by Adrian Boot
00:00
00:00
[ Play ]
[ Unmute ]
[ Full Screen ]
Saint Heron Presents
The Womack Originals

A black man in London driving a blue Rolls-Royce is sideswiped by a van pulling out of a parking lot. It’s not serious as far as accidents go, no one is injured, but the white woman driving the van is irate. Her rage propels her out of her car to confront the man. As she is cursing him, the police appear. It doesn’t take them long to recognize the man driving the Rolls. An officer turns to the woman and tells her to calm down. “Do you know who this is?” he asks. “Teardrops.” It’s the mid-1990s.

Teardrops. At the officer’s mention of the song title, the angry white woman crumples to the ground. Crying, she runs toward the black man and sinks to her knees. She kisses his hand, begging his forgiveness. 

In the Rolls-Royce three little girls are in the backseat, watching.

Today the girls –Zekuumba (BG), Zeimani, and Kucha (KC) Zekkariyas—are known professionally as The Womack Sisters.

“In that moment I saw the power of music,” Zeimani says of the accident scene in London.

Composed by Linda & Cecil Womack,“Teardrops” was an international success, selling more than 10 million copies worldwide and charting at number 3 in the UK. At the time of the accident in London, Womack & Womack were American musical royalty, and had written songs for Teddy Pendergrass, Patti LaBelle, Chaka Khan, and the O’Jays. They were at the height of their powers in America, but success and fame were not enough. They wanted to explore fresh territory, create a new beginning, but first they had to contend with the past.

A few years before the London incident, Cecil had a life-changing encounter with a white man in West Virginia, where the Womack family had built a home on 200 acres of land. The white man referred to himself as an “original Womack,” implying that Cecil’s ancestors must have belonged to his ancestors. “When our father heard that, I think he took it upon himself to reinstate our true worth and give something back to the family.”

The white man’s arrogance angered Cecil, but it also inspired him. He started to do research on the family. Eventually, he was able to trace the family lineage back to the Benin ethnic group in Nigeria. His investigation led him to a name: Zekkariyas, which means ‘gather my people.’ “It was less a name change than an undoing, or a returning to the pride that they had prior to the slave trade,” BG explains. In the years to come, Cecil and Linda would perform with their children as The House of Zekkariyas.

By the early 1990s, Cecil and Linda had grown restless with the conventions of American life and become eager to distance themselves from stifling institutions and traditions. Their private quest quickly became public. They were pressured to make the rounds of talk shows and tell the story of their name change as a classic back-to-Africa journey. “My parents weren’t really looking to revive a movement, but be the change,” BG says. Friends in politics confirmed their suspicions that they were under government surveillance. “Any time someone is inspiring change or awareness, there is going to be a threat.” Especially if that someone is black, at least in America. Once Linda and Cecil left the United States, they were free from the danger posed by other people’s fears and desires.

Freedom and authenticity. These twin ambitions served as guides for the parents as they made their way around the world and established in various countries, such as Ireland, Thailand, South Africa, London, and the Bahamas. At a young age, the children understood that their parents were determined to exercise the liberty that they had been denied when they were young. “They wanted us to be just as vigilant in figuring out life for ourselves,” Zeimani explains.

That determination affected the children’s education. “In Australia, we had a homeschooling thing set up,” BG recalls. “Our father would tutor us. When we were on the road, we would tutor each other.” Their parents’ approach to schooling was thorough and pragmatic. KC says of her mother: “She wanted us to focus on the things that would allow us to evolve, as opposed to the standards of what is expected.”

Linda had attended college while Cecil left high school before graduating. “He was self-educated to the point where it was crazy,” BG says. Cecil Womack delivered all 7 of the children that he had with Linda, even massaging a breech birth into position. He had observed the way his wife had been treated by white health care workers when she was in an American hospital, “like she was made of stone,” BG recalls. He enlisted a midwife for the first baby, but for the rest of the children, it was just Cecil and Linda.

That was the way he wanted it, one of the main reasons he had wanted to leave America in the first place. “What he wanted was to have his partner by his side,” BG says. “Having his family with him was mandatory.” The Womacks left the US because they wanted to keep their family intact. Cecil insisted on keeping his children close, even when management and fans resisted. “Our parents got a lot of flak for how they raised us,” Zeimani says.

Once they were abroad, the family could forge its own path. For the most part, that path was shaped by Cecil’s vision. “Dad moved on intuition,” the Womack sisters say. Cecil Womack had premonitions. “He would often feel that us being in a certain place was bad for us. Sometimes it would be in the middle of the week and he would say, I think we need to move back to such and such city in Europe,” BG remembers. Cecil’s intuition kept the family safe through Hurricane Andrew in 1992, as well as the 2004 tsunami that destroyed the entire village in Bangkok where the Womacks had a home. “When we were very young, we thought our parents were invincible. As we got older, we realized that, okay, they’re still human. It’s just that humans are very intuitive, much more magical, than we give ourselves credit for,” says BG.

As a husband and father, Cecil Womack set a high bar, recalls KC. He was domestic, intuitive, creative, and headstrong. Linda’s strength was more subtle. “From a young age, I thought that because my mother was quiet and respectful that she was submissive. But I later found out that a lot of dad’s ideas were her ideas. She was a silent powerhouse.” BG agrees. “Sometimes you can lead from alongside someone,” she says. Linda was the business representative of the Womack & Womack brand.

Head and neck. Linda and Cecil Womack were partners in every sense of the word. Their ambitions as parents and artists were inextricably bound. Linda Womack gave birth to 7 children while touring 5 albums. “I have so much respect for the way she carried herself through having all of us. She seemed like no matter what, nothing would break her from her beliefs. She did it with an ease,” says BG. Buried in that ease were the embers of a painful past. Linda had lost two brothers and had a sister who suffered from severe mental illness. Her father never wanted her to become a performer, and her mother had her own struggles. Linda found peace and courage in her spirituality, and in her life with Cecil. Together they modeled a union that awed the girls when they were young. “Are there that many men out there will be like my dad?” BG remembers asking herself. “I felt I had to put my career first. After a while, I started to feel like I wasn’t expressing the balance that I want to have in my life.”

Life abroad for the family was vivid if not balanced. The passion of fans in Europe was bottomless. Linda and Cecil were constantly in demand. “A lot of our upbringing was spent in waiting rooms, waiting for them to get off stage, waiting for them to be parents again.” When they were off stage, family life was thrilling. The sisters recall the brilliant green of their sheep farm in Dublin, the warm, inviting culture of Bangkok, long family car trips across the French countryside. For two years, the parents owned a home in Nairobi. They were in a dispute with their record label over the rights to their musical catalogue when the home was vandalized. They poured all of their energy into rebuilding the house, putting all of the kids to work. “We did all the painting and plastering. Our dad wanted to make sure we knew how to do everything. Now we can all pretty much do anything as far as creating a house from scratch.”

When the girls reached their late teens, it was time for them to build their own house, musically speaking. They were drawn back to the United States for the same reason that their parents left: family. In order to move forward as musicians, the sisters needed to find out for themselves what drove their parents away from their homeland, what they had lost as well as gained

Cecil and Linda were not happy with their daughters’ decision to return to America. In the beautiful world they had created for their children, the parents had simultaneously sheltered them from the reality of the country they left behind. Zemaini remembers watching “Roots” as a traumatic experience. Documentaries about American police brutality terrified them. Suddenly, they were confronted with truth of their vulnerability as black people. Still, the sisters had to begin their journey, just as their parents had embarked upon their own. “Being on the road was like being part of a circus, hotel to hotel, studio to studio. When you do that, you have so much distraction, it’s hard to figure out who you are and what you want to make your life about.”

Today, the Womack Sisters know exactly what their lives and music are about: healing. That’s the word they return to again and again to describe their power and their purpose. “I don’t think there is enough healing in music,” Zeimani says. “I want to make music that makes people stronger.”

Coming back to the States felt like emerging from a coma. It was another undoing, and another beginning. It is here in America where KC has come into her own as a songwriter, and the sisters have refined their destiny: to continue the family legacy and breathe new life into the music of their ancestors. “It’s like they were doctors,” the sisters say of their father and uncles, recalling how fans cried and rejoiced, even caught the Holy Spirit, when the Womack brothers, known as The Valentinos, performed. The Womack Sisters’ 2017 single “Darling” is a woman’s response to The Valentinos 1963 song, “Darling come on home.”

“Darling” was born after a long period of soul searching and learning to navigate the waters of the music industry on their own. “Luckily for us, our parents didn’t sugar coat it,” says BG. “They told us it would be hell and high water to achieve our dreams.” What the sisters learned from years of watching Cecil and Linda is that integrity must come first. After several encounters with people who were motivated more by greed than artistry, and others who tried to change their sound, the sisters decided: “If we’re going to do it, let’s get together with some people that are going to allow us to be who we are and deliver our message,” explains Zeimani.

Their message is made of healing, authenticity, and love. They carry this message in their sound and in their bodies. It is their gift and their birthright. “To reach the world in a way that even our grandfather didn’t get a chance to,” says KC, “that’s what we want to give.”

Written by Emily Bernard, author of the award-winning essay collection "Black is the Body"
Dossier Design by Sabla Stays for Saint Heron
Editorial Manager by Shantel Aurora-Pass for Saint Heron
Creative Directed and Edited by Solange Knowles for Saint Heron
Song by The Womack Sisters, an exclusive cover of “The Blessings Song” by Michael White ( produced by Troy Johnson )
Photos Courtesy of the Womack family