Liberty Road

“Instead of words being swallowed in my chest, writing helped me get them out. It was like defiance in that I could put my thoughts onto a page in the world. ”

In her 50s, with five degrees (including a Ph.D. and a law degree), Menah Adeola Eyaside Pratt seems like the tenured professor she is and a woman who is still in her burgeoning creative chapter. It’s not just that her new book, Blackwildgirl: A Writer’s Journey to Take Back Her Superpower, is an epic memoir that includes over 45 years’ worth of her personal journals, poems, and insights as a Black girl and woman finding her voice and strength; it’s also that Menah is a revolutionary feminist helping to change the world’s ideas about who’s voices—those of indigenous and women of color—deserve, and always have deserved, the spotlight.

Menah’s work, which includes her professorship at Virginia Tech, is of bold storytelling. Blackwildgirl drips with beauty and covers ground near and far. As Menah tells us, the book is about her journey from Black girlhood to womanhood, but she hopes her pages will connect with many. “I want to feel that it will resonate with any woman, regardless of their race,” she says. “If they identify as a woman and understand what it means to be a woman in the world, I hope they will find something in the book where they go, ‘yeah, this speaks to me.’”

Chatting with Menah Adeola Eyaside Pratt, Ph.D, JD

Early in your book, you write about your ancestral visits to Sierra Leone, where you watched your maternal grandmother give food to those who had passed. What did you learn from those visits?

I was 18 or 19 the first time. I was excited about going to Africa with my mother and meeting my grandmother, whom I felt I had known through her long airmail letters. So I was excited, but then I thought, We're going to the cemetery at 5 am? What are we doing here? I did not have the reverence for what was happening. It was confusing and disconcerting, wandering around to find these people [in the cemetery]. It wasn't until many years later, when I returned the second time that I began to understand the reverence. When I started writing the book, I realized I was writing about ancestral energy. My mom has now passed, my father has now passed, and there's this legacy of being a descendant and this energy from Africa, and then there’s also a tribute to the Black women who died young and couldn't finish their work. All of a sudden, I felt like that was a perfect connection to my sense of pouring libation and giving reverence and respect to those who have gone before.

You're forthright about how you wrestled while writing your book. This is amazing to hear, as you have all these accomplishments, from five degrees to once playing professional tennis, but you still wrestled with, as you write, 'How much of myself do I share?' How did you push through this, Menah?

Publicly writing about oneself and one's life involves that sense of anxiety because you can't talk about yourself without talking about other people. And is it fair to talk about other people, especially maybe negatively, and the impact and their reputation that my words are creating? So, there was this level of sensitivity, yet knowing I still have my own story to tell. And if I weighed my concern for others over my need to tell the story, my story wouldn't be told. So, there was a conviction that I have to respond to the sense of responsibility to tell my story, no matter what.

Discovering one's own "inner revolutionary," as you write, is a big theme in your book. What do you say to women in midlife and older who want to find their inner revolutionary but fear it's too late?

It's never too late. Now, in my 50s, I realize that I have a lot of wisdom now. I've gone through a lot of things. I've learned a lot of lessons. I have a lot to share. So, folks in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s, we have wisdom to share. It's really about trying to figure out the mechanism to share. For me, it's writing; it's my work, my profession, and it's all aligned for me at this point in my life. But for some people, it's not aligned. They may have a job over here, and they've got this passion on the side—but it's never too late to pour energy into our passions.

The book comes with a companion journal. The companion journal and reflection questions in the book are opportunities for anyone to think about their life and start that courageous revolutionary journey. Let me look at myself. Let me think about my relationship with my parents. Let me think about my childhood. Let me think about my young adulthood. At any point, there's that opportunity to go, I'm willing to be courageous now and look at these reflection questions as an opportunity to look at myself.

You founded the Faculty Women of Color in the Academy Conference. So much of your work advocates for indigenous people and women of color. What is your hope for how White women can be in allyship today?

I reflect on that a lot because the work I do at Virginia Tech is situated in the diversity and inclusion space, a space of social justice. There are incredible White women on my team who do phenomenal work of allyship and support and do the work. There are many organizations, places, and spaces for folks who want to be allies, advocates, or just people at work. I don't even know if they need to be allies. You could just work with us. I'm encouraging more people to take the time to have conversations with Black women. Let's just talk. Let me just listen to your story to understand your experience with that listening ear. Over time, those friendships and authenticity will lead to greater understanding and commitment to the work.

When people have a shared passion for justice, equality, and fairness, then working together is really an exciting thing to do. I have found, and not to overgeneralize, there have been White people in the history of the Civil Rights Movement who have joined organizations and said, 'I want to be here and do this work.' And I think, for the most part, Black folks have been like, 'Great! Come on! We need you!'

Writing in your journals has been a constant in your life, since you were young. How has journaling saved you?

My first journal was what my father gave me; it was from Brazil. It was so beautiful with these colors—green and yellow or pink. He had always journaled. In his mind, he had this concept that writing about your life was important in some way. Then I realized I could call my journal love and write to love and how I wanted love. I realized that this journal will not judge me, it will not criticize me, it will not demean me. This journal will affirm me. Whatever I write about myself can affirm good things about myself and help me express things I could never have said to my father or mother.

Instead of words being swallowed in my chest, writing helped me get them out. It was like defiance in that I could put my thoughts onto a page in the world.

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Menah Adeola Eyaside Pratt is a writer, artist, academic, author, activist, and scholar. Learn more and order her book, Blackwildgirl, at menahpratt.com.