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.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
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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