During my long stay in Africa, I came to look at African women in a different light. Not just because of their beauty, their elegance, and their sensuality. African men may well foster the illusion that they are the 'kings', an illusion is after all just that an illusion. The real cornerstones of African society, carved out of hard granite, are the women. Hard labour. Having children and raising them. Making a living and raking, raking and raking some more to keep your head above water. A little stall with three bunches of bananas, pineapple cut into strips, a handful of potatoes. A coin is money too, and those who save them might perhaps be able to pay the school fees. Maybe. The master of the house looks on passively, like an additional child, a little unsteady on his feet from being out all night. Where women gather, the talk turns to men and their odd ways. Like sisters the women whisper, listen, comfort, and encourage. But still. And yet they remain women first and foremost, a feeling so strong, stronger than the issues of the day it seems. Would it be an exaggeration to say that the need to feel desirable is a universal trait? Because in spite of the struggle for life African women want to be beautiful, appeal to the other sex, be young and stay young. There's not an ounce of difference between the countryside and the city. Hairdressing is a lucrative business there. No stone is left unturned in the battle against transience. Even there. Are they after the attention of men, of whom they have very little good to say? Surely not And life went on like this, without any important accelerations. Until the advent of the internet and smartphones. The world has become a village. A cliché that became a cliché because it?s true. What remained hidden before, has now become visible