Growing up, I was always fascinated by stories of Black girls and women that made the news due to tragic circumstances. It wasn’t some morbidity that drew me to their cases; it was a sense of familiarity. I was looking at faces that were similar to mine and that made me identify with these victims or survivors. I would think about their families, their loved ones whose hearts ached while these women were missing, who were angered by them being mistreated, or who mourned because they were murdered.
In my 20s, if I’m honest with myself, I engaged in some reckless behaviors. I walked home at night alone. I would go out with friends and end up at an after-party with unfamiliar faces in strange neighborhoods. I did things that I thought were stereotypical for a carefree youth—in reality, I was thoughtless of my own safety and didn’t lean on the lessons my mother, a former police officer, taught me as a child about my being cautious of my company and surroundings.
The women in these stories I report on are more than the highlight clip on the ten o’clock news. These are and were our sisters, many of whom endured deception and/or violence. We shouldn’t sweep their stories under the rug and move on to the next hot topic. We need to remember what they went through in order to change patterns of behavior. We need to teach our children how to protect themselves from predators who seek to do them harm. We need to teach each other how to avoid those who whisper sweet nothings in our ears but also use emotional or physical abuse to control us. We need to recognize that all that glitters isn’t gold. We need to highlight stories of our missing Black girls because their stories go under-reported in the media — if they’re reported at all. We cannot control the actions of those who are set in their diabolical ways, but we can learn from one another’s experiences.
Why is it that, according to the National Crime Information Center of the FBI, approximately 33 percent of people reported missing are Black, but that isn’t reflective of the evening news?
We need to bring awareness to the stories of our Black girls who have been mistreated, are missing, and who have been murdered because they matter. Their lives matter. They are real people, not just sensationalized news bulletins. Let’s keep their stories alive.
I launched this site as a passion project without knowing how long it would endure. I don’t have a team of writers. I didn’t bring in anyone to build the site. I don’t bring in an income from keeping Our Black Girls moving forward with each year. It is an investment—personally, professionally, emotionally, mentally, and financially—that requires sacrifices, but is well worth it. I’m grateful that you’re here and I hope the stories of these girls and women touch your heart as they have mine.
Just like many of you, I work a full-time job that occupies much of my time. I try my best to advertise on social media platforms, but I’m constantly rejected and told that missing Black women is a “political issue” that goes against their policies. This is a grassroots website that is birthed out of a heartfelt desire to make sure that these women, who are underrepresented, aren’t forgotten. We have to look out for one another, and this is my way of making sure my sisters’ voices are heard. I sincerely appreciate you for taking the time to visit OBG.