We’ve established a term here at ATEtraks that manifests itself to be a living part of each of us: W.O.E., or in other words, Women Of Excellence. To define ourselves as such certainly weighs a great deal of importance on our shoulders– after all, how do we embody such a term on a daily basis without over-exhausting our bodies and brains? Our teachers of all things exceptional come from none other than our grandmothers, who have led by example as to how to realize our full potential. They are culinary geniuses and tough mentors, using their own lives as proof that it’s possible to be honest with ourselves and still recognize the great power we yield.

Find out more about the women who’ve shaped us…..

     As much as history explains that the role of Indian women has been one of subservience, I can honestly say that it was a lesson I never learned. Woven within me are the very strands of defiance that rewrote our own family’s history books and translated into PhD’s and flourishing businesses, all under the wings of our women. We’ve had no other choice– if we are meant to achieve more success than our elders, we have some mountains to climb.
     She taught me never to be a derivation of the man you keep– despite my grandfather being the founder of the Samuel clan, she is still the CEO, CFO and CIO. She can speak five languages and like her granddaughter, is attached to her cellphone. The realm of her influence has reached not only her 4 kids and 7 grandkids, but countless others that she’s managed to reach in her 75 years. She is a socialite that would put Paris to shame, a business woman that could trump Trump and a chef that could run Wolfgang Puck out of business. She’s taught me that learning has no limits– she is the first to tell me about new gadgets that have debuted in the market, share article ideas or business ventures, and can take apart and reassemble a computer (no, really). My dad and her talk everyday via Skype, and I receive emails a few times a week, either with a Bible proverb to keep my morals in check or with stories to share about social or family events I’m missing. At 75 years old, each day is a chance to let life continue to mold her into something fierce.
     It is with her, sharing secret reservations about myself and hearing affirmations from the woman who’s catalyzed a movement to revise stereotypes, that I am most at home. Her message comes in different forms but it always reads: I am woman, hear me roar.
     As sudden as a crack of a whip, the room can erupt into a forum of razored opinions and forceful questions, mindlessly articulated by none other than the over-active female you’ve come to know as SamSun, but I can’t help it– it’s in my blood. Being independent or strong willed was never a choice but rather an obligation, and one that I’m destined to continue for the rest of my life. I am a passionate, advantageous woman and I am a direct reflection of the original W.O.E., Susan Samuel.

-SamSun

     She was Vernice, Grandma, Prim Rose, or Mommy depending on who was calling her. Grandma was the glue that held the many pieces of a complex puzzle I like to call my family together. I remember every weekend my mother would pack all of us into the car and we would drive out to New York to spend the weekend with grandma. She’d always have dinner ready for all of us, and couldn’t wait to fill our bellies with some of her cooking. After we all were fed she’d pull pajamas out for everyone, we’d all shower, but not to long as not to “run up her current”. It would be 6AM the next morning and grandma would be up running around- clothes in the washer, porridge on the stove, and prepping for dinner later that night. I always would wonder how she possessed so much energy, here I was in my youthful years and I could barely keep up. When grandma wasn’t in the house, we could find her in her backyard nurturing her veggies and flowers—hence the nickname Prim Rose.
     In 1966, the great Civil Rights era, grandma emigrated from her native island of Jamaica to New York determined to make the “American dream” one she could own. She settled in upstate New York working as a maid. It was long, strenuous, backbreaking labor but she did it, and eventually saved up enough money to bring over the rest of her family, her three kids. She then moved everyone to Brooklyn where she set root and raised her family that had grown from three little ones to four. After working many years, she finally became a homeowner armed with just a high school education and an infinite amount of perseverance. Grandma did it all, she was the only woman I knew who could drive better from the passengers seat than the driver could drive from the drivers seat.
     Sitting here reflecting on how much of a wonderful woman she was makes me smile be everything she herself amounted to be. Our life successes aren’t measured by how many degrees we obtain, cars we own, or dollars we earn, but what others say about the type of person we were while living.

-Nakeya B.

     How does one truly describe a woman? I was raised with the idea that in order to be successful, a woman must be a chameleon. She must be able to exist in the world and hold one major skill; adaptation. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, a woman must be able to combat adversity with the ability to adapt and surpass her surroundings, all while keeping her face to the sun. She must assess her life with a hunger that is unaffected by external influences. I learned that the power that comes with being female is both dangerous and uncontainable. From the size and curves of her brain to the arch of her foot when placed in a high heel, a woman of excellence can dominate a room with such ease. The individual, who taught me exactly how to do this, was a woman by the name of Paula Maria Cabrera-Sanchez. Born to Spanish immigrants in the Dominican Republic, she was a citizen of a country whose women were constantly subjected to the ruthlessness of the viscous dictator Rafael Leonidas Trujillo (I dare you to google his name). She married a modest shoe maker at a sweet sixteen years of age, and proceeded to give birth and fill the bellies of 13 children, my father being one of them.
Known as “Mamá” to everyone and anyone, my grandmother and I shared a very short but life altering relationship. I grew up here in America and only saw her during the 3 month periods I spent back in the homeland every summer since I could walk. The last 9 years of her life were spent with in an abusive relationship with a man named Alzheimer’s, and being mentally crippled prevented the asking of many questions that I had hoped to have answered. She was the hardest working woman that my father had ever seen. She raised an enormous family while suffering in extreme poverty. She encouraged her son, explaining that the key to power was knowledge, and if that meant he had to leave his tropical barrio for the harsh ways of Manhattan…then so be it. Just like all who knew her, he obeyed.
     Being a tough bitch wasn’t the only characteristic that I inherited from Paula Maria, I see the clarity of her soul every time I look in the mirror. One of my obscure bi-racial characteristics happens to be her green eyes. Out of all 58 grandchildren, I am the only one to have the random phenotype. Although the weight of poverty made the air in her home thicker than the humidity outside, she never lost her composure or her grace, even on her death bead. My childhood was full of stories of how beautiful she was, and how she’d make your entire abdomen throb after listening to some of her jokes. She was a broad with swagger and had the ability to make 6 platanos and one small chicken feed 16 mouths. I don’t think anyone can say that that isn’t pretty fucking amazing. Her wrinkles were like brush strokes that painted a masterpiece of a woman who had worked herself to the bone. I have learned the meaning of ambition and perseverance because of her and have refused to let opportunities escape me.
     The most valuable lesson I learned from Paula Maria happened on the day she taught me how to say the word “Fracaso” (failure) in Spanish. Once I had successfully repeated it, she told me to never let it slip out of my mouth again. She had convinced me that it was the worst of all curse words, successfully eliminating it from my vocabulary.

-Doctor Sanchez