I Write What I Like, Part II @iwwil-blog - Tumblr Blog

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My first gif. I've got big plans for this one - lol.

I think the new trolley cars are here. H street. #dc

#dc

So this happened today....#crazythingsisee

#crazythingsisee

10 US Dollars, 20 Turkish Lira, and 1600 Nigerian Naira equal roughly the same amount. #randomfact

#randomfact

Lesson of the Day: Sunday, December 29, 2013

Lesson: Never forget the ancestors

Today's post is a day late because it was kind of heavy and I had to let it marinate. Yesterday we went to Badagry, a coastal town just west of Lagos. It's the site of a slaving port and a noted barracoon. Google Seriki Abass Williams. That man....I can't even go into detail.

I was prepared for emotion, but I have never experienced anything like that in my life. When I left I was exhausted like I had been in a fight with Mike Tyson. I waited a day and I'm still struggling with the words. In the interest of time I think I'll skip to the important parts.

I started to lose composure when I saw the tools used to brace lips and pierce then for a lock to be inserted so their mouths would be shut. Then we were shown the items that Abass traded people for - 40 slaves for an umbrella, 100 for a cannon, 55 for a dish, etc. As we were traveling through this port, we saw the people who are still living in the town in the space where all this happened. It was business as usual. This was not a departure from what happened during the time of slavery. There were free people living in the area allowed to remain free so long as they obeyed the curfew the British set for them. Next, we got on a boat and went to Gberefu Island where enslaved Africans were transported and worked while awaiting shipment. We walked the stretch down the path toward the Atlantic Ocean where they would get on large vessel that would take them away from their native land presumably forever. First, we stopped at the "slaves spirit attenuation well" where they were forced to drink water to make them less aggressive and resistant to their new lifestyle. For some the water was too much and they died on the spot. They were buried in mass graves nearby. By the time we got to the shore and saw the massive barbecue/party/outdoor recreation on the site, I lost it completely. I cannot describe what that felt like. The entire trek was a lot to process.

As far as I know, my ancestors on all sides endured enslavement. I don't know the details, but my existence is proof that survival is possible. The lesson for me is that whatever got them through the horror of enslavement is still accessible and relevant today. So I remember them and I honor them. I will never forget them. Ashe.

If a standard picture is worth a thousand words, this one is worth a million. This is the island off the coast of Badagry. The point of departure for countless enslaved Africans now a site for cookouts, tent revivials, and all manner of outdoor recreation. Soon to be the home of Marlon Jackson's 5 star hotel, golf course, and Jackson 5 museum. #thiscantbelife

#thiscantbelife

Lesson of the Day: Saturday, December 28, 2013

Lesson 1: I have or will be provided with everything I need to survive

Lesson 2: Everything happens for a reason

This is actually my second time writing the lesson of the day. I’m writing from my phone using the tumblr app which as done me well thus far. I finished my previous post, got a friend to check it, and pushed publish. I don’t know what happened, but the post did not publish. In the midst of my outburst of objection, my friend reminded me that everything happens for a reason. Writing is not an easy task for me, but I made a commitment to myself that I would finish. I pushed through the sleepiness (I’m 6 hours ahead of Eastern time) and postponed packing my bag to make sure that I could finish. There’s no words to describe how irritated I am right now. I have to apply yesterday’s lesson - shift happens - and get over it. So here I am writing again. -_-

The focus of today’s post is this awesome sister named Ifanike. In a word, she is fly. Oshun personified, she is style, grace, love, laughter, sugar, spice, a beloved mother, and a devoted wife. Maya Angelou once spoke about her mother and said “She may laugh and joke, but she does not play”. So it is with Ifanike. She is hilarious and brings joy to every moment, but she is serious and not to be taken lightly. Throughout our trip she has been an invaluable resource. In many ways she has been Iyanla - a great mother - fixing our lives individually and collectively with her wisdom and humor.

For me, communing with Ifanike is as much about the blessing of her singular being as well as the tradition that she represents. Ifanike is a soul sista. Even though I just met her, I know who she is and can’t help but love her. She reminds me of the many mothers, aunties, sisters, and friends who are always right there - wherever there may be - to weep with me or tell me to suck it up and put on my big girl draws. These beautiful women have a way of manifesting themselves in my life right when I need them the most. It’s like God transforms and disguises herself in them. Just when I’m feeling like I can’t go on, here comes God in the form of a sister/mother/friend.

As I’ve grown older God has been manifesting in the form of little sisters, nieces, and daughters who watch me the same way I watched all the women before me. Their bright eyes and inquisitive gazes force me to stand upright in the truth of who I am and be better. Ifanike’s amazing superstar of a daughter has been the reminder of that tradition. Her eagerness to find and tell the truth fearlessly (and many times humorously) in the way that only children can inspires me. Her hearty giggle and soft afropuff remind me of the girl I used to be while her mother serves as an example of the woman I strive to be. I needed to be reminded that I am not the first nor the last.

I am thankful for Ifanike, her brilliant husband, and her outstanding children. I love their love and I’m so encouraged by it. I’m also thankful to all of the people, especially the women, who have come into my life right when I needed them to deliver the messages I needed to hear. There will never be enough words to say thank you. Modupe!

Lesson of the Day: Friday, December 27, 2013

One of the more frustrating elements of this trip is that the infrastructure of Nigeria is not that great. A lot of public works functions that I took for granted in the US are missing. There's not really a trash collection system, traffic lights are rare, and hot showers are a luxury.

(Disclaimer: There's many reasons why the infrastructure is terrible. None of them being that Nigeria, Africa, or African people are pathological and/or solely responsible for the current situation. I would go into that, but this isn't a political commentary.)

One of the most common occurrences is power failure. It happens so often that it doesn't really bother me any more. Trying to tally up how many times the power went out is like trying to calculate my daily caloric intake - I could do it, but I have to think about it. I'm guessing maybe we had 5 blackouts today. I'm really not sure. Stateside, even the slightest threat of a storm which may knock out the power sends everyone to the store like it's Y2K again. Here, power failure is simply a way of life. Earlier tonight I was using the internet to talk with my grandmother. Mid sentence the power dropped and the call was disconnected. Many of my housemates were using electricity at the moment. No one panicked or screamed. We just sighed and did something else. Eventually, the power will come back on and we will resume what we were doing. Or we won't. It doesn't matter that much. C'est la vie.

That brings me to the lesson: shift happens. I was really enjoying talking to my grandmother (who is AWESOME by the way), but the call was dropped. Nothing I can do about it. In a few minutes the power returned, but the devices need a few minutes to reconnect. When my phone did connect, the app I was using wouldn't let me place the call. The only reason I was somewhat pressed about calling her back is because I didn't want her to think I got eaten by a wild hyena or something and start frantically calling my mom. (The last thing I need is for my grandma to commission a search party for me in Nigeria. Don't sleep - my grandma is a G and she would find a way to make that happen.) Jokes aside, if it were anyone else I'd just catch them when I can. In the grand scheme of things a call dropping because of a power outage doesn't matter. Neither does the YouTube clip stalling or the TV program turning off. The things that matter are continually unaffected. We are always safe and we aren't in danger. We can deal with a little temporary darkness.

So it is with life. Relationships crumble, rejections come, money gets scarce, and plans become foiled. Shift happens! The social climate of the US seems to thrive on fear and anxiety. We have to get molested at the airport because of a fear of terrorists. People scheme and slither about for fear of job scarcity. Far worse, folks spend their entire lives allowing others to narrowly define them for fear of being labeled other. How tragic.

This is not to say that there isn't danger in the world - there absolutely is. Theoretically someone could come to our flat and try to break in during one of the blackouts, but I'm not going to drop what I'm doing to assume a posture of fear waiting for that abstraction to manifest into reality. Similarly, what sense does it make that I spend hours mentally exhausting all the possibilities of what could happen or lamenting what did happen? It happened. How will I respond? Letting go of fear/anxiety is a process that I haven't completely mastered. However, I'm going to keep trying because shift happens. Like the great philosopher Janelle Monae once said: "Whether you're high or low you've got to tip on the tightrope."

"....and I'm still tippin' on it!"

Homemade chicken stew from farm fresh vegetables and a chicken killed and plucked at the house! Yesssss......#winning

#winning

Lesson of the Day: Thursday, December 26, 2013

My awesome friend Brandon Christopher suggested I write a lesson of the day while I’m in Nigeria. That’s a great idea that I support, but I only have about 5 days left. I’m not sure I’ll have internet access the last 3, so I’ll get a good 2 :) Here we go.

Today the head trip was that a Nigerian man who works on the snack bar on the campus where I’m staying told me there are two countries he loves more than his native land: the United States and Israel. He said he loves those nations so much he would die for them. This is the same man I met my first night here whose eyes lit up when I told him I live in the States. He told me how much he loves Obama and he wanted me to tell him he spoke English with an American accent. This post is not about him. I don’t know that man and I have no idea why he has his views, but I respect him as a person and his ability to make decisions the way he sees fit. I won’t assume anything about him. I will, however, point to the lesson I learned.

The saying goes that the grass always looks greener on the other side. Sometimes it actually is greener because it’s Astroturf. Usually people say this to make the point that one should be grateful for what they have without complaint. Meh.

Let’s go back to the snack bar guy. When he told me he would die for the United States I looked at him like he was a 3 headed alien offering me a hit from a crack pipe. It sounded so incredibly absurd. I just wondered why. First, what could he possible see in the United States (or Israel for that matter) that inspired so much dedication that he would give his life? Even if he was employing hyperbole, why would he even say that? Second, what about Nigeria and his relationship to it that would make him have affinity for foreign nations over the land of his forefathers? I wasn’t able to muster enough of whatever I needed (patience, compassion, understanding, tolerance, etc) to ask these questions and find the answers. The whole conversation triggered my allergies.

I highly doubt he understands the realities of the life he would lead if he transported his brown-skinned male body to America and I didn't feel like explaining it to him. I just wanted my sandwich. What I know for sure is that it's very easy to want what we don't have in belief that the alternative is somehow better than the present. Oftentimes, we don't realize that somewhere in the world someone might desperately want something that we take for granted. This isn't to say that we shouldn't evaluate our present realities and always strive for better - we absolutely should. Settling is never a good option, but neither is wishing away the present. There are many things in life we can't control, but we can control the way we respond to the challenges set before us.

I give thanks for the grass on my side of the fence even when I see a lawn full of weeds and brown patches. I got limbs that work and life provides me with plenty of rain and fertilizer. I'll be just fine. :)

#Istanbul to #Lagos through the #Nashville filter. Happy Saturday! :)

#lagos #nashville #istanbul

Funny how life works. Spirit led me here today.

This is my great-great grandmother Jessie born in 1881. Her daddy, Adam, was born in 1856. His mother, Anna, lived to be 103 and died somewhere between 1915 and 1926. The story goes that the family name Funderburk came from the slave owner. It wasn't that long ago. #neverforget

#neverforget

theyearofelan

As some of you know, I had a bit of an altercation today with a woman named Diane on an airplane.

I had a great time antagonizing her, reading your responses, and just generally trying to have fun with an irritating person. But I did have a point and I just want to put it out there.

I know I can...

Unprocessed thoughts - sing a Black girl song

I don't even have all the words for this yet.

Black Girls Rock came on when I was in the Dominican Republic for a conference. I was unaware of #whitegirlsrock and all the other folly in real time, but it was waiting for me when my plane landed back in the U.S. What I did know of the happenings back "home" was that blackface was making its resurgence for Halloween. *deep sigh*. I got on the plane to D.R. tired. Beyond physical fatigue I was emotionally and spiritually tired. 2013 has worn. me. out. I am so tired I can't even recall why. I have cried for Trayvon and Aiyana. I relieved Oscar's murder. I have marched and asked why and debated and discussed and taught and endured and survived. The week or so before I left I saw 12 Years A Slave and experienced another Howard Homecoming. I. am. tired.

So I jumped on the plane to get a break from this country for a few days. I wanted to leave the cold East Coast for a few days in the sun, see old friends, meet new ones, and take a moment to breathe and just be. That is not what happened. I forgot that my spirit came to Earth in a Black girl body (and a dark one at that). I forgot that the myth of white supremacy, sexism, patriarchy, xenophobia, and a general decline in respect of humanity and spread to the whole world infecting everyone like a poison. I also happened to come to DR in the midst of the country's latest assault on Haitians. The whole situation is a mess.

In the U.S. I am often told I don't look "American" (whatever the heck that is - maybe it's a compliment), but in DR I looked Haitian - almost (my locs confused everyone). As it has been communicated to me, to be Haitian in DR is to be dirty, less than, unkempt, troublesome, devalued, and otherwise unworthy of basic human respect. This is a problem. For 5 days, I was stared at, whispered about, pointed to, hyper sexualized, and inspected as if I were a circus freak on the loose. CAN I LIVE?! I went to work out one morning and the Dominican police stopped and ogled me. One said, "We just wanna watch so we can learn" while they peered at me. I couldn't make this up if I tried. Thankfully I wasn't physically abused, but there was still damage done.

I acknowledge that it's not just a Black girl problem. There are issues with Black people. My brotherfriend got stopped and frisked without explanation as if he was in New York. Me and the other two African women (one from the Diaspora, one from the Continent) with him were upset, but he reminded us that's just the reality of being a Black man and kept on going. Still there is something particular about being a Black woman. Ntozake Shange said it like this “bein alive & bein a woman & bein colored is a metaphysical dilemma/I haven’t conquered yet”

I hate that this is our reality. That marginalization is normal. I particularly hate the fact that me and my Black girl sisters often have to sing our songs alone. Jill Scott and Stacey Ann Chin sing our song. Rosa Clemente sings our song in Spanish and in English. Unfortunately, Lou Jing had to sing it in Chinese. I read a post that captured what I felt perfectly. Here's an excerpt:

Dear Brothers:

I guess I want my song. We sisters have been singing to each other for a long time. We have a small chorus of brothers who join in from time to time. But really, we have been force-fed songs for everybody else. We know all of the words to our songs by heart and our songs are pretty, but they don’t soothe our souls like when…you sing. I don’t expect * them * to sing, but I want you to sing. my. song. Love me. Sing to me. Protect me. Make this pain go away. Don’t create this pain. Is it too much to ask to go to sleep and wake up to the melody of you singing my song? I want to go through the day with your song for me playing over and over again in my head. I want to have random memories of your lyrics cross my mind and make me smile. That’s how I want to survive, with you and I singing each other through unjust verdicts and heinous videos and anything the world throws at us. I know how to sing your song. I sing it with a hoodie on, I sing it in front of prisons and courthouses, I sing it every chance I get, I promise you I do.

sing. my. song.

Don’t hate me because I love you. We could sing together but my voice is tired. I just want you to sing for a little while.

Please.

An American African in Santo Domingo. This is the fort of the old colonial city. Africans were brought here as goods to be bought and sold. That's the reason why I'm not really smiling. I felt the heaviness in the space. Heaviness and anger. Thank God for the strength of the ancestors.

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