Press Play...

 

I inhale and I can still smell you on my lips
Is this a dream?
The scent lingers and triggers  memories of laughter
Memories of healing
Experiences of elaborate ectasy
Your face flashes through my mind like it's going out of style
Let me rewind
Let's go back to the beginning when I was too shy to shine a spotlight your way
I watched you as you stood in the center of the afternoon sunlight
Whispering to myself I asked GOD to ease my heart as it drummed through my chest
My pulse raced and I arranged my feelings into formation
I kept my ray bans on to hide my admiration
That afternoon, we talked topics ranging from African apartheid to ratchet reality TV
I clung to your every word like a caterpillar afraid to shed from the cocoon
Is this a dream?
Fast forward to the time you let me take a tour of your scars
I traced them with my thumb like I was looking for directions on an MTA map
Carefully, I listened as you took off your cool to introduce me to your insecurities
Let's pause on the part where you got teary eyed as you stumbled to say
I love you
Is this a dream?
Yo! I'm sorry I'm late
I'm sorry that I initially allowed you to push me away
Instead I should have held you
& reminded you that you are the last slither of air that I need before I drown
As a matter of fact, I did drown
In your eyes
As corny as it sounds, I value your verbal intimacy
Is this a dream?
I was never looking for love
You provided me with loyalty
I never needed to second guess your word
You trusted me with your heart
I looked for respect
& you adjusted my crown
I got on my knees & cried out

GOD!
I'm terrified to let this guard down, I need you to show up and if this is your will you build a foundation that neither of us can ignore
Immediately, before I can seal it with an amen, you text me
Telling me that you want to start over
You told me that your heart won't let you let go this easily
Now
Let's press play
As we keep the pace & allow our love story to be written organically
Here's my hand, this time you lead.

My Nig*a; What's Good?!

When will we let the truth set us free?  

I'm not going to sugarcoat any of this, I have no intention to pacify white supremacists or soothe the feelings of white privilege. I also am not going to flatter my friends or foes who refer to each other as "this nigga". I will however address the large elephant in the room; the black plight. If nothing more, 2015 made it abundantly clear that the black struggle is not only real, it is consistently under attack. Black lives are in a state of emergency. In fact, we expect to be treated like diamonds but walk around illustrating that we don't believe to be worth more than a crack rock. Trust me when I say, we all have the power to teach people how to treat us. Currently, we praise the scammers or the illiterate hood-boogers but don't offer the same level of respect for our brothers and sisters who sacrifice their personal time to hold it down for their families and provide academic but also professional opportunities for themselves. We aren't even patient with them or take the time to consider how hard they work. We expect to be offered a seat at the table that gives us a grand chance at our forty acres and a mule by greeting each other with "My nigga wats good?!" 

Allow me to reintroduce some of you guys to the missing pages of American history. The word nigger was a term used to seal the deal after a black person was lynched for sport or recreation. Black people were hunted like cattle. They were tied at their hands & feet, sometimes burnt alive or raped, and were then hung in front of everyone for forms of entertainment. Regardless of how well they behaved , or how quick they were obedient, lynching became a favorite pastime or a quick form of punishment. & right before the last ounce of oxygen left their lungs, they heard the words " You had it coming nigger." Fast forward to present day, we use this word as a term of endearment or an informal greeting everyday. And in the same vein, we are enraged when the decision of no indictment is made for cases like Sandra Bland or Tamir Rice. How often do we hear caucasians (white people for those of us still sleeping) saying " Wassup Cracker!?" or " See you later my saltine!", never! 

The reality is clear, we are still being hunted for sport. It's ironic that too many of us are happlily sleepwalking and falling in line without being proactive. When will it be time for y'all to wake up instead of hitting the snooze button thirty times in a row. You are wasting time. You are losing money. You've lost sight of your worth the moment you settle for less than what you deserve. The words that you release from your mouth will never return to you to void. Plainly put you reap whatever you sow. The good , the bad, the indifferent. If all you ever see yourself as is just another nigga, that is all you'll ever be. Let's try this, no questions; stop giving people discounts on your personal currency. 

We have to arm ourselves with knowledge, with love for our melanin and respect for our journey. Pick up a book before you snapchat those nudes. Be a shoulder for a friend in need instead of uploading that thirst trap. Create a standard of respect for your name and all the sacrifices that were made just for you to have the option to not be the next vine of strange fruit. Balance your life with knowledge, love and encouragement. I'm not saying you can't have fun or enjoy your youth, but learn your worth first. Tamir Rice will never have the luxury to know how it feels to turn thirteen years old.  I hope that if nothing more, this post will make you uncomfortable & restless. I hope that you allow these words to make you get tired of feeling like a guest in masters house. Let that sink in. 

Equality; The Other Forbidden Fruit

I spent the summer of 2015 traveling, learning & working on the continent of Africa. Here's one of my journal posts regarding my experiences in July during Ramadan. Enjoy!

                                                  Equality; The Other Forbidden Fruit 

I remember when I was a child and the Rwanda genocide was first creating steam. Many media outlets were placing pressure on universities as well as companies who had financial investments in that region of Africa. I didn’t learn about it in a traditional way. Instead a television episode of A Different World introduced it to me. I was angry that so many people with the same ethnicity resorted to violence (and ultimately murder) as an immediate resolution to solve their problem. I was also angry that people from America didn’t seem to feel as passionately about the genocide as I did as a child. Fast forward to present day, I am a variety pack of feelings as I look around and the weight of physically being in Africa settles in. There are virtually a gazillion thoughts running through my mind because I keep wondering what can I do and how can I concretely create change…

For me these thoughts arrive in waves. Taking a casual walk through town you can clearly spot several similarities as well as differences from our society in New York to the people of Tanzania. Women, girls in particular; are often expected to stifle their individual voice. In New York, it is very common to see girls illustrate their sexuality through their clothing. They communicate messages through how little or even how form fitted their garments are. Here, even if you wanted to communicate that way it would never be accepted or allowed. Currently, many people are observing Ramadan and even the prostitutes or sex workers are dressed in traditional hijabs and respectful garments. I find it very intriguing how much more respectful people can be in town here. Another fact that has sparked my interest is the traffic here. Women have the opportunity to ride bikes but they choose not to. Instead, they are driven around on piki piki’s (motor scooters) and sit on the back with their legs together and their purse in their lap. Surprisngly, they manage to keep their back straight and everything in place. Women in New York cling around their motorcycle driver when riding.

Although it may not be initially apparent, women are the gems of this society. When we broke into teams for the cultural cooking lesson we got an opportunity to spend the bulk of our day with the “mama” of the home. I observed her sew, help us prepare a three course meal from scratch, iron, manually light the coal fire, nurse her ten month old niece and bathe her toddler. Her high level of multitasking made me appreciate my own mother’s sacrifice. It also showed me that the nucleus of this society (similar to New York) is a strong invested mother. The “mamas” or the “matriarchs” of the family ensure safety and also provide a standard for their household. There’s power in their approval. In the reverse, there’s power in their disapproval. 

My experience in the household also gave me hope for the girls of Utaani. These girls may not have as much of a variety of opportunities as women in other parts of the world; but they have a yearning desire to learn. They are sharp, witty but also very inquisitive. There’s genuine discipline in their willingness to respect the cultural standards of this community. There’s incredible power in the reality that one day they will be as respected as the “mamas” that raise and sacrifice for them. My experience thus far has concretely illustrated for me that it is not our abilities that show who we truly are, it is the power of our choices that define our character.