Things That Make You Go Mmmh!

Challenge to "RE"

2012-01-16T21:40:00.001-08:00

I am at that transitional stage in life, where I am re-evaluating my purpose. Maybe it’s the fact that my work has become a story of corruption, working tirelessly to line someone else’ coffers. There is something about maturing and wanting to have value. I think it hits all of us, these second stage jitters. We can’t hang out in clubs all night anymore, or chase girls under the guise that we are drunk. We don’t have any excuse to blow money on drinks, nor can we bounce right back from a hangover. Our bodies don’t react as quickly and things we could do very easily, now require stretching and preparation. At this stage we are expected to be ‘doing’ things with our life, supposed to have accumulations of some sort. Yet what starts to happen slowly, like a creeper making its way up a wall, is the lingering feeling of regret, something left undone. It’s an innate human condition, the need to give back or do something that will leave a legacy. That’s the thing that nags, continues to yip at your heels like a puppy in the yard. It doesn’t quite impede your walk, but once in a while the tug at the cuff of your pants is just enough to make you look down. So working in a job that does not feed the nagging feeling is beginning to become cumbersome. It’s not like my resume of deeds is short, nor can I ignore the accomplishments and strides made over the years. However, it is hollowed by the next memo, the next conference call, all of which serve only to prove that, “We the willing, led by the unknowing are willing to do the impossible for the ungrateful, and we have done so much for so little that we are now prepared to do anything for nothing.” – Nurse’ credo. We recently had a family moment where we sat and watched CNN Heroes, people who are out there, changing the world around them, little by little. There was a Ugandan guy that collects the discarded soap from hotels and recycles it for distribution in his homeland. I was touched by not only his inventiveness, but the fact that such a simple gesture goes miles in the scope of changing someone’s life. Who would have thought cleanliness, which can be a national crisis in many a country could be attained by so simple a mechanism. So in 2012, the year I have coined “RE,” I am looking to re-invigorate my own desire to change the world. I want to re-establish the artist in me, and re-affirm my cultural identity. I want to require those around me to respect my boundaries and re-examine their motives. I want to re-connect with meaningful friends and recognize their value. I seek to resign myself to my passion and resolve to be dogged in its pursuit. As a requirement of my labor the by-product of my remuneration will be love. I will re-state my proclamations to reinforce my determination. I won’t be redundant in my riposte; rather they will reverberate with renown. I will not relinquish my power to be relegated to obscurity. I will stand stoic and resolute. I will recommit to God's plan for my life and respond with vigor. I challenge you to RE!

True meaning of Christmas

2011-12-24T10:26:00.000-08:00

My daughter was born in a Boston snowstorm, a few days before Christmas. As inches and inches of snow fell, we had been pushing for close to fifteen hours and she still would not budge. That was over 13 years ago and I can remember every minute, every latent contraction, every hard hand squeeze that woke me out of an exhausted slumber. It is the most vivid memory I have of any experience. Somewhat surreal now, it felt like slow motion back then. So for me, Christmas takes on a whole different tone as we celebrate several birthdays back to back. This year, a had a nephew graduate from college, daughter's birthday and the impending birthday of my biggest star, Jesus. Yet that's not what we keep seeing on television. The retailers have us believing that Christmas is about gift giving. At the office a sheet goes around asking people to sign up for Secret Santa and the amount is $25.00. This is for you to draw a name out of a bag so you can buy a gift for someone you probably do not appreciate. What's most interesting is that in this current economy, folks are still willing to buy into the largesse of retail rhetoric and spend money on things that will be discarded in two weeks. I got signed up for two Secret Santa's and that is already $50.00. None of the people I drew from the pot have $25.00 relationships with me. Consumerism is so easy to stoke, the constant reminders of what we need, what we must have and how they will make great gifts. We are being programmed and are willing accomplices in programming our children. The biggest gift we give our offspring is the imprinted memories of spending money to bring smiles on Christmas morning by tearing through wrapping paper. Tiny tots like little robots screaming and shouting about the very toy they will forget about tomorrow. I have to admit, I love getting stuff, I still have that little kid in me, but I am a big kid now. I love electronic toys but have realized that they become obsolete as soon as I walk out the store. The financially astute will tell you that you should budget for Christmas, put something away each month to ensure that you can line the pockets of Macy's, Kohl's, Best Buy, Target or Walmart. Don't forget the good cheer and spreading of good will. Apparently goodwill is most experienced when you spend your money on things that won't last. Not being a Grinch or anything, but growing up seems to make you focus on the things that are most important. Relationships, friendships, family. So this year I am giving gifts of my time, I don't have much of that left. In fact, in my world, it's probably the most precious thing I can give anyone. This is not a prideful stance nor is it cocky, it's the truth. My time is the most important gift I have. My daughter asks for nothing else but my time and so does my wife. I am realizing that there's really nothing more precious as your days ebb. That how you spend every waking moment is a clear indication of what you hold important.So some time in church will be critical, some food and merriment with family and of course quality time with my girls. I long ago recognized Jesus as the reason for the season. I have added to this understanding, when I am long dead and gone, folks won't remember the tie or sweater I gave them. They won't reminisce about the Sade CD or toolbox I bout Christmas of '97. hat They won't recall what the card said three years ago or whether I ever wore that scarf they gifted me. No, what they will remember are the times we spent together, good or bad. The things that were said and the environment and conditions they were said under. So for now I seek to create the environment and conditions for a great Christmas and none of those involves standing in long lines at so called 70% sales that seem to go on all year buying gifts that will end up being returned or placed on the -"How could they buy that?"- for me pile.

Allergic to Peanuts

2011-12-11T18:26:00.000-08:00

It was Thanksgiving recently, and in America we all took in the chance to thank God for small mercies. My diligent work on a decadent German Chocolate cake -I have to admit-surprised even me. As we sat around the dinner table, the topic of food allergies came up. As it turns out, my niece -who has a severe allergy to peanuts- was determined to taste the cake, which has pecans in it. So as the topic of slamming an injection in her chest went on, we diverted to the prevalence of peanut allergies amongst kids. In my daughter's school, parents have been advised not to send their children to school with any peanut products. We are raising children who have severe allergies to peanuts. Where did this come from? Why now? It's becoming normal to see food labels that indicate - made with machinery used to process food with nuts. What is alarming is that there seems to be very little root information as to a cause. So for my own curiosity I did a little research and found some things that were interesting. WebMD reports: "One theory for the rise, the hygiene hypothesis, holds that “we’ve become very good at preventing natural infections, and the immune system is not chewing on things it would normally be chewing on,” Sicherer tells WebMD. “We’re not living on farms anymore, we have lots of antibiotics, but seeing an increase means that something has changed in the environment.” The theory suggests that “clean living” and more medication use leaves immune systems in a condition that is more prone to attack harmless proteins, such as those in foods, pollens, and animal dander. The increase also could be related, he says, to the way peanuts are processed. “We roast peanuts, and potentially, roasting it makes a more allergenic food out of it,” he says. “Some people theorize that the oil in peanut butter might make it more allergenic. Roasting peanuts changes the sugar and makes the protein more stable to digestion and easier for the immune system to attack." Things that we have introduced or removed from our food ecosystems are now becoming dangerous to us. Life as it would appear, is a continuously evolving event. Organisms, cells, bacteria, mutate, adapt and change. Our bodies are in a constantly changing state as they were built to adapt to changes in the environment. These changes can be positive or negative and allergies are an example of a positive reaction turning negative. What is ultimately clear is that we need to start being more conscious of what we put in our bodies and the possible long term effects of improper diet. Films such as, 'Food Inc' and 'Forks over Knives' provide invaluable information about why we need to become vigilant about our diet. Sadly, our very own government is not as adamant in this fight as big commerce rides on the shoulders of all the additives and rubbish that we find in food today. So unfortunately, Epipens will become as much a part of our culture as diapers.

Made of Gold

2011-10-27T17:14:00.000-07:00

So today while picking up my medicine from my neighborhood pharmacist, he tells me that my name means "Made of Gold" in Hindi. Never heard that one before and it caused me to pause. "Made of Gold," boy have I not felt anywhere near to that in years. Always special, just never "Made of Gold". The Sesame street song come to mind, "Who are the people in your neighborhood?" Well my pharmacist's a person in my neighborhood, and he made me feel good, feel special.

Now, I know what my name means in Lunda and I'm not sure if what he says is true (I will be checking), however he had no other reason to say it except we are almost on first name basis. Sad to say I have needed prescription medication for so long that I developed a relationship with the Pharmacist, but the fact that his words got me on a day like today is a blessing. I am learning that there is critical value in positive engagement.

Today I purposed myself to have lunch with a friend that I have treated like an acquaintance for years. We have always spoken about getting together and a few days ago I asked him to break bread with me, and so we sat in Pei Wei and made friendly conversation. It made me realize that my walk has been a lonely one, void of true connection and remembrance of the special things about me. I have been told by many just how they appreciate me and yet I still suffer from the pangs of loneliness that have been fueled by a life of unappreciated achievement.

Yet when the Indian Pharmacist told me "Made of Gold," my mind connected. Yes, I am. I need to remember that.

Walk don't Run

2011-06-18T11:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we find ourselves in the places where our journey is limited by space, narrow paths, traffic and natural obstacles. Trying to navigate our way through these times while at full tilt is not only dangerous, but a sure way to get injured. There are those of us, driven by adrenaline, endorphin addicted, who see no fun in the slow process required for safe passage. No, we would rather charge forth, testing our mettle, our thinking ability, our reflexes against the very sharp edged obstacles in our way. The journey is not thrilling if not for the constant ducking and turning.

Yet, what good, is running if you never walk? The knowledge that being safe and not having hurt yourself in your navigation, must always outweigh the urge to run, the desire to hasten through. For that love for the unnecessary bumps, bruises and cuts that leave lingering marks is a dysfunction. It can't be normal, to want to hurt oneself on the journey. The scars remain, calloused and deeply etched, having changed perhaps the very nature of our gait.

In my own life, as I meander through, I have done a lot of running. Sometimes blindly through prickly thorns, ending up with ripped clothes, bloody cuts and painful memories. So somewhere in this journey, I have gained the resolve to walk and not run.

Technology Freak

2011-05-10T17:59:00.000-07:00

So my boss walks in the other day and says, "I bought you a Blackberry Playbook," and gives me this little device that's prancing around as a miniature IPAD. So standing there I can't say I was not pleased and yet something in the back of my mind says, "What the heck are you up to?" I mean this is corporate America and quite frankly, there's nothing for nothing. Now the little boy in me is doing loops because I have been scouting IPADs and have been inclined to dismiss that inner voice screaming, "You need this toy!" Of course I have to ignore him, because he's the same fool that has had me have one last drink, buy one more thing, or say one more rude word to the guy three times my size.

I accept the gift and soon realize that its primary function is to be an extension of my Blackberry phone, see now I can do all the functions of my phone on the Playbook, thus relegating my phone to modem status. However, I spend all night and part of my next work-day discovering this. So much for a productive day, well, my boss gave it to me and in my estimation, he's getting his money's worth. So as I scroll, slide and tap on this thing, I realize that my desk is a mass of cables. I have my laptop open and the USB cable for the Playbook connected to it on one port, another cable connected to the other port with my Blackberry charging, as I try to synchronize the media files to my laptop so I can transfer them to the Playbook. There's a cable going to the printer which I can't connect to because I'm using the two ports on the laptop for my Blackberry gadgets and I have to buy another peripheral device so I can daisy chain these things together. I might need Fire wire.

So as I take off my newly bought T1 Bluetooth headset to see if I can synchronize it with my Playbook, realize that it didn't come with a cable that will fit the port on the Playbook and trying to Bluetooth it isn't cutting it. Never mind that the configuration says it's discoverable, I can't get the dang thing to connect and so therefore I have to rely on the Playbook speakers which means I have to fumble around for headphones. The speakers are not too shabby, but what good is this low sound when I'm sure the IPAD has better sound? Anyway, I am quick to connect it to the school network via a request to our resident technician, now the Playbook is usable in all areas of our building, I am in heaven.

I am still not sure why he's bought this toy for me, and I guess I shouldn't ask. My bag is rather full right now, I have two headsets, about five USB cables, a wireless mouse, wireless overhead projector remote control, IPOD, Playbook and all the necessary power cables. The way I see it, I'm just an average guy.I mean don't all guys have all this stuff? How do they survive otherwise? Even though Blackberry have made the device and seem to be lagging on applications, this little thing will do for now. It's really not very much use to me except as a distraction in places where I don't want to engage anyone, like the office. So till I figure out exactly what this bribe is about, I need a bigger bag.

2011-03-20T19:30:00.001-07:00

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Rap Response to Zambian Rappers

2010-11-07T16:57:00.001-08:00

I can officially say that I have had my fill of wanna-be Zambian rappers with their falsified American accents working so hard to be what they shouldn't. Though I admire their talents, I believe that there is a misguided movement to disrespect our cultural values and inherit what is clearly not even admirable in America. Knowing that sometime in order to reach people you have to use their medium, I have written my response to this musical foolishness as a rap:

Here you again, spouting that stuff
Guys from Chawama, Kanyama acting tough,
like you are kin with Osama.
Trippin of a blunt, acting like a .......
Dag....did I almost say that?
Gotta know this man's supreme,
living true not like you kids spitting dreams.
You flossin' like you be bossin',
your names should be in neon lights right under fakin'.
Tryna be American? How can you, when you squawking like
a doped up Pelican.

Making vidoes where you look like criminals,when the closest
you've been to being a gangsta is when you rode that bus to Mansa.
Claiming to be a Zambian, droppin the LSK in your rhyming,
but we raised you to be classy, not to spew lines that are trashy.
I hear your fake accents, tryna mimic the lines from the US.
Your stuff sounds useless, so weak that all you can do is cuss.
Abana balechinchila lelo inshiku, Yo' mama didn't come from no ghetto.
Note to self, make sure these fake Zambians get the memo.
See we just want you to be original, stop copying stuff you can't follow,
munga dimwe nyama ya mumusebo.

Here's a taste of logic, that makes your inswa eating butts look apologetic.
See I'm not a skeptic, I'm affected, so silence isn't an option, because your actions are spastic.
See I can do this with no effort, spew lyrics like a prophet.
Na bana Mulenga nabaishiba that you're up against my static, about to
be scorched by words that are hypnotic.
You've pissed of someone that is just classic, you're in my house, so get ready for
the fantastic.
I'll reduce your raps to helium, change your voice like back at Jacaranda with Ms. Panambelum.

See I won't stand by, can't stand by, till all you pee-wee rappers say bye, bye.
Seeing as you've chosen to be vulgar, I insist you continue in the vernacular.
Ati nembwa iwutukila amafi, your raps are so whack and raunchy, step back, you got my ears all itchy.
Girls in your videos butt shaking? How you get a Zambian girl to act like a donkey?
Not exactly the call of a rocket scientist, that's actually the move of a prostitute.
You passed the test, you lack finesse, step back, and take a rest.

Let me break it down for you in new lingo, put a small hurting on your verbal ego. The profundity of your erudition so far exceeds my ability to comprehend that it is obligatory for you to elucidate. And with that, I'm done, feel free to enunciate.

What happened to love songs?

2010-10-29T11:01:00.001-07:00

So the other day, a friend of mine posted on Face Book, his feelings about a new song by Keith Sweat and Joe, called Test drive. According to him,it's the ultimate ballad. Being familiar with the lyrics for this song, I spent the next few days wondering if for some reason, I had missed the memo on, "How you sweet talk women in the new millennium."

This tune has a very catchy beat and an engaging hook, but the lyrics are awe inspiring, with deep loving and reflective verses like; "Out of all the cars, in the yard. You're the one a player wants. Got a big bank girl, I can buy the parts," Test Drive goes where other love songs fail. I mean songs by Luther Vandross with lines like; "Love has truly, been good to me, not even one sad day, or minute have I had since you came my way," are eclipsed by Test Drive's reflective; "I know you thinkin, I'm talkin about a car, but baby I'm not I'm talking about us."

Evidently there is something us Gen Xer's are missing. The way to a woman's heart in the Gen Y diaspora does not meander through her brain and down towards her heart. It's not captured by the ears and masticated for filtration to be deciphered in code. No, you've got to reach right down and grab her panties. So, saying, "Love has a mind of it's own, it comes at the strangest times, somehow it takes control, so try and try but it won't let me go, no matter what I do or where I go your love's got a hold on me," (Glenn Jones) is inadequate today. No, with today's girls you've got to go for the jugular; "You make me wanna test drive -It's hot up in here I'm a take off your top- You make me wanna test drive - Got my feet on the gas and we won't ever stop- You make me wanna test drive - Just put the roof back and let your panties drop- Down, down, touch the ground." That's the stuff that gets them wild.

You see what's most frustrating is that a lot of today's young crooners have these magnificent voices, Tyrese, Tank, Joe, Avant, Ginuwine; and yet their choice of material continues to perpetuate the unsophisticated palate of Ghetto romance. In Tyrese's immortal words, "You know we be tearing it up, breaking @#$% that Ghetto love. So, how you gonna act like that?" I mean how could Teddy Pendergrass even think of singing, "Think I better let it go, looks like another love TKO?" When girls today are scrambling for songs that talk about; "I'm what you need, you need a lift girl, I'll be the seat. Come on and sit on it, ride on it, but don't you move from it."

I feel like I'm in a Barry White time warp. Caught up in his line, "Tell me a secret, I just don't wanna know about any secret but I wanna know about that special secret." I'm still glowing from knowing that, "Love won't let me wait, because the time is right, to spend the night, in a wonderland. So move a little close to me, you owe it to yourself." That's what I remember trying to conjugate as I navigated my way around a woman's head. Where did those words go?

Now, we are bombarded with; I keep it comin so my wood-grain telling me to go North, go East, Go West, Go South, down. Ridin in your Cadillac,keep your feet by the brake if you ain't ready yet." Lord, you took Luther away for some reason and just when we thought Brian McKnight might help us with, "My shattered dreams and broken heart are mending on the shelf. I saw you standing close, holding hands with someone else," money took his creative spirit and made him sing rubbish. Please help us, because somewhere, even my brothers that I grew up with, those who should remember what a true love song should be about, are now touting Test Drive.

Dating in the new millenium!

2010-09-15T08:10:00.001-07:00

So the other day, driving to work, I'm listening to Steve Harvey like I usually do (don't judge me!). He's always good for a serious laugh before one walks into the jaws of the mundane. There's a segment they do that's similar to 'The Dating Game'. A man or woman has three possible dating choices. The decision is based on basic information provided during a questioning period and after the prospect has viewed a profile. You get the picture.

Well today I listened as a man with the help of the presenters questioned three women. Turns out this fellow is about 50 years old and a widower, looking for a love connection. As he navigated the road of initial courtship on national radio, asking these women things like; "What do you like to do for fun? Can you cook? What are you looking for in a man?" I couldn't help but think that none of his questions were sparking the kind of information that men are interested in. He was asking the typical things that give you a general view of someone and really didn't seem to have any eliminating capabilities. In my mind, this means that he'll quite basically look at the profiles and go with the woman he believes best physically represents what he is looking for.

So as he continued his downward plod, I started forming my own series of questions in the back of my mind. His line of questioning was leaving me unfulfilled and empty and thus I felt compelled to step in on his behalf. There are just some things that most self-respecting men would need to know prior to a date with any woman, let alone a 40 plus year old.

Not having been in the dating game a while, I started putting together some poignant questions. My list may appear somewhat superficial and not be exhaustive but you will have to excuse me, I am a man. I believe that some, if not all of the following should be addressed;

1. Are those your real eyelashes? If not, do you intend to grow any and if so,
when?
2. Are you using any control top garments and upon removal, will I have any shocked
reaction?
3. Do you have any fake teeth? This includes bridges, crowns, or any other
reconstructive dental surgery.
4. Are you wearing any shape enhancing devices that squeeze and change your natural
shape? Once released
5. Is that your hair? If not, how many other people can you be in a month and will
you be surprising me often?
6. When you take off your hair, will I prefer that you didn't?
7. Do your kids live with you and if so are they rug-rats or delinquents? How old
are they and if any is older than 18, why are they not in college or out of the
house?
8. If you claim you are a Christian woman, why are you on Steve Harvey show looking
for love?
9. If you are such a catch, how come your last husband left you and your kids?
10.Are your eyes really green or will that change like your hair?
11.In your response to a perfect Saturday date you said something about waking up to
a late breakfast. How quickly do you get to third base?

As you can see, this line of questioning will very quickly eliminate quite a few women. Like I said this list is not exhaustive and can definitely take a turn here and there. However, on a radio show, these questions provide critical guidance and direction for the man with an eye to maximizing his potential to find the perfect mate. We need some men who can keep it real! I'm just saying!

Ghana's World Cup

2010-07-02T18:38:00.000-07:00

Ghana's eventual loss today was devastating. All of Africa was tied into this, our freedom moment. Uruguay was never a colonizer but somehow, just by their origin, they represented more than just football opposition. Deep down inside we were tying them to the colonizers and oppressors who have tread on our soils. Their South American connection felt repetitive of past World Cups and this, this was Africa's moment.

As Asamoah Gyan stepped up to take the penalty today in the waning minutes of the overtime game against Uruguay today, hundreds of millions of people were holding their breath. If you're like my wife and I, then you barely sat down for a minute of the whole game, stealing occasional glances at the television, while seemingly trying to do innocuous tasks around the house. For the millions of us rooting for Ghana, the only remaining African country in the 2010 World Cup, it more than intense. Luis Suarez, whose handball created this opportunity for Africa to unite in one shining moment, was making his way back to the locker room weeping desperate tears. After Gyan sent the shot hard against the crossbar and over the goal, the camera showed Suarez in exasperated relief, realizing that his very life had been saved. My own laments come to my ears as I questioned God's loyalty to our cause.

There was just this prevailing feeling that this was the year that an African country would break the jinx. This confirmation that we would finally lose the moniker of 'potential' bridesmaid and actually become part of the bridal party. The Black Stars were showing the world that African football has finally arrived at the highest level on the world stage. It took me about six hours to calm down today, eventually needing to go to a garden store to buy some flowers and do some subsequent planting. Therapy, I needed therapy.

Ghana has nothing to hang its head down about, nothing to be ashamed about. Mightier teams have fallen, and earlier in this tournament. Italy, England, France, and Brazil all have made their exit. Ghana put on valiant effort and unlike Luis Suarez whose handball made him an unlikely hero because of the outcome, reminding us again that Africa continues to knock on the door of greatness. This was just not a game, it was our continued strive to forget colonialism, Apartheid, neo-colonialism, elitism and racism. All these seemingly unconnected things are the subliminal, unsaid things that these games represent to us. Uruguay may not have been a colonizer, but their origins allow us to use them as a symbol of all we have fought against.

I want to shout, "Our civil rights were violated, this is racism!" I can't because, this is football and FIFA is doing all it can to send the message that this game transcends race, color, creed, economics and nations. This is the beautiful game - that one game that is truly a world sport. What transpired today was just what Asamoah Gyan said, "It's hard luck. You know, we had opportunity to win this game," Gyan said, "but unfortunately, that is football for you."- (Associated Press http://soccernet.espn.go.com/report?id=264116&cc=5901&ver=us)

Today, we witnessed why this game is so great, why even after losing a job almost a month ago, I have been carried through what should have been a difficult period with nothing but memories of the opportunities to watch each and every game. With my first day of new employment coming next week, Ghana's exit could not have come at a better time, somehow Uruguay, Netherlands, and whoever wins tomorrow, don't raise my gander. I'm really not interested anymore and will watch only because football is my religion. I will not worship at the altar because my favorite African preachers have left and the choir isn't singing any of my favorite songs.

As for Asamoah Gyan, my hats off, much respect. Stepping up to that penalty kick, he carried the weight of all of Africa. His shoulders should have been sagging as he stepped up to that ball. We were all riding on his shoulders, offering advice on how he should place that kick, how hard he should kick it. His miss was our miss and as Ghana's fortunes go, so went Africa. We are reminded however, in Asamoah's statement about the resilience of Africans, we never dwell on the pain, but recognize that our success is in the fact that we're still standing here today. Ghana played beautiful soccer and Africa rejoiced, Ghana lost and so did Africa, but that was only today. Tomorrow will come.

Mr. Mugabe -Syphillis Untreated Can Cause Brain Damage

2010-05-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

Please read the heading above. You got it? Now read it again. You see, how else can you explain the actions of our renowned African continental idiot, President Robert Mugabe. He has decided to send two of every animal in the Hwange National Park to Kim Jong II of North Korea as a gift. That's right, two of every animal.

This blithering rocket scientist who has single-handedly managed to destroy the livelihood of millions of Zimbabweans, is now a zoo-keeper? His tenacious stance of unmitigated foolishness is to be admired. After all, where else can a disease wracked brain still emit puffs of such spontaneous buffoonery and be called "His Excellency"? This guy is literally becoming a legend. Somehow he has managed to hold some sort of hypnotic sway on the military, because in any self respecting African country, he'd be gone by now.

What escapes me is, how did the doctors fail to see the tell-tale lesions that the spirochete bacteria leaves? Couldn't they have treated this sooner? Floundering around for words to explain this despot has become our lot in life. I've had to explain the difference between Zambia and Zimbabwe so many times, it hurts. Americans are geographically challenged anyway, so every time they hear his name, I get, "Isn't that your President?" Uuuuuuuuugh, it's so irritating! Now this? I'm wrapping myself in Saran wrap and as we speak. Maybe I'll perish before this actually happens. Doesn't make sense? Well neither does any of this.

This ridiculous display of smoldering stupidity reeks with the pungency of a country that is resigned to its fate. Zimbabwe has fallen into the self resigned abyss of futility. Populace too down-trodden to revolt, and leaders too drunk with power to admit their descent to neanderthal. Mugabe has very few leaders that support him anymore. What remains is this little pint-sized despot partner of his from North Korea. Given this, I can understand his need to show grand homage to his cheerleader and benefactor. But two of each animal? Come on Robert! Get real!

There are times when a revolution screams for a few good men. When the need for change does not require the interference of another country. These are times when the indigenous population, armed with some Penicillin, needs to catch a 'sick' man and heal him quickly. The systemic, redundancy of perverted fallacies that have become the diatribe of a disillusioned syphilitic must cease, one way or another. That last sentence, really felt good. He needs to send two of something to North Korea, I could suggest some things but I don't think they would be appropriate.

Apartheid comes to America

2010-04-24T18:34:00.000-07:00

The regurgitated stench of discrimination and its putrid and vile sibling, racism, has reared its ugly head in the state of Arizona. In the twenty first century, as a black man sits in the White House, we are seeing the clear signs of fortified self-righteousness, infused with a shot of malignant ignorance. Masked as a protectionist/isolationist movement, Arizona - with its myopic and politically inept Governor, Jan Brewer - has established, again, why America's claim to greatness is questioned around the world. One small step for Arizona, one giant step for racism. What next? Tattoos identifying immigrants?

What's scary is that this bill passed through a legislative process that actually requires many hours of debate by educated and informed people. The real fear is not the bill itself, but that there can be such clear hatred and abject idiocy presented to the world in confidence. Many years ago on the Southern tip of Africa, Dutch descendants arrived and in time established one of the most powerful countries in Africa's history. They would soon resort to draconian methods to maintain their power over the indigenous population.

"With the enactment of apartheid laws in 1948, racial discrimination was institutionalized. Race laws touched every aspect of social life, including a prohibition of marriage between non-whites and whites, and the sanctioning of ``white-only'' jobs. In 1950, the Population Registration Act required that all South Africans be racially classified into one of three categories: white, black (African), or colored (of mixed decent). The coloured category included major subgroups of Indians and Asians. Classification into these categories was based on appearance, social acceptance, and descent. For example, a white person was defined as ``in appearance obviously a white person or generally accepted as a white person.'' A person could not be considered white if one of his or her parents were non-white. The determination that a person was ``obviously white'' would take into account ``his habits, education, and speech and deportment and demeanor.'' A black person would be of or accepted as a member of an African tribe or race, and a colored person is one that is not black or white. The Department of Home Affairs (a government bureau) was responsible for the classification of the citizenry. Non-compliance with the race laws were dealt with harshly. All blacks were required to carry ``pass books'' containing fingerprints, photo and information on access to non-black areas." - http://www-cs-students.stanford.edu/~cale/cs201/apartheid.hist.html

The Arizona bill gives local policemen the right to detain people that they suspect are illegal aliens and proceed to verify their legal right to be in the United States with the relevant federal bodies. CNN reports that; when asked what criteria will be used to establish reasonable suspicion of someone's legal status, Brewer (Governor) said, "I don't know. I do not know what an illegal immigrant looks like." Part of the law states, "A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER, WITHOUT A WARRANT, MAY ARREST A PERSON IF THE OFFICER HAS PROBABLE CAUSE TO BELIEVE THAT THE PERSON HAS COMMITTED ANY PUBLIC OFFENSE THAT MAKES THE PERSON REMOVABLE FROM THE UNITED STATES." In essence, police now have authority to harass anyone in Arizona, that doesn't fit their mold. Speak with an accent,and you'll probably get detained. "A little too brown there my brother, yes, you too. Hey, you're Asian! You're definitely suspicious."

There is nothing more repugnant than racism when it is disguised by legalism's intelligent language and backed by force. This has been the very reason for freedom and resistance movements from time immemorial. That inner drive that causes men, who seek to feed their families, to leave their homes in search of food, has caused many to venture far beyond their lands looking for opportunity. Walls, waters, hills, deserts have not stopped them. Nothing would have been discovered in this world, no new territories explored if not for that very innate God-inspired drive that mankind was given. Apartheid did not stop millions of African men from jumping on a train (Stimela) and heading down into the dungeons of the gold and diamond mines in South Africa. They knew they were risking their dignity and their self respect, but they would rather feed their children than watch them starve. Willing to risk their very lives, they went anyway.

Historically, it has been clear that when Caucasians chose to do this, they were called explorers and pioneers. When people of other decent follow these same paths, they are aliens. The Arizona bill will require that aliens carry their registration cards at all times, as stated by CNN; "The bill requires immigrants to carry their alien registration documents at all times and requires police to question people if there is reason to suspect that they're in the United States illegally. It also targets those who hire illegal immigrant day laborers or knowingly transport them." It is clear that myopia is a prevalent disease amongst Arizona politicians but by putting the decision in the hands of policemen who sometimes have difficulty making out the difference between citizens and criminals, we again go back to the, "Where is your passbook?" question that was the moniker of Boer policemen.

There is an irony here as aliens, make laws against other aliens. The generational claim that has been staked here is somewhat convoluted as historically, much of the land once belonged to the very people now being targeted. The natives have been placed on reservations and the descendants of colonizers now stake claim. In the movie the Matrix, agent Smith delivers a poignant monologue about the similarities between humans and a virus. There is an illegal alien problem in Arizona, but it is far from being the Southern neighbors with their brown skin, working in jobs that even released convicts will not accept. The illegal aliens are not the day laborers mowing lawns and doing construction jobs without health insurance.

The real illegal aliens who need to be shipped out and checked for their papers are the politicians who have clearly lost their connection to humanity and human values.
The ones who take isolated incidents and conjure them into a picture that fosters fear and apathy amongst the populace. There has never been any danger from south of the border. I believe fifteen of the nineteen 9/11 hijackers were from Saudi Arabia and not Mexico. I can guarantee you that Saudi Arabia has probably not seen any reduction in its visa quotas. You see, they have oil, a lot of it and America needs it, a lot of it. The illegal aliens who need to be stopped while driving to work are riding around in government vehicles with Arizona tags, on their way to legislative meetings. Those are the ones who need to be arrested when on public or private property for MLWS, making laws while stupid. These very same aliens need to be e-verified through the racism program that sometimes uses water-boarding to confirm responses.

When one visits the Statue of liberty, there is a poem written on an inner pedestal entitled the New Colossus. In his sonnet the author Lazarus states;

"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Lady Liberty has always represented what this country stands for, a place where anyone can be anything. A place where its okay to come empty, poor, down-trodden, weak and persecuted. The land of milk and honey where dreams come true. That's what America has always represented. What can't be okay is for us to sit by as we watch Apartheid and borderline Nazism take a public face and erase dreams. How can we sit and dialogue with quiet refrain as Jim Crow laws are refashioned and dressed up. What once was a land where Mother Freedom beckoned to those adrift and disenfranchised, has become the land that is willing to sit by as ethnic hatred wells up and finally, becomes law. No it's time for the illegal aliens to go, starting with Governor Brewer, "Your papers Miss!"

Unmasked

2010-02-05T16:09:00.001-08:00

No longer afraid of things that go 'bump' in the dark
Not hiding under the covers as dusk becomes night
I don't feel insecure when alone in a crowd
Nor singled out when I disagree out loud
I'm walking in my anointing, free and unmasked

Not looking for my name to be written in the marquee
Quite content with setting the stage
For someone else to come be the star of the parade
I'm okay with not having my name on the list
No bouncers or black ropes being pulled at my behest
Walking in my anointing, free and unmasked

I can look you in the eye, when I speak these days
See once I was afraid, wouldn't dare to meet your gaze
I've been all twisted, torn up, and left for dead
Can't quite remember how it started
but I know that it was all in the games we played
Look at me now though, free and unmasked

I don't know if you'll ever know how much I've bled
The rivers, valleys, mountains and deserts, I've tread
The death, pain and suffering left in my wake
Like waves in an ocean, ripples that won't ebb
Look at me now though, free and unmasked

I wonder if the wind tells stories to the birds
If butterflies go somewhere special when they are afraid
Is there somewhere out there trees sing before bed?
Where the moon howls at dogs and dogs smile even when sad?
I dream of a childhood void of pain and dread
Of bustling youth, filled with promise and salvation instead
But then, I wouldn't be here, nor would I be able to claim
"Look at me now, FREE & UNMASKED"

Top Ten: "Oh @#$% Now What Happens?" Moments of 2009

2009-12-31T14:08:00.000-08:00

Listed below are some key 2009 moments when these individuals probably uttered the words "Oh @#$% now what happens?" to themselves:

1. Tiger woods as his wife reached for the golf club.
2. The former Governor of North Carolina -Mark Sanford- (In Argentina) when he
realized the jig was up.
3. Kanye West after interrupting Taylor's Swift's speech at the Video Music Awards.
4. The Underwear bomber as his crotch caught on fire.
5. The National Enquirer reporter assigned to Michael Jackson when he found out he
was dead.
6. Joe Wilson after he shouted "You lied!" at President Obama in Congress.
7. William Gates Jr, after the cops put the handcuffs on him for talking smack.
8. Chris Brown after he was done beating Rihanna.
9. Dick Cheney as they wheeled him down to witness Obama's inauguration.
10.Serena Williams after she was done cursing at the lines person.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T12:32:00.000-08:00

I kicked my self again, for not having sent out Christmas cards in time, nor having bought you or you a gift, I caught myself mid stride and recognized that my best gift will require no money, no long lines in a store. I realize that God gifted me with something special. The ability to reach deep into the rushing torrent of blood in my veins, skimming through capillaries, veins, and arteries to give voice to life.

So my gift to you, won't require wrestling any soccer mums to the ground, nor battling some trench coat clad teenager for the last Wii. I have avoided the long line at Macy's, and circumvented the cars vying for a parking spot at the mall. No my gift to you; I give from the lazy, loungers comfort of my living room couch, laptop on blanket, hot chocolate in tow. You will not be able to wear it, or play it on your new IPOD or I-Phone.

Fond as I am of the myriad of presents Christmas brings, I recognize only too often that we must now learn martial arts, aggressive driving techniques and even new insults during the holiday season. The antagonistic shop-aholic tone that permeates the air is palpable. What are you getting? What do you want? Where is it on sale? Retail marketing blitzes have become the new air of the season. Even the beauty of snow has been deemed uninviting, because it is seen as an interference with the ability to shop.

It has become shallow, this Christmas spirit, real shallow. The march to de-Christianize Christmas is taking root as kids want more from Santa Claus than they do from the Nativity story. Not to be undone, the Churches have ratcheted up their church activity to match the cacophony of sales and early bird specials being offered by stores. Between the shopping and church mandated activity, what should be a restful time now feels like a week preparing for the Olympics.

I still haven't got to your present have I? Well, that's the tricky part. You see, your expectation is probably high. You're wondering what it is I will replace with those IPOD speakers you were expecting. What about the IPOD shuffle you had your eye on? That would be nice. Unfortunately, you will get none of these from me this year or any other. See the true meaning of Christmas for me has soon become the acknowledgment that I am an anti-shopper. I have joined the rebel alliance against the malls, leading logical raids on distant planets such as home and couch. I have enlisted the help of other aliens species such as myself whose main cause is; "the debunking of retail foolishness."

So, as you deftly rip open your wrapping and dive into the folds, looking for your gift, I hope you find this; "That Jesus was born around and about this time, many years ago, That whoever this Jesus was, He became special enough that several days in mankind's calendar were dedicated to something related to Him. His impact was so noticeable that even other religions had to acknowledge His relevance. Come to think of it, whole civilizations have made their way of life around His word eventually naming the day after Him."

My present to you is that somewhere along your walk in this life, you will encounter the comfort and peace that knowing brings. That your days no matter how happy, can be happier. That your burdens no matter how heavy, can be lighter. That the story in the birth, is a reminder about rebirth, symbolic, as a whole in its simplicity, yet overwhelming in its completeness. That in your definition of Christmas you will acknowledge the futility of carnal gratification and secure the suppleness of spiritual rejuvenation. That, is my gift to you.

Vick's New Contract

2009-09-30T20:55:00.000-07:00

While reading this, you may find yourself trying to determine whether I have a problem with Michael Vick. You will have little reason to support this, nor will you view my stance on fighting pit bulls as being different from his prior perspective. Threatening the earning power of millions of dollars for the sake of fighting dogs, borders on madness. By the way, if you are an animal lover, this may not be the story for you.

Reading today's newspaper, I am reminded that capitalism still rules. For Michael Vick, this prior statement bodes well, he will replenish his coffers and return to the standard of living to which he is accustomed. To the PETA guys, it is another reminder of why the notion that fish feel pain, only resonates with the fish. It has been reported that Michael has been awarded another contract by Nike. In essence, he has been redeemed. He has paid his debt to society and is making amends for what was, on his part, a bad decision.

You will not find me casting any stones. I applaud Michael Vick for taking his punishment like a man and coming back to the sport he loves. He has proved that fighting Rover against Tiger, will not define his legacy. He has again, been placed in a position to participate in the sport he has lived for. Quite rightly, he deserves the opportunity to recover from what in his case, was a bad decision.

Nike, in my opinion, have shown the clear nature of the cannibalistic and opportunistic attitude we see amongst leading companies. It is this very same capitalistic zeal that sheds some light to the country's current economic crisis. Okay, I exaggerate but it really writes well. Win at all costs, make money any way possible. This is simply an opportunity to increase sales. Would such an opportunity fall to the average convict? Of course not, many of them could not obtain a job with Nike. This is not an exception exception. They have determined the marketability of Vick's story and in so doing, have realized that the "Road to Redemption" book will be bigger than the rise to fame article.

There is a certain heroism in the broken and beaten warrior returning from battle. This symbolism is biblical in nature. Take for example David; he is embraced as a picture of triumph even as he suffered travails of woe and cave life. The vagabond lifestyle he led as he hid from Saul's men. He was an inevitable star. America likes the vision of a bruised and battered soldier, who is worn from battle, limping his way home to collapse near death in the arms of childhood love, only to rise up again and fight. Michael Vick has risen again and he is fast becoming a hero to the many.

America redeems. You just need to apologize. We are very much a society that practices selective forgiveness. If one takes ownership, apologizes, it is possible to then move right along. For those that are famous? This can mean signing a new contract. The dogs associated with this tale will probably never ask Michael why he got them bitten every weekend, some even killed. Nike doesn't remember and really doesn't need to. You see, going forward, Michael has apologized and is making amends. I believe he has seen the folly of his ways, and will become the man he was meant to be. We are all allowed a second chance, in Micheal's case it's worth millions.

So I applaud Michael Vick for his triumphant return. I am a little more skeptical however about the company that sees this tragedy as an opportunity to sell sneakers and apparel.

Symbiosis

2009-09-06T17:33:00.000-07:00

I spent a little time of this past vacation week watching "The Queen of Trees" a documentary about the Sycamore fig trees of Kenya. The documentary focused on the symbiotic relationship between the fig tree and fig wasp. A tiny little wasp whose whole life cycle is indelibly tied to the fig tree seasons. The fig tree has developed a unique relationship with the fig wasp, critical to either species' survival. Wikipedia states that the term symbiosis (from the Greek: σύν syn "with"; and βίωσις biosis "living") commonly describes close and often long-term interactions between different biological species. The term was first used in 1879 by the German mycologist Heinrich Anton de Bary, who defined it as "the living together of unlike organisms".

The fig wasp is tiny - neither threatening nor large enough to warrant concern. It is unique in that each species of fig wasp pollinates only one type of fig tree. This is a key aspect of the relationship, a co-evolution that has manifested itself to ensure that neither survives without the other. The fig wasp pollinates the fig tree and in turn, the tree provides a nesting ground and incubator for the fig wasp.

Watching this relationship, I understand more that as a species, we have lost our ability to live in any mutually beneficial relationship with other species. We have used dominion to increase our own conveniences at the expense of all other species. While on vacation, a knock on the door brought a warning from the neighbor's son that a bear was going through the trash at the dumpster (an example of how we interject negativity into natures concert). Our waste has become the bear's food source, circumventing his natural instinct to hunt and gather for himself, thus rendering him a garbage forager. Not built for this purpose but forced to adapt to this unnatural manipulation of the environment, he finds new ways to survive. Not to sound like a conservationist, but it is clear that we have crossed into natures 'no man's land'. The only symbiotic relationship we seem to nurture well is with bacteria, which we harbor as they, in turn, help us digest our food.

We have harnessed energy so as to extend daylight. This has given us more hours to manipulate our work day and created innovative ways for us to work harder. We are reaping fossil fuels at a rate faster than can be replenished. We have driven numerous species to extinction or near it and still fail to recognize that we were made to be a component and not a determinant.

Having spent some time in a serene environment, surrounded by God's beauty, one can't help but become acutely aware of each breath. The co-existence of everything as it is meant to live becomes clear. The deer grazing in the forest; the horse fly buzzing around the mare's flank; the hedgehog waddling his way up the slope; all part of a singular purpose. Nature expends its energy surviving for seasons to become energy for something else. We are the only species that has worked diligently to escape this reality. We build coffins to preserve our remains, and use chemicals to preserve our dead; as if the decomposition of our bodies does not have an ordained purpose.

The fig wasp pursues its life purpose with an unstoppable determination. Similarly, the fig tree provides nutritional support to a myriad of creatures that in turn attract and provide nutrition for others. This is all part of the connection and the symbiosis of life. Human inability to live in harmony with nature may be the cause of many of the things that we all say our grandparents never suffered from; Alzheimer's, stress, depression, anxiety, precocious puberty, Anxiety, ADHD, ADD, STD, DVD, CD, and MP3 - to name but a few. I may not have clinical evidence to support my conclusions, but looking around at what has become of a world void of a connection to nature should convince you of one thing - as a species, we're a mess.

The fig wasp has other parasitic wasps that take advantage of its labor and lay their eggs in its nest. Many of us have people in our lives who bring similar opportunistic negativity. They provide influences that detract, distract and detour us from our purpose. In the fig wasp's case, even these parasites serve a purpose in this grand symphony. They ensure that fig wasps don't overpopulate. Many fig wasp queens are born with these parasite larvae already eating them alive. Nevertheless, fig wasps pursue their purpose with resolve and single mindedness, even under sentence of death. Their reward, is the perpetuation of two species. The fig wasp has inspired me to rethink my walk with nature, to accept the negativity as a part of my personal growth. I am recognizing that the larvae of negativity from birth through youth sit ready to burst out and ultimately destroy me. However, every purposed life leaves a footprint. It is our choice to decide whether it will be positive or otherwise. I choose the former.

Like the fig wasp, I too want to achieve that singular purpose worth dying and risking my life for. I want what would - on the surface - appear to be a meaningless existence but, upon reflection and inspection, show itself to be a life filled with a small deposit in the birth of a great big tree that will live for hundreds of years.

Cloudy with a Chance of Change

2009-08-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

In his book, The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho says, "It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting." The tide and flow of every breath is a step in the process of human change. Like many things, change is to be expected and embraced. For many of us though, we resist it for the sheer fact that familiarity makes us feel safe. Bathed in the embrace of its sameness, we shy from the signs that flash out new directions.

This comfort zone, this place of refuge, is the very thing that blocks the blessing for many of us to move into new possibilities. We stand in the quagmire of familiar circumstances, suspicious of unclear possibilities. What is missing in our lives is an acknowledgment of the stages of change to which we are inexplicably tied.

Embracing these changes, these constant shifts, is what develops a defined life. Following a strand of change from one end to the other; creates the intoxication of a sustained generational history. Every change is a loop in the tapestry. It becomes the defining fiber for each line of DNA; an entry in the annals of humanity.

So, as I sit atop this mountain overlooking my land, I see the shifts in the scape of life. The peaks and the valleys, the eroded cliffs and the dense forests. I recognize the hill paths well worn from the soles of constant use; the deadly ledges from whence I almost fell. I acknowledge the lakes that have pooled together with tears of my loved ones. I see the barren fields and the burgeoning gardens.

The paths we must all take are not encumbered by human order. It is the conspiring in the heavens that creates streets and intersections. The GPS of life becomes moot for lack of destination and yet for every man, the destination is a lock - death. Therefore, the shifts and tides we find ourselves in, move us closer to this pressing inevitability.

If you were to be thrown into the current of a strong flowing river, controlling your path or destination would be futile. You would have to submit to the demands of its flow. Life is a river current of certain stages. Somewhere in the middle of the rapids, we need to let go and just keep our heads above water. For in this resignation, we find the peace that carries us firmly to our destination.

That's God for you; bringing you to your dreams through a raging torrent, asking you to just "Let go and let God". So, I rewrite Paulo Coehlo's statement with this conviction, "It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes God inevitable."

The Age of Innocence

2009-06-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

I watch as a little boy places his action figure on the table in front of me. His eyes are fixed on the action hero. I can't quite hear what he is saying but I can tell that he is in deep dialogue. He stretches the plastic man's arms out and from one of them extends a sword. I hear a slicing "whoosh" escape his lips.

I am seated on a black leather couch a few feet from his father who pays him no mind and continues to manipulate his Blackberry. I make a reference to how we are all addicted to our Crackberries and the father nods and chuckles. The little boy acknowledges my interruption with a slight gaze but then gets back to his play. He lifts the figure and begins to trot around the waiting area. I can see that he intends for his hero to fly. The whooshing sounds give it away.

His action man flies not too far off the ground in swooping movements. Occasionally his head comes dangerously close to a table but never quite hits it. There is some invisible battle being fought here. The frequent manipulations of the arms and sword indicate a furious engagement that only he can see. He is intense about his endeavor and oblivious to my scrutiny. As I watch he comes back to his father and indicates that his sword is dislodged. His father breaks from his Blackberry task and offers his assistance in reestablishing the hero's weaponry.

Content with his renewed armament, the boy places his figure on the table in front of me and begins an epic battle. As the battle rages on in his mind, I begin to marvel at his freedom. He is totally disconnected from the activity around him. Here we are in a gymnasium lobby, he waiting on a sibling, me waiting on my daughter who is in her Tae Kwan Do class. Unlike the little boy, my mind is racing with the responsibilities of adulthood; work, mortgage, car notes and all the other things that make being a grown up cumbersome.

I keep my gaze on this little boy and feel the envy creep slowly through me. A life without the burden of tomorrow, the freedom of a spirit that enjoys only the moment. I try to reconnect with my childhood memories. Of playtime with Alexander Smith as we loaded sand into the backs of toy dump trucks. I recall building roads in the dirt and padding down the loose dirt with water; my times with Kitu Singh and his sister Emma, whose teeth are credited with the scar over my left eye.

The little boy in this waiting room represents more to me than nostalgic memories. He is the epitome of freedom and covering. His father sits protectively, engaged in his own activity, his occasional look keeps watch over his offspring's ministrations. The son, surrounded by the comfort of this protection, continues his play unconcerned. I envy this, never having had the comfort of a father of my own. Never having known that protective feeling of a man's influence over my youth.

This relationship between this boy and his father is about as close a human feeling one can get to understanding our relationship with God. One can truly only be as nonchalant as this child when one lives in the knowledge of the covering and protection provided by someone willing to face death and danger on your behalf. I never had a father that felt me important enough to press through his challenges to embrace me. The feeling of abandonment that I claimed I never felt, has manifested itself in my adulthood like a carved Greek pillar in a museum.

So as I sit here watching this boy, I am taken back to my own fears, hurts and hang-ups. My nothingness in the expanse of a life built on the insecurities of no God-figure. My disconnection from an integral shape-defining relationship that could have charted me on a different course. His "whoosh" brings me back into the moment and I smile at him. He looks up at me with his brown eyes and asks, "What is your name?" I hesitate and respond, "Soneka Kamuhuza," and as the words leave my lips, immediately realize the fallacy. Unlike this boy, whose father sits guard, I have never taken on my fathers identity, nor felt his comfort in my life. He has left no memories of innocent playing on my pages, nor created a shield around my life.

Yet oddly I am drawn to this moment, this innocence, this freedom. In this boy we all live vicariously, playing free, in our own little world, believing without looking, knowing deep inside our hearts, that we are protected.

Mother of Mine!

2009-05-11T19:55:00.000-07:00

It's for the forty four hours and forty six minutes
of labor you persevered
For the pain and anguish I saw you endure
Shouting out in anguish, as we waited for her

The sheer magnitude of your patience
as I watched your tears
Knowing that even as you pushed through
these were moments of your deepest fear
It's for staring down death without a blink
Taking needles in places I would never think

It's for never calling me names
even when I wasn't sincere
For taking my male frailty and inadequacies
and holding them secure
For giving a sense of purpose when my path was unclear
Calling me a champion when the loss was near

For that last push that brought her some air
Letting her little voice recoil in a hushed room
As if screaming, "I am here!"
My very life blood, joined with you in cell
I honor you now, I sing your song
I stand at your parade, saluting your part

For giving her life, and both of us a new start
My name, your name, my life, your life
Through the annals of time
For standing stoic in your morals
and unbending in faith

Your voice and manner unwavering winds
Never changing unlike seasonal friends
Pray tell my love what more to come
A puzzling story, I'm sure to some
I honor you now, Mother of Mine

Soneka K. Kamuhuza Copyright 2009

What's in a name? (Africa)

2009-04-19T13:37:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine has been hounding me for about a year and a half to watch a movie called Sankofa. She insisted that I needed to watch it. She believed that my sensibilities would grasp the depth of the message meant by the film-maker. She stated that there were several people she had shown it to who didn't get it - much to her frustration.

So, after finally acquiring a copy, she handed it to me last week, just in time for the weekend. Actually, she handed it to someone else - her boss - who felt it necessary to try to hijack this shipment that was meant for me. After a few threatening phone calls, the Sankofa DVD was delivered to my office.

Not intending to have anything too heavy, we sat down to watch the Sankofa DVD Saturday night. We usually pick a light hearted movie for Saturday nights, well, as we learned, Sankofa is far from that. It is the journey of a modern day woman who returns to the past to experience slavery on a plantation. The cinematography leaves much to be desired, however, the critical components of this movie build like the crescendo of an engrossing symphony. Once started, you will be forced to chase it to its end.

The rape, abuse, physical and emotional assault that follows is reminiscent of slave movies already seen. However, Sankofa carries through it an underlying message of identity and heritage that is subtle yet loud in its depiction. It is a story told from the perspective of Africans having never lost their identity in the midst of slavery. Those who sought to carry their traditions and heritage through generations. Their strength, found in communal traditions, acts of initiation and refusal to assimilate, empowered them. What culminates, I will not reveal, as I encourage everyone to watch it for themselves.

Sankofa's underlying tone shows the calculated method with which generations of Africans systematically lost their identity and took on slave names. Sankofa displays an intimacy with Africa to which the movie Roots, alludes. It careens full speed to a cataclysmic end that can be the only conclusion to a life of sadism, death, lies, abandonment, cruelty, hatred, terrorism and despair. In the midst of this, remains this component of a name. What is in a name?

Mine is Soneka Kamuhuza. A very distinct name. Well it's unique for this hemisphere, a dime-a-dozen in Zambezi, Zambia. I once rode a bus in Zambia, somebody called out to a Soneka, and half the bus answered. That burst my bubble. See, among the Lunda, Soneka is about as common as John is to the English. In America, I'm about as unique as Barack Obama. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. In Sankofa, I realized that the allegory was in the identifiable characteristics of strong African connections being countered by a terroristic effort to break that very bond.

To be named Toby, Henry, Mark as opposed to Kwame, Tesu, Ade was the beginning of the slavery brainwashing process. In essence the most critical part of the integration process was to lose your name. The slave would be beaten until he accepted his slave name. It would be his disconnection from who he was, his acceptance into who he was to become. So for over four hundred years the perpetuation of dissolution and separation has been perfected to what is now seen in African-American culture; Jones, Yokum, Sisko, Todd, to name a few.

A generation of people exist as if adrift at sea, with no port in sight. The slave masters game plan has come to pass. The very connection that Sankofa bridles with in its energetic scenes; the volcanic aspiration of self that Sankofa pulsates, is now lost. The silent fart of a distressed identity emits slowly from the bowels of a festering cultural myopia, all held together by a society with the runs. These frequent bathroom trips only help to highlight the stench that now emits from what is left of our hard earned freedom.

Somewhere, in the midst of all this cultural atrophy, I believe Sankofa rises as if to remind the many African-Americans who remain adrift. "Look East. Look to where the sun rises each morning. Remember a land where the sun is seen first each day by your people. A land that your ancestors called home. A land where they were free. Africa, mother Africa."

It's just Salmon!

2009-04-11T08:51:00.000-07:00

It was my wife's birthday this past Saturday and so as is tradition in our house, we celebrated the whole weekend. My daughter had a grand plan for her mother's breakfast in bed Saturday morning. So as she and I drove back from our first day of celebration Friday night, she announced that we did not have all the ingredients for the gourmet breakfast. Ever the dutiful father, I redirected and headed to the local supermarket for the much needed ingredients.

As my daughter navigated us through the store, she would occasionally grab a recognizable item and either toss it into the cart or shake her head as if disappointed. We finally found ourselves at the fish counter and she pointed triumphantly at Salmon. This was her grand ingredient, smoked Salmon. Not any type of Salmon, but the Alaskan kind. The Discovery channel, swimming upstream, being caught by bears kind, yes, that kind.

Never having been keen on Salmon as a food source, I have not purchased it. My girls on the other hand, enjoy Salmon burgers on occasion. So as we selected the Salmon, I noticed a pattern, the price. The price to weight ratio for the Salmon was extremely intriguing. It felt like I was holding a piece of paper napkin and yet the price said $8.99. Azheni's insistence on Salmon as a key ingredient swayed me to invest in this daylight robbery. In this case SuperFresh Supermarket was robbing me at night, so it was nightlight robbery.

The next morning as I helped prepare the breakfast, I discovered that I had invested in four slivers of smoked Salmon, for the grand price of $8.99. That's almost two bottles of cheap wine, a case of beer, two chickens (not Purdue), or four loaves of bread. Now for $8.99 for parts of a fish, I reckon the particular fish should have swam from Norway to Alaska, navigated its way up an electrical dam, given some fishermen directions, stopped in Canada to give a concert and then committed Harakiri in a gesture of honorable death.

I Wanna Be A Man

2009-04-01T20:29:00.000-07:00

I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But one who can walk in the halls of my ancestors
head held high, shoulders straight, proud face,
with an enduring smile
A man whose legacy permeates the ages
whose name brings joy and respect
remembrance in stories
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But one who breaks the cycle of abuse,
neglect, pain and suffering that has become
the imprint of my yesterday
The defined steps that I once embraced
inevitable and claimed as necessary
with ugly rights of passage that have
indelibly become my swan song
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man that exemplifies good values, stoic morals,
emulates humility and speaks truth
A man that reviles deceit and lies, stealing and cheating,
anger and pain
One that can stand on a hill, survey his land
A man in whose legacy lives the inheritance
of a generation
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man with wind in his back
and pep in his step
A man whose words resonate with the delivery of saints
The verses of servants and the countenance of God
One that can hear the murmurs of Isaiah's prophecy
The lamentations of David's lyrics
A man that delivers his sermons on a podium of grace
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man of value, teaming with purpose
A man whose life shouts "Glory!'
Resounding echos of success on the pages of life
One whose chapters are filled with substance
A page turner in the library of family history
I wanna be that man
Lord, make me a man

Lingerie in Saudi Arabia

2009-03-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

I just read that women in Saudi Arabia have decided to boycott lingerie shops. One would immediately think that this was related to some religious issue. I must warn my usual readers, that we are going where no man has gone before, into the ladies department. One small step for me, a giant step for you. I must also warn you that some of you will be moving to Saudi Arabia.

Here is the declaration; "Only men can work as lingerie salesmen in Saudi Arabia." There it is, out in the open. Let's get out of the way of the mass migration. Men everywhere are packing their bags or getting ready to line up at the Saudi Arabian embassy. Stop, before you reach for your phone,or line up for a work visa; there's a catch. There is currently a huge uproar in Saudi Arabia, women are flabbergasted and embarrassed at being forced to endure this shameful experience. On my behalf I wonder how long this has been going on, and why I didn't know about it sooner.

Okay men; ever wanted to get a job at Victoria's Secret? No? Ever thought about it? All the married guys are backing away slowly. Okay if you were single and had the resolve, would you apply? I don't think there's a man's man alive who is completely comfortable in this environment, no matter how much you like lingerie (I need to be careful here). So how does this happen in a country that has not given women equal rights? Furthermore, barely allows them to show any skin in public. Lingerie being sold by men?

I know that in America there would be no discriminating against any male who applied for a job at an intimate apparel store. Yeah, right! I can imagine telling all my boys at the pool hall about how I made my quota in brassiere sales over the weekend. "Hey Bernard, have you seen the latest design in thongs? The D-cup straps are made quite hardy!" No, I don't see it. How these men have survived in a macho driven culture like Saudi Arabia is beyond me. This in a country that won't allow women to drive in public? Someone buy me a drink.

I am trying hard not to make this a religious discourse. However, I am quite confused and unable to understand the hypocrisy. So the next time you're in Victoria's Secret, feeling awkward about escorting the wife, get really involved in the process, it might come in handy in the future.