She stood on the corner of Fort Street & Junction, walking at a snails pace. She liked her tongue out as passer's by passed her by hardly paying her any attention. Every once in a while she would make sexual gestures at truckers who she expected to stop and negotiate with her as they have on previous occasions. She is a prostitute. Her face is that of most horror movie zombies yet through it all you can still see how she was once a beautiful woman. Her clothes were raged unlike that of the prostitutes on the 60's and 70's who I dare say had some form of class about themselves. I had to keep in mind that she was no ordinary prostitute but what is commonly known in Detroit as "crack whores". Her sexual prowl wasn't that of survival but one to allow her another hit of a deadly and poisonous drug that has ravaged communities across the world. How did this come to be?
Yes, she was beautiful before. I can see it in her eyes. Pass the crust of an unwashed face and teeth all but gone. Maybe her downfall was a decision she made at a party 20 odd years ago. Maybe she was tricked by someone she loved. Whatever the case may be she made the decision to live in a self imposed hell for the rest of her life. She's lost and turned out. I'm sure she has children and maybe even a husband. This is a reality be it a devastating one. No pimps involved in this scene, just mutual respect from other street walkers as far as territory is concerned whatever that means. First come first serve. Yet as with most Mothers even among chaos there is order.
Can these Mothers, daughters and sisters be rescued? Can I accept the saying "prostitution is the worlds oldest profession"? It eats at the core of my soul, I see these women daily. As I was told by a coworker, one of the ladies was a very influential teacher who lost her job, then her sanity and finally her soul. A elder I used to work with tells me of one sister on Fenkell avenue who was a popular beauty when they where in high school but she was a party girl. Now she "patrols" the streets looking for anybody who can support her habit.
These women can easily be someone in our families. Though they are our collective mothers and sisters, they have fallen by the wayside of claiming their glory. Can it be restored? Who has the time and patience to deal with this disease in our community? Some of them are so obviously affected by AIDS/HIV it turns my stomach to look at them. I believe my compassion for humanity allows me to feel a certain way for people who make poor decisions in their lives. It also reminds me that I have two daughters who are often reminded and reaffirmed of their beauty and self worth as well as their role in the world. We as men must recognize the role we play in the devastation in the lives of our women. We can't continue to assist and play roles in their demise and disrespect. We must begin the process of healing.
Ase' O!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
My conflicted visions
For the past several months I have seen fast moving objects or beings either in my home or in public. The beings or objects aren't there long enough for me to make an attempt at identifying or recognizing them. I saw two today in the parking lot next door. I looked out of my apartment window while showering and noticed from three floors up what appeared to be a white man walking in the lot. Not even 2 minutes later another being walked by in the same fashion. Each time as I looked out of the window there wasn't a person or animal in sight. The other day while in my shrine room I noticed a dark shadow dart out from behind my shrine to Yeye Osun a fled or hide behind my memorabilia chest. I dared not move the chest to explore...not out of fear but of respect. If it hide that means it didn't wanna be seen.
I have had these visions since I was a child yet never wanted to talk to anyone about it due to fear of ridicule. I know many people who have had similar if not the same experiences. Iyalase' Aina Olomo cover's this subject in her book "The Core of Fire, A Path to Yoruba Spiritual Activism". From my understanding Iya wrote about the shadows we see in our dreams and how they are products of our negative behavior. Iya Olomo writes, "These underdeveloped energies will often attempt to lure us into making decisions that conflict with our spiritual intent. The fleeting shadows that weave in and out of our conscious range have not consolidated. Their form does not have enough mass for us to see them clearly and distinctly. It is also possible that we do not see them distinctly because the vision of our conscious mind has not expanded its own development to be able to experience more than one reality at a time. It is important to understand that we generate negative energies when we engage in behavior patterns that do not promote character development or that do not coincide with the accepted behavioral standards established by our ancestors and divinities. These negative energies can manifest as symbols in our dreams as they penetrate the limits of our conscious mind, whether they are positive or negative, they expand our awareness." Now my problem here is that I wasn't dreaming, I've been wide awake.
As I stated earlier I know a few people who have experienced or are currently experiencing similar visions. Simply for the sake of assumption none of this is under the influence of any mind altering substances besides maybe a little adrenaline. Have you ever experienced similar visions? I don't know what it means, but I'm open to explanations. It may be time for another reading. I know one thing is fa'sho, my mind ain't playin' tricks on me.
O dabo
I have had these visions since I was a child yet never wanted to talk to anyone about it due to fear of ridicule. I know many people who have had similar if not the same experiences. Iyalase' Aina Olomo cover's this subject in her book "The Core of Fire, A Path to Yoruba Spiritual Activism". From my understanding Iya wrote about the shadows we see in our dreams and how they are products of our negative behavior. Iya Olomo writes, "These underdeveloped energies will often attempt to lure us into making decisions that conflict with our spiritual intent. The fleeting shadows that weave in and out of our conscious range have not consolidated. Their form does not have enough mass for us to see them clearly and distinctly. It is also possible that we do not see them distinctly because the vision of our conscious mind has not expanded its own development to be able to experience more than one reality at a time. It is important to understand that we generate negative energies when we engage in behavior patterns that do not promote character development or that do not coincide with the accepted behavioral standards established by our ancestors and divinities. These negative energies can manifest as symbols in our dreams as they penetrate the limits of our conscious mind, whether they are positive or negative, they expand our awareness." Now my problem here is that I wasn't dreaming, I've been wide awake.
As I stated earlier I know a few people who have experienced or are currently experiencing similar visions. Simply for the sake of assumption none of this is under the influence of any mind altering substances besides maybe a little adrenaline. Have you ever experienced similar visions? I don't know what it means, but I'm open to explanations. It may be time for another reading. I know one thing is fa'sho, my mind ain't playin' tricks on me.
O dabo
Monday, August 16, 2010
Patince: A lesson in character, decision making and dollars!
A few weeks ago my daughters and I were headed to a block party at Dabls Bead Gallery. I stopped at the store around the corner from my house in route to the party and parked in the parking lot. I exited the store and proceeded to my car. As I pulled out of my parking space there was a brother in a caravan blocking the exit. For some reason my horn wouldn't blow in my car as I had sat there for almost 3 to 4 minutes waiting on him to pull off. Well I didn't feel like waiting any longer so I made a decision. A poor decision but a decision never the less. I decided to drive around this man, at night and could not judge how steep the curb was. Well it was quite steep as I drove down said curve and heard a loud scrap and pop to which Messiah, my elder daughter looked at me wide-eyed. For some reason I asked her, "Was that my car?" fully knowing damn well that it was. I drove a little further when I heard someones exhaust pipe dragging from their car making loud and embarrassing noises. I pulled over to jam it up so that I could drive back home since I didnt have string or a hanger in my car. A Wayne State police officer pulled over to make sure that no one would crush my skull as I manage to jam the pipe so we could drive home. Messiah and I were laughing at my folly but Chinaza was in the back seat scared and crying. We finally made it home where I tied up the exhaust with a hanger and drove right up to Dabls to hang out!
The moral of this story is that my impatience scared my children, showed them a bad example in judgment, embarrassed me, made me late for Dabls and cost me $200. If I had been patient I would have showed my children how to be calm in adversity, not embarrassed myself, i can never be late for Dabls and I would have my $200 in my pocket.
Anyone who knows me personally can tell you that I am a thousand times better than I use to be and still have room to grow apparently.
Patience and calm are virtues, just don't get them confused with laziness or stagnation.
Ase' O
The moral of this story is that my impatience scared my children, showed them a bad example in judgment, embarrassed me, made me late for Dabls and cost me $200. If I had been patient I would have showed my children how to be calm in adversity, not embarrassed myself, i can never be late for Dabls and I would have my $200 in my pocket.
Anyone who knows me personally can tell you that I am a thousand times better than I use to be and still have room to grow apparently.
Patience and calm are virtues, just don't get them confused with laziness or stagnation.
Ase' O
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The power of forgiveness
Triumph. Forgiving is one of the hardest hurdles to clear in the path towards peace of mind. No one can claim to be at peace and still have ill feelings towards another. The ill feelings only lay dormant in our subconscious, waiting to be released. Forgiving is not forgetting, it is simply acknowledging the flawed human element in us all and taking steps to avoid whatever the charge from happening again. What sense does it make to hold on to the situation without an effective plan or method to discard it? You can best believe it probably doesn't affect the perpetrator.
Forgiving allows me to control the situation over my transgressor by elevating my spirit to a place of balance or a place free of stress. Soon what we carry will start to reflect in us physically to the point where we become sick either physically or mentally. It is even difficult to have a functioning relationship with the creator holding on to pain. I wrote this to medicate myself. I have resentment from childhood that lashes out in several different ways, sometime uncontrollable. I have children now and I cannot allow them to suffer from my experiences. They must grow and develop a relationship with this world on their own but with with the direction of their Mothers and their Baba.
So these two reasons are why we must forgive:
1. To seize control over the situation from the transgressor
2. To not allow the poison to affect our children
We have healing to do and we must be healed ourselves first and foremost. We cannot even begin to heal with conscious and subconscious demons lurking in the abyss of our souls.
Seek the proper healing and be a whole human being as the creator created you to be.
"I No Longer Want To Hold On, To That Which Doesn't Make Me Strong!"-Rachelle Ferrel
Ase' O
Forgiving allows me to control the situation over my transgressor by elevating my spirit to a place of balance or a place free of stress. Soon what we carry will start to reflect in us physically to the point where we become sick either physically or mentally. It is even difficult to have a functioning relationship with the creator holding on to pain. I wrote this to medicate myself. I have resentment from childhood that lashes out in several different ways, sometime uncontrollable. I have children now and I cannot allow them to suffer from my experiences. They must grow and develop a relationship with this world on their own but with with the direction of their Mothers and their Baba.
So these two reasons are why we must forgive:
1. To seize control over the situation from the transgressor
2. To not allow the poison to affect our children
We have healing to do and we must be healed ourselves first and foremost. We cannot even begin to heal with conscious and subconscious demons lurking in the abyss of our souls.
Seek the proper healing and be a whole human being as the creator created you to be.
"I No Longer Want To Hold On, To That Which Doesn't Make Me Strong!"-Rachelle Ferrel
Ase' O
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Check the box or check with the spirits?
Who would have thought we would have to go through spiritual steps to find out if it is acceptable for us to date or marry a sister? Especially for those of us who grew up doing things a totally different way. I remember back in elementary school when we would simply write a note and draw two boxes on it, one with yes, the other with no. Whichever box was checked would determine your fate. Now it's a more divine way of finding out which road we should take and the necessary steps to get there. Its a beautiful process and well worth the wait. We can't afford to be upset or hurt at the outcome if it isn't in our personal interest, it simply is what it is. Truthfully it is in our best interest when we understand it. If it does turn out the way we are hoping for then so be it and enjoy your happiness.
Ah, The beauty of being an adult. The beauty of divine love.
Ase' o
Ah, The beauty of being an adult. The beauty of divine love.
Ase' o
Monday, July 12, 2010
Messiah's first protest; An activist in the making.
Today was one of the proudest days of fatherhood for me. My daughter Messiah (12) attended her first police brutality protest and march in Indianapolis, Indiana. Along with the Reverend Al Sharpton, my mother and thousands of others, Messiah protested the vicious brutality of the Indianapolis police department. This is a monumental moment for my child and her future political and cultural ambitions and plans. She has the potential to surpass any and all efforts I may thought to accomplish by the time she reached my age of 36. My first protest march and rally wasn't until I was in my 20's and a freshman at Olivet College.
This goes to show that if we are passionate and sincere about our beliefs, and if we implement them in our everyday lives, our children will not stray into social or cultural obscurity. Everything I do is for my children. The future I want for them is a future free from all kinds of oppression. By the time my children are my age they will be well versed in struggle and take it a step further from Baba by building institutions of necessity for women, children and men alike. Iba se' Egun mi for allowing me to bring my children into existence and I give thanks for them chosing me to be their father.
Watch out oppression, the Bandele babies are coming!
O dabo
This goes to show that if we are passionate and sincere about our beliefs, and if we implement them in our everyday lives, our children will not stray into social or cultural obscurity. Everything I do is for my children. The future I want for them is a future free from all kinds of oppression. By the time my children are my age they will be well versed in struggle and take it a step further from Baba by building institutions of necessity for women, children and men alike. Iba se' Egun mi for allowing me to bring my children into existence and I give thanks for them chosing me to be their father.
Watch out oppression, the Bandele babies are coming!
O dabo
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Chinaza's Childhood Innocence
"Daddy meet my new friend Alicia!" Though she'd just met the young sister all of 5 minutes ago. This brings back memories of the many Detroit playgrounds Mama took us to when we were children. It also reminds me of the many friends I met at the Stone Pool playground, Weigel recreation center playground and even playgrounds inside of the Jeffries Projects. Most notably the playground where the Pitchfork family would kick our (myself and my sister Mimi) butts and send us home crying.
Nevertheless, the playground is where we watch our children be children, and not where they ask us "Daddy are you ok?", "What's wrong Mama?". They get to chase other children around and test their cognitive skills. We get a chance to relax and enjoy observing our little angels use what we've instilled in them :-).
This also allows me to reflect on my own life. People you may have known for 20 may act brand new as if they don't know you when they are looking directly into your eyes because of the familiarity in the first place lol. The contrast between the unlearned and under-developed innocence of children and the trained dishonesty and disloyalty of adults is amazing. And here I am thinking things get better with time...
Play on baby girl and enjoy this day. Unfortunately, it will not last forever.
Peace
Nevertheless, the playground is where we watch our children be children, and not where they ask us "Daddy are you ok?", "What's wrong Mama?". They get to chase other children around and test their cognitive skills. We get a chance to relax and enjoy observing our little angels use what we've instilled in them :-).
This also allows me to reflect on my own life. People you may have known for 20 may act brand new as if they don't know you when they are looking directly into your eyes because of the familiarity in the first place lol. The contrast between the unlearned and under-developed innocence of children and the trained dishonesty and disloyalty of adults is amazing. And here I am thinking things get better with time...
Play on baby girl and enjoy this day. Unfortunately, it will not last forever.
Peace
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Excerpt 4 from "The Book of Bandele: Life of a Project Prophet".
Chapter: July 4
Verse: 2:14 p.m.
While at times I may have major differences with my father I can say this for sure, he showed up when I performed in any competition. Some of my friends even called my father "He-Man" instead of Mr. Glenn. Many didn't have fathers or father figures in their lives. My father attended many of my sporting events, sometimes without me even noticing. There were times when my friends and I would sit in our locker room and ask each other if our fathers would show up. We depended on that energy and support for our performance. Some of us would be disappointed by the time we'd reach the field, diamond or court. The disappointment wasn't based on anything about our mother's what-so-ever. We knew she'd be there. If she wasn't there we knew the reason for it and accepted it as it was. Fathers, we MUST be there. Particularly for our sons sporting events and performances, ultimately for our children altogether.
Sometimes daddy wouldn't arrive until later which made my assumptions run wild. Did he care? What the hell could he be doin' instead of being here? My attention would be distracted from focusing on the crowd. Then, all of a sudden, out of the cheers and boo's of a play that I participated in I would hear "Get'em Woonie!!" or "Good play son!" (tears). I knew that voice, for I had heard it many times from mama's womb. It was Haywood, showin' & provin'. He gave me advice that...
To be continued.
Verse: 2:14 p.m.
While at times I may have major differences with my father I can say this for sure, he showed up when I performed in any competition. Some of my friends even called my father "He-Man" instead of Mr. Glenn. Many didn't have fathers or father figures in their lives. My father attended many of my sporting events, sometimes without me even noticing. There were times when my friends and I would sit in our locker room and ask each other if our fathers would show up. We depended on that energy and support for our performance. Some of us would be disappointed by the time we'd reach the field, diamond or court. The disappointment wasn't based on anything about our mother's what-so-ever. We knew she'd be there. If she wasn't there we knew the reason for it and accepted it as it was. Fathers, we MUST be there. Particularly for our sons sporting events and performances, ultimately for our children altogether.
Sometimes daddy wouldn't arrive until later which made my assumptions run wild. Did he care? What the hell could he be doin' instead of being here? My attention would be distracted from focusing on the crowd. Then, all of a sudden, out of the cheers and boo's of a play that I participated in I would hear "Get'em Woonie!!" or "Good play son!" (tears). I knew that voice, for I had heard it many times from mama's womb. It was Haywood, showin' & provin'. He gave me advice that...
To be continued.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Excerpt 3 from "The Book of Bandele: Life of a Project Prophet".
Chapter: 6-22-10
Verse: 10:07pm
I saw a little girl today who happened to be legally blind. This isn't the first time I've seen a blind child but there was something different about this baby. I believe she was all of 6 or 7 years of age. With the assistance of her older brother in the front and her daddy behind her she joyfully hopped down the stairs, counting out each stair as she hopped. Just as jovial as my daughter Messiah was when she was 6. At first thought I was sort of disturbed, thinking about how she couldn't see what we see. My Ori or my higher spiritual head told me she is blessed to not be able to do so. You see, she actually has to judge with her head & heart and not the bias and trained eyes that we have. In addition to learning to use her internal eyes she also had to learn to trust.
People who can't see need people who can see to help them along the way. People who can see should recognize their role in this and not manipulate the person who is blind and seeking assistance. All productive relationships are built on foundations of trust, first and foremost. If this young sisters trust is shattered by her father and brother it will be shattered for every man and some women who enter her life from that point on. This was a family establishing trust with each other. By the peaceful and loving energy I picked up from them, I believe they knew it.
Ase'
Verse: 10:07pm
I saw a little girl today who happened to be legally blind. This isn't the first time I've seen a blind child but there was something different about this baby. I believe she was all of 6 or 7 years of age. With the assistance of her older brother in the front and her daddy behind her she joyfully hopped down the stairs, counting out each stair as she hopped. Just as jovial as my daughter Messiah was when she was 6. At first thought I was sort of disturbed, thinking about how she couldn't see what we see. My Ori or my higher spiritual head told me she is blessed to not be able to do so. You see, she actually has to judge with her head & heart and not the bias and trained eyes that we have. In addition to learning to use her internal eyes she also had to learn to trust.
People who can't see need people who can see to help them along the way. People who can see should recognize their role in this and not manipulate the person who is blind and seeking assistance. All productive relationships are built on foundations of trust, first and foremost. If this young sisters trust is shattered by her father and brother it will be shattered for every man and some women who enter her life from that point on. This was a family establishing trust with each other. By the peaceful and loving energy I picked up from them, I believe they knew it.
Ase'
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Excerpt 2 from "The Book of Bandele: Life of a Project Prophet".
Chapter: 6-30-10
Verse: 7:32pm
Taking a Shahadah was easily one of the most exciting moments of my life. I thought long and hard about it, although wanting to follow Malcolm made my decision a little easier. Why Islam? It was 1998 and I just started working at the Springwells freshwater pumping station with the Detroit Water & Sewage Department. By this time I had a brief history with western African Islam i.e. The Nation of Islam in 1990 I believe and a very brief stint as a member of the Nation of Gods & Earths. I joined these institutions under the assumption that "Islam is the Blackman's natural religion" which now I know is completely untrue. Our natural religion or way of life is to be. Being is natural. Now our natural practices of spirituality may be a different subject. I also believed that being a Sunni would complete me as a man. The Sunni's I know are stand up people regardless of how we differ in belief. I learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life as a Muslim. Faith, discipline, humbleness, and humility. I began to fine tune all of these characteristics when I began to practice Islam.
It was hard hearing from Arab as well as Black Muslims that there is no color in Islam. I remember my cousins and I were called abn (slave) by an Arab Muslim gas station owner who took us to be typical hood niggas in his eyes. Even the late Dr. Khalid Abdul Muhammad spoke about an African Muslim woman who's defense he'd come to in Mecca for being assaulted by Arab Muslims. I didn't like idea of crossing over the African continent to claim the newest of the worlds new religions nor did I like the idea of giving up one slave master for another.
Now back to the story, I met a brother at Springwells who was a Sunni Muslim. Beautiful person. I told him of my desires to get serious with the 5%'ers of which he was clearly bothered by. He told me of the true and oneness of Islam that was shared by not just Blacks but people all over the planet. After about a month of studying, sharing lunches and life stories he offered to take me to his Masjid or Mosque. The Mosque was predominately Arab with several Blacks in attendance. That was a problem for me being a Black Nationalist since 1989.
A few days after this the brothers wife came to pick him up for work and meet me. I spoke to her "A salaam Alaikum" and reached to shake her hand to which she sort of withdrew her body back. My friend quickly inserted, "Oh no women don't touch men who aren't their husbands". I was a little disturbed by that. I feel that is a restriction that men have placed on women and not the law of Allah. Men who otherwise couldn't control themselves sexually. It also bothered me that the brother's in the car kinda smirked about it as if i was the naive child. The naivete' didn't belong to me. That was the last day I had a close relationship with the brother or any other orthodox Muslim as far as teaching me about Islam. I'd had enough.
Another scenario comes to mind of my interaction with a beautiful Muslim brother. I was working in the Wayne State University area when I saw this brother with a white kufi. I knew he was a Muslim off-the-rip (from first site). I asked him him where I could purchase a Quran from as I told him of my ambitions. He started to tell me about a store then he paused, took off his back-pack, dug deep into it and pulled out the most beautiful green and gold Quran I have laid eyes on to date. he looked at the Quran, looked at me and said "here" extending out the Quran in his right hand. As I statrted to show my gratitude he cuts me off and say's, "may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon you". A perfect example of the guardian spirits that I have had the honor of coming across in human form. I never saw him again.
In Osborn high school as a junior after I first heard the "Black Revolution vs the Negro Revolution" lecture by Malcolm X, my friends and I decided to form the "Islamic Clique" to which my name was Lakim Shabazz. I "graffitified" everything with that name lol. The changing of my name always presented a new reality for me, and a reality is relative to the person living it. Anyway, we gave our teacher PURE HELL. This clique consisted of Donovan Rivers, Michael Cantrell, Marlon Baker, Sheron Shows, I believe Fred Campbell and yours truly. We blamed our white teachers for everything minus the rising of the sun. Just a side thought...
Islam has been a foundation of strength, pride, truth, justice and a way of life for millions of African people living in America. We must give the Nation of Islam its due. Though we may disagree with The Honorable Elijah Muhammad, Minister Louis Farrakhan or the events surrounding the assassination of Malcolm we cannot deny it's social impact on our lives. This was all started by a little man from the south who migrated to Detroit to establish a kingdom in 1930. This kingdom gave us a chance to escape what we considered "the white man's religion". Though we may argue its dogma, we can never debate its production, significance nor effectiveness in our community.
Verse: 7:32pm
Taking a Shahadah was easily one of the most exciting moments of my life. I thought long and hard about it, although wanting to follow Malcolm made my decision a little easier. Why Islam? It was 1998 and I just started working at the Springwells freshwater pumping station with the Detroit Water & Sewage Department. By this time I had a brief history with western African Islam i.e. The Nation of Islam in 1990 I believe and a very brief stint as a member of the Nation of Gods & Earths. I joined these institutions under the assumption that "Islam is the Blackman's natural religion" which now I know is completely untrue. Our natural religion or way of life is to be. Being is natural. Now our natural practices of spirituality may be a different subject. I also believed that being a Sunni would complete me as a man. The Sunni's I know are stand up people regardless of how we differ in belief. I learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life as a Muslim. Faith, discipline, humbleness, and humility. I began to fine tune all of these characteristics when I began to practice Islam.
It was hard hearing from Arab as well as Black Muslims that there is no color in Islam. I remember my cousins and I were called abn (slave) by an Arab Muslim gas station owner who took us to be typical hood niggas in his eyes. Even the late Dr. Khalid Abdul Muhammad spoke about an African Muslim woman who's defense he'd come to in Mecca for being assaulted by Arab Muslims. I didn't like idea of crossing over the African continent to claim the newest of the worlds new religions nor did I like the idea of giving up one slave master for another.
Now back to the story, I met a brother at Springwells who was a Sunni Muslim. Beautiful person. I told him of my desires to get serious with the 5%'ers of which he was clearly bothered by. He told me of the true and oneness of Islam that was shared by not just Blacks but people all over the planet. After about a month of studying, sharing lunches and life stories he offered to take me to his Masjid or Mosque. The Mosque was predominately Arab with several Blacks in attendance. That was a problem for me being a Black Nationalist since 1989.
A few days after this the brothers wife came to pick him up for work and meet me. I spoke to her "A salaam Alaikum" and reached to shake her hand to which she sort of withdrew her body back. My friend quickly inserted, "Oh no women don't touch men who aren't their husbands". I was a little disturbed by that. I feel that is a restriction that men have placed on women and not the law of Allah. Men who otherwise couldn't control themselves sexually. It also bothered me that the brother's in the car kinda smirked about it as if i was the naive child. The naivete' didn't belong to me. That was the last day I had a close relationship with the brother or any other orthodox Muslim as far as teaching me about Islam. I'd had enough.
Another scenario comes to mind of my interaction with a beautiful Muslim brother. I was working in the Wayne State University area when I saw this brother with a white kufi. I knew he was a Muslim off-the-rip (from first site). I asked him him where I could purchase a Quran from as I told him of my ambitions. He started to tell me about a store then he paused, took off his back-pack, dug deep into it and pulled out the most beautiful green and gold Quran I have laid eyes on to date. he looked at the Quran, looked at me and said "here" extending out the Quran in his right hand. As I statrted to show my gratitude he cuts me off and say's, "may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon you". A perfect example of the guardian spirits that I have had the honor of coming across in human form. I never saw him again.
In Osborn high school as a junior after I first heard the "Black Revolution vs the Negro Revolution" lecture by Malcolm X, my friends and I decided to form the "Islamic Clique" to which my name was Lakim Shabazz. I "graffitified" everything with that name lol. The changing of my name always presented a new reality for me, and a reality is relative to the person living it. Anyway, we gave our teacher PURE HELL. This clique consisted of Donovan Rivers, Michael Cantrell, Marlon Baker, Sheron Shows, I believe Fred Campbell and yours truly. We blamed our white teachers for everything minus the rising of the sun. Just a side thought...
Islam has been a foundation of strength, pride, truth, justice and a way of life for millions of African people living in America. We must give the Nation of Islam its due. Though we may disagree with The Honorable Elijah Muhammad, Minister Louis Farrakhan or the events surrounding the assassination of Malcolm we cannot deny it's social impact on our lives. This was all started by a little man from the south who migrated to Detroit to establish a kingdom in 1930. This kingdom gave us a chance to escape what we considered "the white man's religion". Though we may argue its dogma, we can never debate its production, significance nor effectiveness in our community.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Excerpt 1 from "The Book of Bandele: Life of a Project Prophet".
Chapter: 6-21-2010
Verse: 2:50 p.m.
When i was 15, I nickled and dimed in the crack "game". By nickle & diming I mean I was asked to pass drugs to customers through a back window and in return of course, they would give us money. I never had or possessed a sack of my own. Never wanted one. I won't go into much detail about it besides a few events that affected or changed my life. On a brisk fall day, I decided to skip a half day of school and go hang with my fellas. We sat in the living room of the house where the drugs were sold, gazing out of the window making jokes of childish scenarios though they were 19 & 18 respectively (I didn't like hanging out with brothers younger than me then).
"Idle hands do the devil's work", Mama use to say. I don't believe in the devil anymore but I understood the phrase then and understand it even better today. Children and teens who lack parental guidance and community support can become parasites and over-night terrorist.
Around noon which is usually lunchtime in most public schools, we observed what looked to be a young woman walking alone on the street east of us which is still Hamburg. She probably was a substitute teacher or maybe even a lunch aide. One of my friends said, "I bet I go snatch dat bitch purse!" with dares and encouragement from us all. He started the long route towards the unsuspecting sister, walking around the elementary school, stalking her as she strolled down what should have been a safe street in her community. My friend approached the sister from behind and snatched her purse from off of her shoulder as she screamed to the top of her lungs for help. She tried with everything she had to fight him off but he was a pretty big dude, maybe 6'3 and 170 at the age of 18. He succeeded in robbing the sister of her purse. My heart started fluttering as I watched in horror and utter confusion. The sister uncontrollably cried and screamed for help...no one came.
My friend returned to us as we impatiently ordered him to open the purse. The reward for his behavior was a whopping $5 in single food stamp bills and her personal belongings, none of which was of any use whatsoever to any of us. I was angry when I saw this sister in despair and even angrier when I saw what little was taken from her. Not angry because it wasn't enough for us to divy up, my own mother was receiving food stamps at that time in my life and that could have been her just the same. I was beginning to see my relationship to my community, my family. I said, "Is this it?". He said, "Looks like it mothafucka". I said, "dog, yall wrong man". I walked from the side of the house where we watched and went home.
Needless to say that was the last time I was to have a functional relationship with my Strasburg crew. That scenario is painful to think, write about or even speak on as a few others I may have from this era in my life. It was 22 years ago. I saw mama in this sisters agony. That $5 may have been all she had for the week to feed her children. It's a probable possibility coming from that neighborhood. I thank my ancestors for removing my family from that environment. I pray that sister is healed.
Ase' o
Verse: 2:50 p.m.
When i was 15, I nickled and dimed in the crack "game". By nickle & diming I mean I was asked to pass drugs to customers through a back window and in return of course, they would give us money. I never had or possessed a sack of my own. Never wanted one. I won't go into much detail about it besides a few events that affected or changed my life. On a brisk fall day, I decided to skip a half day of school and go hang with my fellas. We sat in the living room of the house where the drugs were sold, gazing out of the window making jokes of childish scenarios though they were 19 & 18 respectively (I didn't like hanging out with brothers younger than me then).
"Idle hands do the devil's work", Mama use to say. I don't believe in the devil anymore but I understood the phrase then and understand it even better today. Children and teens who lack parental guidance and community support can become parasites and over-night terrorist.
Around noon which is usually lunchtime in most public schools, we observed what looked to be a young woman walking alone on the street east of us which is still Hamburg. She probably was a substitute teacher or maybe even a lunch aide. One of my friends said, "I bet I go snatch dat bitch purse!" with dares and encouragement from us all. He started the long route towards the unsuspecting sister, walking around the elementary school, stalking her as she strolled down what should have been a safe street in her community. My friend approached the sister from behind and snatched her purse from off of her shoulder as she screamed to the top of her lungs for help. She tried with everything she had to fight him off but he was a pretty big dude, maybe 6'3 and 170 at the age of 18. He succeeded in robbing the sister of her purse. My heart started fluttering as I watched in horror and utter confusion. The sister uncontrollably cried and screamed for help...no one came.
My friend returned to us as we impatiently ordered him to open the purse. The reward for his behavior was a whopping $5 in single food stamp bills and her personal belongings, none of which was of any use whatsoever to any of us. I was angry when I saw this sister in despair and even angrier when I saw what little was taken from her. Not angry because it wasn't enough for us to divy up, my own mother was receiving food stamps at that time in my life and that could have been her just the same. I was beginning to see my relationship to my community, my family. I said, "Is this it?". He said, "Looks like it mothafucka". I said, "dog, yall wrong man". I walked from the side of the house where we watched and went home.
Needless to say that was the last time I was to have a functional relationship with my Strasburg crew. That scenario is painful to think, write about or even speak on as a few others I may have from this era in my life. It was 22 years ago. I saw mama in this sisters agony. That $5 may have been all she had for the week to feed her children. It's a probable possibility coming from that neighborhood. I thank my ancestors for removing my family from that environment. I pray that sister is healed.
Ase' o
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