"...You have no control,Who lives, who dies, who tells your story...". This is an excerpt from The last song in the Musical - Hamilton, Directed by Lin-Manuel Miranda. That line speaks volumes, and honestly, it was the first thing that came to I mind when I read the theme of this essay. In the last scene , the lady who played Eliza Schuyler - Hamilton's wife, is singing this song. And the song eulogises the person of Alexander Hamilton, his life, achievement , his trials, his STORY. 

That last scene was a eureka moment. It reinforces the reminder that we all have one life to live, we all die eventually, and then our stories get told. Whether we like it or not, our stories get told. And it matters what who tells it. But we have no control over that after we're gone. 

It is true that we have no control who lives and who dies, and who tells our story. But, to a greater extent we are the first custodians of our stories, the first bearers of the experiences that shaped us, we chart the course of our lives and determine how we are remembered. 

As a young woman, living in a third world country in West Africa where certain "funny" ideologies on womanhood thrive, the need to apply wisdom in living my life is a daily necessity. If the "don'ts" are not attempting to cripple your resolve, then the false narratives on who you are because of your non-conformity to certain ludicrous societal expectations will almost bend you to acquiescesence. This is the plight of many women in Africa and everywhere else. It requires an insane amount of will power to defy the norms and break the mould. And throughout history, many women have shattered glass ceilings and posterity carries their stories on their lips, and in their hearts and minds.

It is important that we, not just women now, live our lives and tell our stories so that others may by our stories be inspired to live and tell theirs. 

Our stories are us, and we are our stories. And I believe it is hurtful for one's personal story to be suppressed or invalidated for whatever reason. And I would not want my story to be suppressed and manipulated as I sojourn through this world.

My life has been influenced by people from different walks of life. Real persons and fictional characters alike. I have drawn lessons and wisdom from the stories of others. People who have walked this earth and those who still live on, have all played a vital role in shaping who I am and my story still in the making. 

My inspiration would not come to fruition if their stories were manipulated or suppressed. It is in the way they told their stories and the way that posterity told it that counts. So you see, it matters who tells your story, it matters who tells my story. You may wonder why, come with me.

The stories that shaped us are interwoven with the stories of the ones who own the stories and those who told us these stories. The power of story telling is incomparable and it's effects are far reaching than we can comprehend. The annals of history have been shared by millions of voices clamouring for dominance. Sometimes obscuring the voices of others in their shadows. Stories of wars, inequality, dissenting ideologies and the likes, each have the hint of authenticity and half truths.

This piece delves into the intricacies of personal stories and the importance of our own history, whether as a woman, man, or child ; reiterating the significance of living the way we want to be remembered, and the inherent power that storytelling wields.

At its core, storytelling is a reflection of power. The storyteller wields the ability to mold perceptions, influence opinions, and immortalize events. Imagine if we live life in such a manner that our stories need not be manipulated? Such that your person and the narrative being published actually weigh the same in the scales of perception. Throughout history, dominant narratives have often been constructed by those in power, shaping the historical record to suit their perspectives and reinforce their authority. In this light, the question becomes not just about who tells the story, but whose stories are being told and whose voices are being silenced.

"Who tells your story?" extends beyond historical accounts; it permeates our daily lives, weaving personal narratives and influencing societal norms. The power to define one's story lies not only in the hands of the storyteller but also in the conscious choices made by individuals to assert their own narratives, resist "mandatory" stereotypes, and challenge societal expectations.

However, recently in this age of digital connectivity, the democratization of storytelling has emerged as a powerful force. Social media platforms and online spaces provide individuals with the tools to share their stories on a global scale, bypassing traditional gatekeepers. This shift challenges established narratives, giving rise to a more decentralized and diverse tapestry of human experiences. It comes with repercussions. Bad narratives spread faster and are likely to be believed more that the original. Consequently, the owners of the stories contend with malicious traditional gatekeepers once again, and the vicious cycle continues.

With this newfound freedom comes the responsibility of discernment. The digital landscape can be a double-edged sword, amplifying both authentic narratives and misrepresentations. As individuals navigate this vast sea of stories, critical thinking becomes paramount to discern fact from fiction, truth from propaganda. But, truthfully, how many persons do due diligence to take every story online with a pinch of salt?

Marginalized voices across the globe, long relegated to the periphery, are challenging the traditional narrative structures. The call for diverse and inclusive storytelling has become a rallying cry, demanding that the portrait of history reflects the multitude of experiences that compose the human journey. The storyteller's responsibility extends beyond mere recounting; it involves acknowledging the biases inherent in storytelling and actively seeking out suppressed voices.

Our histories are not a monolithic entity; it is a tapestry woven with threads of diverse identities, experiences, and struggles. Intersectionality becomes a crucial lens through which to explore the interconnected layers of people's lives—considering race, class, sexuality, and other facets. By recognizing and amplifying the stories of people from various backgrounds, we enrich our understanding of the complexities woven into the fabric of our personal history.

Certain thoughts still peep through my mind, and yours too...

Who holds the pen to document this tales?

Is it the historian who chronicles the rise and fall of civilisation?

Or the journalist who captures ephemeral moments of truth?

Is it the social media manager who knows next to nothing about you?

Or the artist who immortalizes emotions by the swing of his brush?

To end, the question "Who tells your story?" prompts us to critically examine the dynamics of storytelling, recognizing the inherent power imbalances and advocating for a more inclusive and diverse representation of human experiences.

 As we navigate the currents of history and personal narratives, it is pertinent to understand that the responsibility of shaping our stories rests not at the cross roads where the one who wields the pen lives and the myriad of experiences that are embedded in the human existence.

But who tells my story? I do. I tell my story. And as much as I want to deny it, society does too.

So now, dear reader, Who tells your story?

#WM2024