SHE transcended some of the direst challenges that can face a woman and a human being to rise above her fortunes and her circumstances to stand triumphant as one of the most compellingly strong and vibrant women and human being of her day.
Poet, author and civil rights activist, Maya Angelou has died after suffering from heart problems for years. She passed away at her North Carolina home in the United States on Wednesday at the age of 86.

Most poets and writers verbalise their pain and Maya was no exception: “Up from a past rooted in pain, I arised,” she informed the world, because she refused to give in to the turbulences in the human condition and just lie down and die.

This phenomenal woman influenced ‘women of substance’ worldwide – women of no mean global standing, such as Oprah Winfrey, as she wrote: “From behind nights of terror and fear, I arise into a daybreak miraculously clear.”

Born on April 4, 1928, in St. Louis, Missouri, writer and civil rights activist Maya Angelou is known for her 1969 memoir, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’, which made literary history as the first nonfiction best-seller by an African-American woman. In 1971, Angelou published the Pulitzer Prize-nominated poetry collection, “Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Die”. She later wrote the poem, “On the Pulse of Morning” – one of her most famous works – which she recited at President Bill Clinton’s inauguration in 1993.
Angelou has received several honours throughout her career, including two NAACP Image Awards in the outstanding literary work (non-fiction) category, in 2005 and 2009.
Multi-talented barely seems to cover the depth and breadth of Maya Angelou’s accomplishments. She is an author, actress, screenwriter, dancer and poet. Born Marguerite Annie Johnson, Angelou had a difficult childhood. Her parents split up when she was very young, and she and her older brother, Bailey, were sent to live with their father’s mother, Anne Henderson, in Stamps, Arkansas.
As an African American, Angelou experienced firsthand racial prejudices and discrimination in Arkansas. She also suffered at the hands of a family associate around the age of 7: During a visit with her mother, Angelou was raped by her mother’s boyfriend. Then, as vengeance for the sexual assault, Angelou’s uncles killed the boyfriend. So traumatised by the experience, Angelou stopped talking. She returned to Arkansas and spent years as a virtual mute.
During World War II, Angelou moved to San Francisco, California, where she won a scholarship to study dance and acting at the California Labour School. Also during this time, Angelou became the first black female cable car conductor—a job she held only briefly, in San Francisco.
In 1944, a 16-year-old Angelou gave birth to a son, Guy (a short-lived high school relationship had led to the pregnancy), thereafter working a number of jobs to support herself and her child. In 1952, the future literary icon wed Anastasios Angelopulos, a Greek sailor from whom she took her professional name—a blend of her childhood nickname, “Maya,” and a shortened version of his surname.
In the mid-1950s, Angelou’s career as a performer began to take off. She landed a role in a touring production of Porgy and Bess, later appearing in the off-Broadway production Calypso Heat Wave (1957) and releasing her first album, Miss Calypso (1957). A member of the Harlem Writers Guild and a civil rights activist, Angelou organised and starred in the musical revue ‘Cabaret for Freedom’ as a benefit for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, also serving as the SCLC’s northern coordinator.
In 1961, Angelou appeared in an off-Broadway production of Jean Genet’s ‘The Blacks’ with James Earl Jones, Lou Gossett Jr. and Cicely Tyson. While the play earned strong reviews, Angelou moved on to other pursuits, spending much of the 1960s abroad; she first lived in Egypt and then in Ghana, working as an editor and a freelance writer. Angelou also held a position at the University of Ghana for a time.
After returning to the United States, Angelou was urged by friend and fellow writer James Baldwin to write about her life experiences. Her efforts resulted in the enormously successful 1969 memoir about her childhood and young adult years, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’, which made literary history as the first nonfiction best-seller by an African-American woman. The poignant work also made Angelou an international star.
Since publishing Caged Bird, Angelou continued to break new ground—not just artistically, but educationally and socially. She wrote the drama ‘Georgia, Georgia’ in 1972—becoming the first African-American woman to have her screenplay produced – and went on to earn a Tony Award nomination for her role in the play Look Away (1973) and an Emmy Award nomination for her work on the television miniseries Roots (1977), among other honors.
Angelou has written several autobiographies throughout her career, including All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986) and A Song Flung Up to Heaven (2002), but 1969’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings continues to be regarded as her most popular autobiographical work. She has also published several collections of poetry, including Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Die (1971), which was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.
One of Angelou’s most famous works is the poem ‘On the Pulse of Morning’, which she wrote especially for and recited at President Bill Clinton’s inaugural ceremony in January 1993 – marking the first inaugural recitation since 1961, when Robert Frost delivered his poem ‘The Gift Outright’ at President John F. Kennedy’s inauguration. Angelou went on to win a Grammy Award (best spoken word album) for the audio version of the poem.
In 1995, Angelou was lauded for remaining on The New York Times’ paperback nonfiction best-seller list for two years – the longest-running record in the chart’s history.
Seeking new creative challenges, Angelou made her directorial debut in 1998 with Down in the Delta, starring Alfre Woodard. She has also written a number of inspirational works, from the essay collection ‘Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now’ (1994) to her advice for young women in ‘Letter to My Daughter’ (2008). Interested in health, Angelou has even published cookbooks, including ‘Hallelujah! The Welcome Table: A Lifetime of Memories With Recipes’ (2005) and ‘Great Food, All Day Long’ (2010).
Angelou’s career has seen numerous accolades, including the Chicago International Film Festival’s 1998 Audience Choice Award and a nod from the Acapulco Black Film Festival in 1999 for Down in the Delta; and two NAACP Image Awards in the outstanding literary work (nonfiction) category, for her 2005 cookbook and 2008’s Letter to My Daughter.
An icon – a legend in her own lifetime, has died, but she still rises and will continue to rise as she challenges the human spirit in oppressed people for generations to come.

When Maya Angelou died on Wednesday at age 86, she left behind a legacy of resilience. The Jim Crow South – which raised and shaped her – held terrors so fathomless as to render anyone’s capacity for love inert. But hers survived; it even flourished.

Documents of her struggle spoke to generations of admirers, yet despite their universality, they stayed rooted in singularities unique to her existence: Always distinctly black, and impossible to separate from her womanhood.

Perhaps no greater testament to this exists than her 1978 poem ‘Still I Rise’:

‘You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

MAYA ANGELOU