The Black Man is Not a Fool

The Black Man is Not a Fool; He is Wise

Written by Oreoluwa O. Olaleye

Let's get this straight: the Black man isn't stupid. He isn't lazy. He isn't lost.

He's just been; misread, misquoted, and misunderstood by a world too loud to listen and too proud to learn.

Before the castles of Europe, there were the cities of Kush, the libraries of Timbuktu, the bronze heads of Ife. While others were chasing shadows, the Black man was building soul.

He didn't sail the seas to claim other lands because he was too busy cultivating his own.

He didn't colonize the world because he had nothing to prove.

He was whole.

You think he was a fool because he didn't conquer? No. He was wise because he didn't need to.

Wisdom isn't always loud. Sometimes it's rooted, still, and patient.

Africa birthed the world, then watched as her children forgot her name. The ones who left returned centuries later, dressed in armor and arrogance, calling themselves discoverers.

Funny. How do you discover where your umbilical cord was buried?

These so-called colonizers? Just prodigal siblings who couldn't endure the test of time.

They traded soul for steel, harmony for hegemony, spirit for spectacle.

The African didn't forget. He remembered rhythm, remembered rain, remembered roots.

He didn't carve up the earth. He danced on it. Lived with it. Knew its names.

While others built empires to feel big, Africa built legacies to stay eternal.

Kingdoms didn't rise through greed, but through grace.

Power wasn't about how many you could kill, but how many you could feed.

Even in war, the Black man fought with rules. Even in pain, he knew balance. His strength wasn't in how hard he hit, but in how deeply he endured.

And let's be real: the world didn't leave Africa behind. It ran from her. Because truth this deep makes the shallow shake. Because spirit this rich makes the greedy nervous.

Colonization wasn't a flex. It was a failure; a sign of lost identity. You don't need to steal what you can grow. Unless you've forgotten how to plant.

Africa remembered. Even when dragged in chains, even when renamed and reshaped, she remembered.

That's why we still drum. Still sing. Still rise.

They took gold, but couldn't steal glory. They took names, but not knowing. They took people, but not purpose.

And still, here we are. Speaking. Building. Reclaiming.

We are not what they painted. We are the canvas, the color, and the story.

We didn't colonize because we didn't need to. Our greatness wasn't in how far we could reach, but in how deep we were rooted.

We had gods before missionaries. We had trade before borders. We had systems before colonial order.

Europe didn't invent civilization. It stumbled upon memory. A memory we carried in blood and bone.

The Bantu moved with balance. The Yoruba ruled with structure. The Ethiopians wrote with ink before most of Europe could spell its own name.

...but they don't teach you that in school. They show you chains, not crowns. Ships, not scripts.

They fear what we remember. Because once we remember who we are, the illusion breaks. And when the illusion breaks, so does their version of power.

The Black man is not a fool. He is fire, filtered through patience. He is thunder, holding back out of love.

He is not waiting for a seat at any table. He is the tree the table was carved from.

Our story isn't tragedy. It's transformation. It's not what they did to us, it's what we do next.

Because the comeback is always greater than the setback.

And this time, we're not asking for respect. We're building it.

So write it clearly: The Black man is not a fool. He is the first. The root. The rhythm. And he's not done.