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