The Real Eve : Mother of All

They never told us the full story.

They gave us a version of Eve made to shame her. To shame all of us.

But I remember her differently.

I remember her being the color of ebony.

Skin kissed by the sun before time had a name.

Feet planted in the soil of the land once called Alkebulan —

the Mother of Mankind. The Garden of Eden.

Long before the maps,

before colonizers renamed the sacred places,

before they cut the roots and reshaped the truth,

there was a woman.

The First Mother.

Whose DNA still lives in our blood.

Science now calls her Mitochondrial Eve.

But we knew her before science caught up.

Her bones lie in East Africa —

near the Nile, in the land now called Sudan —

a place of dark-skinned people and ancient memory.

They say Eden was a myth.

But Eden was the beginning.

Eden is the never-ending river.

Eden is the land where it all started: Africa.

And Eve… didn’t fall.

She awoke.

She saw the lie hidden in the mirage.

The danger not in the fruit,

but in the command to remain ignorant.

So she reached.

Not for rebellion —

but for truth.

And ever since, the daughters of Eve — especially the dark-skinned ones, the womb-bearers of spirit and sacred power —

have been blamed, feared, abused, and nearly erased.

Because we carry something they cannot own:

Ancient Memory.

Spiritual Power.

The Divine Connection.

They burned the priestesses.

Silenced the shamans.

Labeled the seers as mad.

But truth… doesn’t die.

It goes underground.

Deep into the roots.

Into the blood and womb.

Into us.

And we are rising again.

We are not here to beg for a seat.

We are the table.

The beginning and the knowing.

The Earth and the voice.

So tell the story again —

the real one.

Eve was not the first to fall.

She was the first to see.

And we —

we are her reflection.

We are awakening.