembered who owed her twenty dollars.
They shared recipes. Smoothies, soups, teas, oils, and roasted vegetables seasoned like their ancestors were proudly watching. They talked about easing off medications slowly carefully with doctor conversations and body awareness. This was not rebellion. This was responsibility.
By the time the meeting ended the kitchen smelled like life. Laughter lingered in the corners. Recipes were exchanged like secrets. Hugs lasted longer than planned.
As they packed up, Athena watched Dorothy rinse her spoon and lean against the counter tired, but glowing. “You really think this changes things, TiTi?”, Athena asked.
Dorothy smiled. “Baby, every time a Black woman learns how to heal herself, the ground breathes easier.”
Outside the sun climbed higher. Inside the women left fuller than they came, not just fed but reminded that healing had always been close. Right there in their kitchens. Right there in their hands.
About Kiyaza
Kiyaza the Poet is a multifaceted author and creative whose work bridges poetry, design, and self-discovery. In her book Lost Between the Sheets, she invites readers into her intimate journey through relationships, friendships, and the layered experiences of life as a Black woman. Beyond her literary voice, Kiyaza channels her artistry into Water Lily Studios, a design platform of journals and planners, where she encourages creativity, organization, and self-sufficiency in everyday life.
Her latest creation, Poetry in Bloom, is a collection of handmade, framed poems adorned with pressed flowers, celebrating beauty, resilience, and the art of storytelling.
Kiyaza’s writing focuses on the raw and reflective journey of self-discovery while exploring love, loss, healing, and growth through the lens of a Black woman’s experience.
Connect with Kiyaza!
.png)
Comments