QUEEN OF SOUL

So I was told that my little cousin (the one on the left in the picture) is saving up all her money (including her tooth-fairy money) in hopes of taking a trip to Disney World in April. And then she, over the phone, asked me if I wanted to go. How do you explain to a six-year-old that the very thought of Disney makes your vomit want to vomit. Perhaps I'm too dramatic? And now, according to my mother I'm going. According to me, in April, Lord willing, I will be in Tennessee--but ONLY to see Aretha Franklin perform at the Ryman. Now, for anyone who is wondering how even the idea of trafficking the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH could indigest my indigestion well, once upon a time (a few years back) I came across some interesting but not shocking information. I came up on this.

And typically, when I come upon things, it's for a purpose. As ankh has revealed itself to me as a

big puzzle and if you do things according to the will of Allah, Allah grants you wisdom , knowledge and understanding. You begin to see the purpose, the interconnectivity (sp?) and the truth. And it's the truth that sets you free. So if I am to be at Disney World I will undoubtedly be the free-spirited one spewing truth on the flight, in the hotel room and standing in line for the "Tea Cup" ride...that's if I go. Meanwhile, I gotta start saving up for Ms. Franklin, because at prices like $185-$270 per ticket , daydreaming (and by that I mean the song playing in my room) might be the closest I get to "The Queen of Soul" nah (forget the quotation marks) THE QUEEN OF SOUL.

P.S. This goes undiscussed but Aretha Franklin was a self-taught piano prodigy by the time she entered into her teens:)

TO MY BROTHER, MR. WARSAME...from the East even unto the West...

"The Africans will call for that and if you don't give that amount - $7.77trn - the Africans will go to where you have taken these trillions. They have the right and they will bring the money back." --Moamer Al-Gathafi (his preferred spelling of his name)

First I give thanks to Allah for giving me a mind that seeks knowledge, wisdom and understanding. And I give thanks for your being. You, Mr. Warsame, are necessary. And despite giving up TV and radio three years ago--I thank Allah for leading me to your words.For every person who hears your music and adds Somalia to their vocabulary and to alist of generic dinner party conversation topics to make themselves appear "deep" yet nevertruly thinking one thing about Somalia and Somali suffering there's a me, who can't get the imageof our brother, a young Somali man holding, hands behind his back, gripping tightly a human bone (lower-leg).And as I write and once again replay that image-the purpose behind this email slips me...I was outside the U.N. along with hundreds of brothers supporting Mr.Gathafi when he gave his speech and I thoughtabout The Security Council and the work that it is supposed to do...Then I think of Nelson Mandela being interviewed by a journalist [Ted Koppel] who was trying to get him to speak ill of Mr. Fidel Castro, Mr. Mandela firmly said, "Your enemies are not my enemies." And I think of one of my greatest teachers, Minister Louis Farrakhan and all the hell he's caught for teaching truth and not Euro-approved lies. In fact, he's the one (Mashallah) who showed me what a free black man could be and to seek out truth no matter whose feelings it may hurt or who it may expose--no matter how powerful they are deemed. God is greatest. And it's amazing just how free the truth sets you. Ironically as this country celebrates Columbus Day (Cristobal Colon Day, a "Jew" the father of chattel slavery in the Americas)-- even the truth behind that goes unknown to the masses and I should probably tie that in to Somalia because I heard you say once in an interview that people either liken the Somali pirate situation to Pirates of the Carribean or they think oh those crazy Somalis...But honestly most people don't do either because most people don't know that the word is "Somali" and not "Somalian" :) and once they turn the page or the channel... But, I have a few questions about Somalia that you haven't already answered 7.7 trillion times!

1. I don't know how much you delve into the roots (history) but I have been learning a lot about Colourism and how it was a tool used to divide and be it among Native Americans, African-Americans, Africans this tool of Euro, Euro-Arab raping women (indigenous) producing lighter children only to feed them a supremacist ideology so that they can feel no kinship but disdain to their darker roots and using them to conquer has been overlooked in African history especially. I once ran around thinking that Africans just sold other Africans into slavery until God dawned on me that this is not OUR nature. Iqra. And so I DO. To this day though, the ugly left-over ideology rears its head be it in terms like "Jareer" or "Barria "(Ethiopia). I always discuss this with my elders but never any Somalis because I don't know any. So once again, you are the sole representative. Which leads me to my first question. During the heinous slave trade known as the Arab Slave Trade, I read Somalis weren't enslaved, if this is true (?) did Somalis ever fight for those that were being enslaved?

I'll stop at that one as I'm not paying you tuition and my questions can get...

:)

Elikia M’bokolo, April 1998, Le Monde diplomatique. Quote:"The African continent was bled of its human resources via all possible routes. Across the Sahara, through the Red Sea, from the Indian Ocean ports and across the Atlantic. At least ten centuries of slavery for the benefit of the Muslim countries (from the ninth to the nineteenth)." He continues: "Four million slaves exported via the Red Sea, another four million through the Swahili ports of the Indian Ocean, perhaps as many as nine million along the trans-Saharan caravan route, and eleven to twenty million (depending on the author) across the Atlantic Ocean"[1]

SORRY I'VE BEEN BUSY

GOD DON'T MAKE NO MISTAKES

GOD/Allah/Elohim is so faithful!!! Well, everyone, I haven't blogged in over a month, which officially makes me a non-blogger's blogger. But I have a really good excuse. Sleep. Yes. I have been sleeping with the sun--when it goes down, so do I. Too, I began teaching Creative Writing at P.S. 208 for the summer and it's been amazing! Being somewhere with something to do at 8 A.M. every morning has been new for me. But I just got my evaluation and shhhh...I got a perfect score--the only instructor to achieve this or so I was told--but maybe everyone got told this! It's really all about the kids and I'm so happy that they are having a good time. Wednesday is the final day of the program and I will miss the kids and the neighborhood! The neighborhood really embraced my kids who roamed around playing reporter. I'll post pictures later. For the record, I have to disagree with Busta Rhymes who in his song "In the Ghetto" says, "If you ain't never been to the @#%*! ghetto don't come to the @#%*! ghetto!"

I say wherever my people are there I will be--including and especially the ghetto. However, I'm being asked to work in a really "priveleged" neighborhood this school year--this could be a first and I still haven't decided. Lord willing, wherever I end up, it will be where I am supposed to be.

To my friend Angel: I know that you're reading this blog. I can't wait to sift through your blogs that I've missed!!!

And speaking of missing, I've been missing out on a lot lately in the world of athletics--The Dream Team or Redeem Team is in full effect! LeBron--wow!

Dwyane Wade--wow! Meanwhile, I own vintage DREAM TEAM jerseys--Magic Johnson and Joe Dumars to be exact. Barcelona 1992...How old was I then? 10. Wow.

I gotta take pictures so you'll believe me. But I must say the most amazing thing I read today (yes, I'm like months late to this story) is that Dwyane Wade bought his mother a church!!!

Glory be to God!

And in more sporting news, no no, I'm not going to mention Thierry Henry (check back tomorrow for that ;) , today it's my favorite American athlete that I have to praise!

My little cousin began his first day of 10th grade today--he's living away from home, private school, basketball...He's going to be a good man. I have nothing to do with his athletics, but his character--that's my interest--and so far, so good! Amen.

IT'S A VIRGIN THING, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND

I’ve always been the virgin in the family, so to speak. And that’s fine with me, “not gettin any” and Danielle have been intrinsic since adolescence or around the time when it became cool to talk and more importantly do things that I didn’t and still don’t.
When your first college roommate (currently serving in the U.S. Army stationed in Germany) sends you a MySpace message reading “You still ain’t get none yet?”
Or you’re in 11th grade and your friends say, “Make sure to call me when YOU get some!” Talk about call-waiting. But ya know it’s ‘like that,’ it’s been like that and I don’t mind.
Granted I’ve had my share of friends that are speed-racers or as the ladies in the beauty shops would say “fast” but I also have had some sensible friends who like my speed racer buddies all after riding The Intercourse Express told me the ride, be it short or long , is not worth the cost and if they could do it again- they wouldn’t do IT again.
But more importantly, I have known women who have not had the opportunity to be virgins fore their virginity was stolen by someone during their childhood. Note stolen is PC for rape. But I’ve noticed many of my female acquaintances prefer the term molested. Rape is too harsh. Too vile. I mean rape is what we grew up seeing in those movies where the woman couldn’t get out of bed or couldn’t move forward or was left broken after she was “raped.” Yet stories of “molestation” are very common. I started piecing how common together after I, while waiting on the (6) at a subway platform in the Bronx began talking to a woman about the hypersexual imagery on television and my project… and how some women were raped causing them to become overprotective of their daughters…etc. I must say God is faithful, because how do you begin talking about this to a stranger. How did this conversation start? I know you’re wondering. Well, I saw a young mom maneuvering a baby and a big baby stroller up an escalator. So I asked to snap her picture, she gave the OK and the rest was herstory.
Come to find out, she was molested at an early age. Of course she never sought counseling or talked about it but…this isn’t TV. Fore many women get out of bed the next morning after being “molested” and ACT as if nothing happened…
So, I don’t want people in any way think that I am an Airhead to the trials and tribulations of my sisters because I promote virginity. No not at all, you see I realized that this was a little too big to not mention. It’s too big and too common as I can remember (very fresh still) when, one day while cooking up tofu and seaweed for my roommate and best-friend (both who barely tasted the food) we were all stationed in the kitchen and I had read some article on some superstar who’d been raped and so I began commenting on how almost every girl I’ve befriended has had some kind of story of molestation/rape in their past and how I never have a story to share in those intimate moments when it’s like ‘Ok now it’s my turn to share’ and my bf chimes in with “It happened to me.” I was like “What?”
That stamped it. There was something to this. And, like the girls/women I’ve known before her, she never told.
“It was my cousin,” she said. “My mom would’ve killed him.”
Yup. And I can go on and on from molestation stories to abortion stories.
Abortion. Let me get this in too, fore I can already hear the cheers or girls who’ve gone through this in support of my promoting virginity or the “hate” from girls who will say well, she doesn’t know anything…Let the record show that for the last two summers I’ve been given details of abortions: one pill kill and another vacuum…
Writing this is explainably-odd. Sigh. I’m telling a lot here.
Try having the details of an abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
No no rewind. Try having someone ask you your opinion of abortion two days before they’re scheduled to have one then try having the details of that abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
Afterwards, I remember the girl thanking me for letting her spiel. She said that it was “Cathartic.”
So, America, world…that’s me in a blogshell.
When it comes to the opposite sex I am cautious. I am picky.
And with all that being said, I don’t believe that anyone is perfect.
I hear this so often (from men especially) it’s become funny they say,“But no one is perfect!”
Duh. But I don’t let people use that as a cop out.
Ask any athlete—perfection is what you strive for be it attainable or not. If you’re not striving to be the best why be in the game?
Sex is beautiful. Hey, it got me here.
But Lord willing, for me, there won’t be teething rings before wedding rings.
Because there is thing called a “covenant” but that’s too much for this little blog.
And yes, I do have to bring up God because he brought me up. And no, I have no desire to promote any one religion be it Islam, Christianity or Scientology.
But without Help, I wouldn’t be here writing this and you wouldn’t be here reading it.
We live in a new time. Jumping off the bridge is no longer uncommon—it’s fashionable. I was in Starbucks in a restroom line and this lady in front of me is wearing these amazing six-inch heels. So I ask her if the comfort level. And we get to talking and she says, “Yeah, I think pain is fashionable.”
Perhaps your friendly neighborhood virgin missed something? I haven’t had TV in a years or read any fashion mags lately. And just today I did say that for the last couple of months (after someone sent me a text asking where I’ve been) I feel like I’ve been out in the wilderness but um…
No comment.
There is a reason that I’ve heard abortion details over sushi and molestation stories on trains… For everyone who seeks to understand their purpose it will be revealed.
Not to harbor those stories but to share them along with my virginity.
My mother deserves credit here, she taught me how to share and care. But more importantly she was frank (regarding sex). When I was a kid people thought I knew too much too early but really she vaccinated me against BS.
Isn’t snake anti-venom made out of snake venom and flu shots aren’t they …
Vaccinations are not 100 percent effective but they dramatically lower your risk, right?
And with that being said, I don’t think that it could be any clearer after reading this what I’m about and if not, stick around if you’re interested. Gosh, I thank my mom for being a good tree. Mashallah!
I know that in this world of positive self-deprecation and wonderfully false humility it’s cool to be down on oneself but I don’t think that pain or following is fashionable—even if it is. Now before someone asks me if I think I’m “cute,” “special” or “somebody?” Let me ask you. Do you like you? Meanwhile, I have a bag of clothes begging to be laundered; sinuses, a new job (that still won’t afford me to pay rent and do laundry in the same week) and now have to screen my phone calls because I STILL haven’t learned the art of saying no to folks (men) when they ask for the phone number. Ladies, perhaps you’ve noticed that men have gotten smarter—they now call your phone IMMEDIATELY after getting your number saying it’s so that you can have their number—but really it’s just to ensure you’ve given them the right number…Don’t we all share this story—guess that makes me a C student, eh? But in some areas I score higher than average and those areas are the ones in which I seek to tutor.
Too it’s summertime, and if there’s one thing we’re all in search of, it’s good fruit ;)






[Chalkboard art by my super G*rl Scout Khayla, 12 ]

LOST IN TRANSLATION

So a Frenchman and an American are on the (E) Train sharing a copy of the Wall Street Journal when the Frenchman leans over to the American and says “Read this.”
Some woman had written in to an advice columnist for advice on colors to pack on her vacation.
No, she wasn’t headed to the valley of the Crips and Bloods...she was going to New Zealand and Fiji (hello, she was writing into WSJ).
The Frenchman says to the American, “Is she serious?”
Haha and so began this New Yorker’s bond with a Parisian.
“Poodle?” I said. “C’mon you have to know poodle!” “It’s a classic French stereotype—the woman walking in fact it’s called a French poodle!!!”
Two hours and 14 stereotypes (French and American) later J. and I see a woman walking a poodle in SoHo.
“Ah you mean that dog?” he said. A woman and her poodle had just walked past us on Thompson St.
“Yes! That’s a poodle!”
“But we are not in Paris we are in Soho,” he said.
“Maybe she was French,” I said.
“No, she was not French,” he said.
On the Staten Island Ferry the Frenchman got his first glimpse of his country's most famous gift to the United States, The Statue of Liberty. One hour later we'd moved on to discussing

another gift from France, Tony Parker. But not the Spurs' Tony Parker no, no Tony Parker the rapper. The two should never be confused. LOL.

"A joke!" J. said as we choked from laughter. Global fact #1. Athletes shouldn’t rap!
“In France we have rappers fake gangsters who imitate U.S…”
“U.S. Oh No,” I said. “You actually see the U.S. rap videos on TV in France?”
“Yes of course!” he said proudly. “I have a YO! MTV RAPS t-shirt.'
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“Why Oh No?” he said.
“Because,” I said, “the images of women, the women in these videos are…”
“Undressed,” he finished.
And at that, for the first time, I had to laugh.
Earlier in the day I had replied
“Whoohoo!” to a grey-haired Frenchman on the corner of 53td and Madison who’d spoken something to me (in French) which I (surprise, surprise) did not understand.
All I understood was Thierry Henry
“What did he say?” I whispered to J.?
J said, "He said is that you Thierry Henry?”
"Oh!" (note: for the day I unretired my Henry Euro 2008 jersey)
“Now can you explain this “Whoohoo?”” J asked as we headed up an escalator from the Dining Concourse of Grand Central Station. “I have a friend who lived here for some years and moved back to Paris and he says this, this “Whoohoo!?”
For 12 hours we took on New York and had conversation on
stinky cheeses, wine, advertising, photography, “whoohoo,” FAO Schwartz, SeanJohn, Thierry Henry, Volvic water, IAM (he says = best rap group in France), Statue of Liberty, real estate, Napoleon, Disney movies, non-Disney movies, Sophia Coppola, Thierry Henry, Mauritania, McDonald’s, roaches, rats, (He said,“I’ve heard that roaches here are bigger than the rats?”) hip hop, Domenech, Thierry Henry, “trainers” (sneakers), Harlem, Ethiopian food, Ginger Ale, Abercrombie & Fitch and every gap in-between…
But all day—the most funny, outside of Tony Parker rapping, was my French.
My favorite breakfast, an item I have nearly 3 mornings a week, I can not correctly pronounce. “Croissant.” And after going back and forth with J. for 5 minutes I made the decision that when in France I will have baguette. I can’t order what I cannot say.
” In fact,” I said, “I’m just not going to pronounce anything French involving Rs.”
“Could be a problem,” he said.
“Why,” I said.
“Ahm,” he said. “Thierry Henry.”

Touché :-D

I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE FIRST TIME

Thierry Henry is here.

(to truly understand this post you'll have to have read all my other posts)
He’s in New York.
He’s practically in my backyard and I, his biggest American supporter, am just sitting here reading about the raping of Congolese women, eating leftover bits of spinach scone and trying to figure out why in the great big round world am I not on Chrystie Street cheering, screaming and holding some kind of ridiculous sign that reads I VIRGIN HENRY!
I hang my head in shame—my focus should solely be on these Congolese women. This is a huge gigantoid big deal and AGH!! Your friendly neighborhood virgin has lost her mind. Wasn't I just envisioning this scenario like two days ago?

Perhaps I’m not a Princess. She would’ve been on the pitch waiting at dawn. However, I didn’t find out until the afternoon. And just as I was about to splash my face with water and run downtown—I didn’t. My Girl Scouts would be soooooooo dissapointed in me!
Perhaps I have a social anxiety disorder? Nah. I met a Parisian (on his first visit to New York City) yesterday and already have a date showing him around tomorrow. But for now, my heart hurts (the combo of Congo and this is too much…I mean the Congo by itself is enough but) and my tummy feels funny and I’m sure my smile has ran away. I’m very excited for the kids who’ll get to see him perform though. I really hope some of my Mexican bros. have a good view and are up front. They afterall are the ones I see rocking the most soccer gear around here (don’t believe me—one need only to get off the (1) Train 240something/last stop in the Bronx on a Sunday afternoon and take a look around)…
Oh well, maybe it’s just not my time to see the genius at play.
Or maybe I really am crazy. Or maybe True Love really does WAIT ;)

... It's my backyard.



And it feels like ooooooBut you don't know my nameAnd I swear it feels like ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooYou don't know my name(round and round and round we go, will you ever know)