Stranger man compliment.
No one can convince you that you’re beautiful if you don’t see it yourself. You must first see it, and believe it, then when others tell you, you believe them too because you have seen it.
Saturday. 12th of July, 2025
On my way to my friend’s art exhibition, I’m wearing my new boots that I ordered last week and was delivered 2 days ago. I didn’t want to wear them yet, I wanted to save them for church tomorrow. But that’s not me. When I buy new things, especially clothes or shoes, I want to wear the next opportunity I get to go out. I’m not sure when or why I started doing that but I know it’s been a long long time since. So before I decided what dress I was going to wear, I was certain I would wear the boots. I eventually settled for a long, sleeveless African print dress. The fabric is called Ankara. I wear a black leather jacket on the dress, you can never be too sure with the weather in Berlin.
I’ve had my hair in twists for about three weeks now but today, I loosened the twists out, not completely though, because I wanted the frizzy look. Leave-in conditioner here, shea butter there and my hair looks ready to go. Final touches; a bold, orange earrings and my infamous lip combo, I’m out.
No one can convince you that you’re beautiful if you don’t see it yourself. You must first see it, and believe it, then when others tell you, you believe them too because you have seen it. I didn’t need compliments to know that I look absolutely stunning, but it felt good to know that I wasn’t the only one with working eyes in Berlin. I saw many heads turn, many faces flashing smiles of approval and healthy jealousy at me. In their faces I read many things—“I wish I had her color and hair”, “wow, she looks really good”, “that’s a pretty dress”, “girl, anyone told you you look good? Coz you do”—they didn’t have the courage to say.
At the exhibition, a small space that could take about thirty to forty people standing closely at once, I looked different. As I came in, everyone turned to look at me, at this point I am aware that my hair and probably earrings are the evangelists of my entire outfit. They flash smiles at me and I smile back to as many people as I could lock eyes with. I say hello to my friend, the host, who is busy tattooing another lady’s arm. I walk down the room and I say hello to more people, pour myself a glass of orange juice and then I sit. The first thing that came to mind as I look around is “you can never go wrong with wearing black in Berlin”. Ninety percent of the people are wearing something in black, including me. I was pleased with myself because this wasn’t something I was conscious of when I was putting the outfit together. Maybe I’m a Berliner after all.
Art is mostly an expression of who a person is at their core. I see my friend’s pieces, they are screaming her name. I stand in front of a particular piece that is my favorite and I quickly imagine that I am a wealthy woman who collects art. I don’t look too far from that anyway haha. It was nice, the imagination. My friend tells me a little bit about some of the paintings, introduces me to a few people and we chat for a bit before I made to leave. Ah, I should say, during the introduction, she said “this is Precious, she’s wants to be an influencer, no scratch that, she’s an influencer”. I laughed in agreement and concluded in my mind that I really like being friends with this girl. Her name is Shona.
Home is where you can be alone in your room and do whatever you want. On my way home, I start thinking of what to have for dinner. I had to do a 10 minute walk to the station. My feet is hurting because the boots have heels and Berlin walkways are cobble stones. On my way, a black man was walking towards me with a big grin on his face. I smile back quickly and I continue walking without turning back but I know he turned back to look at me. I felt his eyes on me at first and then I saw him from the corner of my eyes.
I’m four minutes away from the pizza shop. I decided to have pizza and alcohol free beer for dinner. The lights turn green and I’m crossing the road mindlessly, trying to decide if I should get Pizza Margaritas or Pizza Bolognese. And that’s when I hear someone say “Madame!”. I don’t look up, because I don’t think it’s me being called. And then I hear it again so I look up to see two men standing in front of me. One of these two strange men with a wide smile speaks and says “Madame, tu es fantastique! keep it up! Fantastique!”. I know that he is French and I should say “Merci beaucoup Monsieur” but my French eludes me and I speak German instead; “Dankeschön” I say quickly as we both walk away in opposite direction, still looking back but smiling and trying to make sure we cross the road before the light turns red.
As I walk to the pizza shop with a wide smile on my face, I forget the pain in my feet, I also forget to decide which pizza to buy and the only thing in my head is the stranger man’s compliment—fantastique!