This book is a love letter- to the women who came before me, to the girls growing into their power, and to the queens whose names were almost forgotten. Daughters of the Dust was born from the soil of silence. For too long, the stories of African queens-warriors, leaders, visionaries-have been buried beneath colonial lies, dismissed in classrooms, or reduced to myths. But I wanted to bring them back to life. Not just as history, but as poetry. Every chapter in this book was written with reverence, rage, and love. Reverence for their resilience. Rage at their erasure. Love for the legacy they've left in every Black woman who dares to stand tall.
These twenty queens ruled across time, across nations, and across empires. Some held swords. Some held babies. Some led armies. Some ruled in exile. But all of them-every single one-carried the weight of their people, their gender, and their skin on shoulders the world underestimated. This book is not meant to be final. It is only a beginning. There are hundreds-thousands-of African queens whose stories are still waiting to be unearthed. If this book makes you curious, makes you question, or makes you proud- then let it push you further. Research them. Speak their names. Tell their stories to your children. Because the dust remembers. And now, so do we. - Denise Fryson
This book is a love letter- to the women who came before me, to the girls growing into their power, and to the queens whose names were almost forgotten. Daughters of the Dust was born from the soil of silence. For too long, the stories of African queens-warriors, leaders, visionaries-have been buried beneath colonial lies, dismissed in classrooms, or reduced to myths. But I wanted to bring them back to life. Not just as history, but as poetry. Every chapter in this book was written with reverence, rage, and love. Reverence for their resilience. Rage at their erasure. Love for the legacy they've left in every Black woman who dares to stand tall.
These twenty queens ruled across time, across nations, and across empires. Some held swords. Some held babies. Some led armies. Some ruled in exile. But all of them-every single one-carried the weight of their people, their gender, and their skin on shoulders the world underestimated. This book is not meant to be final. It is only a beginning. There are hundreds-thousands-of African queens whose stories are still waiting to be unearthed. If this book makes you curious, makes you question, or makes you proud- then let it push you further. Research them. Speak their names. Tell their stories to your children. Because the dust remembers. And now, so do we. - Denise Fryson