Shooing Away The Dust...Brushing Off My Collar

Well, its only a few days until I am on that great, big metal bird, flying me across the ocean; into the warm embrace of my loving husband. I can't wait to see him, and in the music and lyrics of Anita Baker, 'it's been so long, I'm missing you baby...'

As I squeeze all of my clothes in my suitcase - I've already utilised the timely tradition of my people by sending a gigantic blue barrel ahead of me, so I can travel light - and zip and unzip until my suitcase resembles a fully stuffed, can't fit any- food- inside - stomach, I can only reminisce on my time in the UK - good times and bad.

Yesterday, my oldest son treated me and my youngest son to a meal in Chinatown. We went to this cheap and cheerful restaurant, where the food is plentiful and the staff are rude. Nonetheless, with some bittersweet moments of being in my boys presence and knowing that they can't just jump on Eurostar or come by coach to see me in Holland, and trying to determine my youngest son's sullen silence, we had a good time.I  couldn't really garner an appetite as the realisation was hitting me hard that I will be separate from them; many miles away in a place which is comprised of pure nature, and irrigated by 365 rivers - or so the locals say.

 Its easier saying goodbye to friends, but saying goodbye - well, its not really a goodbye- to sons that you have carried and nurtured all these years, can be a tad emotional. I was surprised that I held it down though. I didn't want to embarrass my children, and cause a tsunami in the restaurant,  but I cried all the way home. It wasn't really of sadness...

Anyway, next door to this restaurant is a place where I used to rave hard, way back in the days - The Wag Club. Its no longer there. I felt a sense of sadness and loss, because this place, and also the The Empire in Leicester Square, were my youthful days of abandoned rituals: partying and being reckless (in the way that I could, as I was still living a sheltered life at home).  As I said, The Wag Club is no longer there, and I guess like this former landmark which was a place of my post adolescence innocence,  like then as of now,  I'm in the midst of change, of transformation.

Its funny, in the last few days, I've noticed a couple of friends becoming kind of distant towards me. I'm still trying to understand what that is all about. I'm not sure and I can't put my finger on it. Maybe they will miss me? I tend to over analyse things, so I'm just going to leave it alone, shoo it away with the dust that has accumulated in my life.

Its at times like this, deep in reflection of my continued journey, I really have seen who my true friends are; I can literally count them on one hand, and this is fine by me. There is one particular one - who will remain nameless - but if she sees this blog she will know it is her (!) who was/is there for me unconditionally. Through thick and thin, more than some members of my own family. I will never, ever forget her kindness and her nurturing spirit towards me. In a way, she reminds me of my late Godmother, Margaret. Margaret was this amazing Jamaican woman who knew my mama. I'm not sure how they became friends, as they were like oil and water. She smoked. My mama didn't. She held people in great bear hugs of affection. My mama couldn't. She drank like a fish and swore like a sailor on his first foray onto dry land. My mama never cursed - unless it was in Yoruba and I had no idea of its meaning! Yes, they were so different, but she trusted Margaret with me.  In fact, she looked after me for a couple of years when I was in my preteens when my mama took my brothers back home to be educated. She reminded me of Billie Holliday, as she used to always wear a gardenia in her hair; she had this husky, sing song voice vibrating with love and compassion for mankind. She was a treat; I still hunger and miss her presence. I guess that's why I've always, always felt some kind of affinity with people from the Caribbean - more so than my own folk from Nigeria. Its the truth. I never pretended to be something else, but it was this warm familiarity that made me feel at ease and relaxed. That's also another reason why I have visited these islands more than my ancestral homeland. Because I feel a sense of 'belonging'. I mean, look who I married! An amazing and resilient man from - guess where? Yes, the Caribbean!

 Anyway, as I was saying, my dear friend reminds me of my Margaret. She always wants to know if I am well; if I have eaten. In general, she has looked out for me since arriving from Holland. My friend has been a refuge from some of the storms and challenges that I have faced, and I can never thank her enough in all that she has done for me since living in the UK. Her children let me become part of their furniture  unreservedly and again, I am so grateful that they allowed me to live in their space.

So, I am just brushing off the dirt from my collar to all the folk - family included -  who thought that I would not do it; could not do it.  I am shooing away the dust from my feet; getting prepared to take that leap of faith to be somewhere where my uniqueness will be offset by my own perceptions, and what I will  bring with me to this new land.  I am getting ready, like a marathon runner,  for the next part of my journey. I am well aware of the obstacles that I may face, but like other obstacles in my life, I eventually get over and carry on, sprinting and sometimes running.

Hopefully, whoever is reading this blog will come with me on my journey, through my words,  when I migrate this blog to my own domain.

Soon, very soon...

The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.: When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless

The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.: When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless

When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless

Something has been really troubling my spirit lately. The recent spate of Black on Black killings in my neighbourhood. Now, I haven't been immune to this horrific dilemma that has been like a venomous cancer in my community, but I hold up my hand and admit that I have been kind of complacent. Its not because I don't care, but I just feel hopeless about it. There are no loud voices proclaiming justice or peace. No chorus of voices, just an abandoned riff of sadness. I've added to this inconclusive and mute landscape, and I also hold myself responsible for this as well - or protesting at the local police station about how this will be thwarted, but still the silence which has deafened me over the years has made me try to learn sign language of these young men.

 Instead, I, like others have found a real comfortable spot in the sand and burrowed my head deep within, hoping that the killings will eventually stop; that the self hatred will fade away like a pair of well faded levis. Bu I know they will not. They're just becoming more and more frenzied. Young Black males annihilating themselves because of 'respect' and affiliating themselves to gangs who are giving them 'love' and self esteem that they are not automatically gaining from their family members.
My neighbourhood is becoming a overpopulated cemetery, scarred indelibly with the bodies of young black men, who are killing themselves senselessly, due to a sense of hatred and loathing for self. That is it in a nutshell.

I remember, several years back, when my youngest son who was attending high school in another borough, used to literally run a marathon race everyday to our local train station - each way -  so he would not be caught up in the 'postcode honour' that these young black boys seem to seek validation from. The 'postcode honour' is about finding out if you are from their 'manor'; their area. If not, you're liable to get beaten up, or even worse, harmed. perhaps in a fatal way. Why? Because their like tomcats, marking and spraying their territories. Also, because they hate what they see, they also destroy their own likeness of themselves.

Thankfully, after I went to live for a couple of years in Holland, he lived with his father as he was attending college up there. His father lives in suburbia and it's not so bad as it is, living here in the inner city. I am proud to say, that my son made conscious, and wise choices and decisions - he had no choice with his father and me as his parents. Suffice to say, he will be attending university to undertake his degree in September 2012.

*Update*

My son is now in university and thriving. I am really proud of his sense of achievements and I am so happy that he, as with my other son, did not persist to peer pressure and become another 'statistic'.

Be About It/Do It: Preparation: Soon... very soon

' the loudest voice is just a whisper in the wind'© Taiwo Ogunnaike - 2012

As I prepare to leave Europe, emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually, I look back on what I have gained living here.

Well, the birth of my two wonderful boys who have grown to be such amazing young men, who make me proud and continue to shine their lights. I praise the Most High for them, because they literally made me find my feet.And I am delighted that they chose me as their 'mumma'. I feel courageous that they have the positive self esteem to let their 'mumma', me,  go and be happy in warmer climates and to be with her darling and loving  husband. Completely complete and blissfully blessed.

I am grateful for my advanced education. Although I challenged a lot in my 'higher learning' from the people who taught me - and I came into it at an advanced age -  my perceptions were much more keener - I still gained knowledge from all the sources which embraced me. I am still learning everyday. Do I have any regrets? No. Regrets are just obstacles, and I get over them each and everyday.

My politicisation(sic) filtered way into my consciousness in the early 80s. For me it was the reverberation and shouts of  '13 dead, nothing said'. I will always remember that day - March 2nd 1981 - when I was still doing/preparing for  my A Levels  I never told my mama I was going on the march, but I remember sneaking out when I was meant to go to the library. It was my watershed moment of realising that I was of 'other', and the impact of being aware of this knowledge hit me HARD in the solar plexus, literally winding me.

 I know, I was a naive, 17 year old, closeted by religion, juxtaposition with the white Jesus hanging on red velvet wallpaper.

I remember being in a sea of melanin, held afloat by loud, but angry and triumphant victorious voices. I felt that I was 'home' and there was a 'red sea' epiphany moment for me - although I had no comprehension of it at the time.  There were over 20,000 people marching, people who looked just like ME. I had never seen such a collective organism of us in one place before that were not celebrating dancing and good times, but living. I was astounded by the dashikis and all other sartorial manners of African type clothing that I had only seen in my church as a young girl. I was buoyed by this. My spirit and fire arose in me as I joined the chants. I knew it was going to be a historical and pivotal moment for the African/British movement.

 As I moved deeper within the Pan African struggle in the 80s and 90s I felt a seismic shift begin within. I saw that a lot of these organisations had issues with gender and equality. I am not talking 'feminism', but there were flawed debates, that sometimes got buried or never challenged, such as domestic violence that was very active (and still is) within our communities. I remember having (or attempting to have) a lot of these debates with some of my  'brothas' about women's roles within the movement. I was having a reincarnation moment about how women were perceived, and how I remembered reading about these roles within the Black Panther movement twenty odd years before. Things had not changed. Anyway, I digress. I will be writing more on this in my novel.

What I want to say, is that I stand here now. Fully congruent and  still fiercely proud and protective in being Pro Black for my community, but my embrace has widened. I want and will be taking that embrace/ideas/(in)/evolvement/love et al to another country, another land.

I refuse to be like the so many stagnant figures I have observed in the Pan African movement over here; who keep on blaming 'whitey' and yet refuse to saw away at these chains that they feel is psychologically  binding them so tightly in  BABYLON. They still verbally projectile the same slogans from yesteryear, and they have still stood in the same spot, marking the same spot, by spouting dated rhetoric in shifting times; passing it on to the next (X) generation. After a while, these loud, angry, but victorious and triumphant voices are just whispers on the wind. They don't mean anything if you they are not prepared to do the walking instead of  merely talking. And prepared to:

BE ABOUT IT

and

TO JUST...

  DO IT!

Soon, very soon...

Keep on Keeping on: Consistency with Life and Blogging.

Sometimes I have to ask, or rather tell myself, to keep up the consistency of the writing on my blog. I admit, when LIFE gets in the way, then I tend to leave my blog to the resounding echoes of crickets. Sometimes this overwhelming sense of guilt comes over me, and then I suddenly get hit by a flash of inspiration, overcompensate and go into a freewrite mode; I see that I have attested to this over the last few posts on this blog, and this theme seems to be a common denominator in a lot of my writings.

Although over the last few months - heck years (hides embarassed face) - I've been inconsistent with my blog, and I think I have translated this into my own personal life. But to be honest though, this last year has been a really trying and difficult year and has tested me in all ways imaginable. In ways which have been challenging and where I thought that people who were there for me were just vague and superficial presences in my life. But there has been a couple of really amazing friends who have stuck by me, unconditionally, and they know who they are - you are going to have to read the acknowledgements in my book one day!

 And in all of this I feel that I am slowly waking up from this self induced slumber. There have been moments of consistency and shining beacons throughout this year for me - seeing my two beautiful sons and seeing what they are achieving in their worlds and their lives, and of course, my beautiful, yet simplistic marriage to my desirable Dominican husband **big cheesy smile**

So, regarding my blog. I know for me to have consistency there has to be a natural flow, a rhythm to my writing. Right now, its kind of disjointed, and I think that is a reflection of my LIFE right now. All of what I am feeling right now is just a temporary phase, so I am not alarmed about it. I feel transformation coming soon on my horizon.

I have no fears though, and feel absolutely optimistic that this is just a misaligned cog in the wheel of my life. I do see a small sliver of light, which is getting brighter and brighter for me in a good, positive way, because from next year I will be migrating my blog to an actual dotcom domain; changing my inconsistency into uninterrupted lines of creative and life consistencies.  That will be my life, and I can literally taste the change that is ahead.  And when I take on this thought, I see how my blog and its migration represents my life right now, because I am literally migrating out of my country of birth by the end of this year.

So for me, the new life of my new blog represents transformation, growth and hopefully, consistency in my blog, my writing and my overall, well, LIFE.

Soon, very soon...

Nights Like This - Reloaded

The nights are drawing in and its time for me to burrow deep  for long forgotten winter clothes, as they sought hibernation among archived Olympic times, summer fashions.

The nights are drawing in and the clock has fallen back into fall, as I lay in bed, trying to sniff out long forgotten mango/guava/coconut scents and indelible memories imprinted and tattooed in eyelids. Of an island so breathtakingly beautiful, that I sometimes forget to exhale.

The nights are drawing in and the mornings will be getting lighter, as I daydream about feeling free, in the lap of fluidity - nature. Where faces abound will resemble mine as if looking in a mirror. Where I can go and experience and really start living the authenticity of my revived  life among the vivid greens, the brilliant  yellows  and azure blues; coated in a technicolour array of natural living.

The nights are drawing in as I crave for the warm embrace of my spiritually ordained soul mate - my darling, wonderful, blessed loved husband - as he eagerly and patiently awaits for me on the magical, natural island, building up our fortress so our pleasurable laughter and unrelenting joy can be finally released and  reunited.

The nights are drawing in as my countdown begins.

Soon, very soon and I cannot wait.

To be continued... 

A Change is Gonna Come... Soon!

As I briefly peruse my blog and kick myself literally about procrastinating in my creativity, I then change my thoughts and tell myself that there have been lots of changes since my last blog entry.
So with all my pontifications and grandstanding that I have written about on my blog,  regarding my stilted creativity,I am still, in my own way, trying to remain optimistic in my uncertainties. Still trying to remain focused on my creative goals, aims and objectives.

One of these changes since my June entry is that I am now a legally married woman! Yes! You know, I have always considered myself married to the love of my life, its just that it wasn't legalised. But now it is. I am officially MRS TAIWO WILLIAMS. Yes, that felt hella (sic) good. In fact, it sounds so good, that I had to capitialise it. I think - and I am still debating - that I am going to keep my beautiful, Yoruba maiden name, as a nod to my noble Nigerian roots. But because I have such a paradox nature at times,  I may just hypen my name when I finally debut my novel.

Anyway, a change is gonna come... very soon. I am keeping it close to my chest right now. Only those who I have trusted and who I love are aware of these changes, but suffice to say, they are positive ones. With this change I am going to migrate my blog to an actual dotcom site - hopefully, by the end of this year - and have it hosted, thus, making it look professional, but most importantly, I will be writing regularly on it and giving you my updates on my wonderful changes. I still need to think of a unique name for my site, and I will be digging deeply into my proverbial hat of creativity to come up with something. One that will get me sudden surges of traffic, and also, most importantly, people reading my blog, feeling my blog, and leaving constructive and positive comments on it.

Oh, I decided to put Sam Cooke's classic video as part of this blog post. I'm aware of the historical context of the track, its that just for me, it sums up my own optimism in my current tide of pessimism.

Soon come!

My Whys: High Expectations and Creativity.

I've just received a wonderful comment about one of my previous blog posts, and it got me thinking really deeply. Although the commentator was 'anonymous', their comments have left an indelible mark on my consciousness.

Just the other day, I was asking myself why I had come to a standstill with my creativity? Why had I stopped writing daily? What was wrong? Why was I starting to doubt myself again with my creativity? Why couldn't I follow my own tips that I wrote about in some of my previous blog posts? Why? Why? Why?

I got so caught up with all my 'whys', that I became dizzy and yes, overwhelmed by these often self- imposed high expectations of close friends and family. It was only when this anonymous commentator spoke about having 'high expectations' of self and creativity, that I clearly began to glimpse and finally get my proverbial light bulb moment. A 100 watts of clarity just flooded my senses!

I get a lot of inspirations and revelations and I just 'write' freely, and this, I guess is what a lot of my blog posts represent to me; and when I read them back to myself, they do have a sense of abandoned freedom. But sometimes, I have to ask myself if they are a distraction to my creativity of reigniting my novel. Am I sabotaging myself because of this fear of being eventually published?

I have left this particular writing in stagnation for a while. Why? Because to be honest with you, I am scared of failure. I am scared of the high expectations expected from me. I fear the questions from loved ones, asking me how the novel is going, and I become uncharacteristically  muted and quickly divert the attention and leap frog to another topic. I fear that I am not being authentic to myself when it comes to my writing and my progress, and to be frank, this paralyses me!

Nonetheless, now it is becoming evident to me, and as I attempt to expel these self imposed high expectations that I hold close to my chest, like a deflated life jacket, I know it is up to me and only me to climb down from this high mountain of expectations and swim freely; to get out of my restricted exile and start to inflate this life jacket. To anchor myself in the waves of certainty and clarity and continue with my journey of writing this novel.

Its time for me to come ashore and just write, whenever I feel like it, with no high expectations.

Thank you once again to my anonymous commentator.

On&On&On... My Personal and Loving Rebuttal to Erykah Badu

Just recently, there has been a lot of controversy surrounding one of my favourite artist's, Erykah Badu. This controversy was about how she had no idea about what kind of image that was being sent out regarding a promo video that she and her sister were featured on and how she felt 'manipulated' and violated.

 Let me just preface this and let you know, I have all her albums, seen her live in concert endless times when she has travelled to Europe; in fact, I remember seeing her live at the Jazz Cafe years ago before she became the mega superstar in the noughties. I am what you call a person who loves her vibe; I don't consider myself a 'fan', because to me that has too many negative connotations attached to it. I even had the chance in meeting and chatting with her several years ago when she was invited to London to a natural hair conference - check my video on youtube: Erykah Badu @ Adornment 2007 and she struck me as a very down to earth sista. So... having said that, I'm disappointed in you Ms Badu. Look, we're all human, and yes, we do have our fallacies - we are not perfect, and that is a great thing, because with our imperfections can come gradual revelations that help us to grow, learn and proceed with our lives.

 However, when we are in the public eye and under that judgemental (at times) microscope, we need to really overstand how mainstream perceives us. Let me state right here, we do not need to censor ourselves,  seek validation or compromise our art, but at the same token, we have to have an AWARENESS of the bigger picture and what is involved in that bigger picture. Thus, we need to not only look at the picture, but the frame and the context of that picture as well, in my humble opinion!


Anyway, here is Erykah's rebuttal to the controversy about the video:

3:33pm dallas 

@waynecoyne then... perhaps, next time u get an occasion to work with an artist who respects your mind/art, you should send at least a ROUGh version of the video u PLAN to release b4 u manipulate or compromise the artist's brand by desperately releasing a poor excuse for shock and nudity that sends a convoluted message that passes as art( to some).
Even with Window Seat there was a method and thought process involved. I have not one need for publicity . I just love artistic dialogue . And just because an image is shocking does not make it art. 
You obviously have a misconception of who I am artistically. I don't mind that but...
By the way you are an ass. 
Yu did everything wrong from the on set . 
First:
You showed me a concept of beautiful tasteful imagery( by way of vid text messages) . 
I trusted that. I was mistaken. 
Then u release an unedited, unapproved version within the next few days. 
That all spells 1 thing , 
Self Serving . 
When asked what the concept 
meant after u explained it , u replied ,"it doesn't mean anything , I just want to make a great video that everyone is going to watch. " 
I understood , because as an artist we all desire that. But we don't all do it at another artist's expense . 
I attempted to resolve this respectfully by having conversations with u after the release but that too proved to be a poor excuse for art. 
From jump, 
You begged me to sit in a tub of that other shit and I said naw. I refused to sit in any liquid that was not water. But Out of RESPECT for you and the artist you 'appear' to be, I Didn't wanna kill your concept , wanted u to at least get it out of your head . After all, u spent your dough on studio , trip to Dallas etc.. Sooo, I invited Nayrok , my lil sis and artist, who is much more liberal ,to be subject of those other disturbing (to me ) scenes . I told u from jump that I believed your concept to be disturbing. But would give your edit a chance. 
You then said u would take my shots ( in clear water/ fully covered parts -seemed harmless enough) and Nayrok's part ( which I was not present for but saw the photos and a sample scene of cornstarch dripping ) and edit them together along with cosmic, green screen images ( which no one saw) then would show me the edit. . 
Instead, U disrespected me by releasing pics and rough vid on the internet without my approval. (Contract breech )
That is equivalent to putting out a security camera's images of me changing in the fitting room. 
I never would have approved that tasteless, meaningless, shock motivated video . 
Our art is a reflection of who we are . I have no connection to those images shot in their raw version. I was interested in seeing an amazing edit that would perhaps change or alter my thoughts . Never happened . 
You also did the same thing with the song itself which displays crappy "rough "vocals by me . I let it go , perhaps iiiii was missing something, I thought. 
I Should have followed my first mind back in studio when recording the vocals "your way". 
( Red flag.) It was uncomfortable. 
For that I am at fault . 
Consequently, brother, As a human I am disgusted with your what appears to be desperation and poor execution. And disregard for others . As a director I am unimpressed . As a sociologist I understand your type. As your fellow artist I am uninspired. As a woman I feel violated and underestimated. 
Hope it works out for ya ,Wayne. 
Really i could give a shit less.
Still love your live show tho. 
And , you're welcomed. 
Lesson learned . 
By the way I have guested in very few videos. But I have always been given the opportunity to see the edit and contribute to it when my roll is substantial. Not this time . 
I guess u feel it better to apologize than ask for permission and be refused . Hey, Love u man, but your ways are not very nice . 
O, And on behalf of all the artists u have manipulated or plan to manipulate, find another way . 
These things have been said out of necessity. 
And if you don't like it 
you can KiSS MY Glittery ASS .
O and Nayrok told me to tell u to kiss her ass too .
Almost forgot. 
Peace 

Ms. Badu

source: Erykah's Rebuttal

So, I imagined, what would I say if I had the same opportunity to write a rebuttal to what she had written about the video. Well, here it is. Any thoughts? Comments would be wholeheartedly appreciated!

'I'm an artist, I'm sensitive about my shit!' 


Erykah, Erykah... I've seen the video, and what I saw was soft porn, not 'art'. Overall, it was exploitative and I felt like a voyeur watching it. I read all of the reactions about it being 'art', but my spirit was itching. This was not ART, as much as people wanted to pass it off as ART. It was exploitative soft porn. Yes. Soft porn.

How could you be so DANG NAIVE??? Yes, I overstand the context of your artistic endeavours, but Ms Badu, you got PLAYED like a piece of chess. Did you have no idea that these 21st century  men would undermine and insidiously exploit and manipulate you and your sister's  BLACK BODIES; I mean, lets be frank, their ancestors have been doing this for centuries. Aint nothing new with this particular notion! 


How could you, as an 'artist' let such sensitive images go unseen, without permission? This to me was a digital raping; this may seem as an exaggeration, but this is how I saw it when I painfully watched your video through slightly dampened eyes. When your ancestors were raped several centuries ago, they had no choice, but you had a choice, with your 21st century voice. But their voices were muted due to their gender and their fragile and pathetic status as enslaved women on the plantations. 

Ms Badu, I am a fan of you and your music, but you need better people on your side who have your BACK. 

As an artist, I get the notion of art and how one must and can apply and express oneself through the many avenues of their art, but to then go and backpedal because of you maybe(?) wising up to the exploitative and sneaky nature in how the video was released and unleashed on the general public; Ms Badu YOU need to have your 3rd eye open at all times, especially when it concerns you and how the mainstream and the manipulative and pernicious nature of media constantly keeps on vilifying the BLACK BODY for their overall consumption.

Keep being you  with your art for art's sake Ms Badu, but please be involved and evolved with your  production, your involvement and your context of how your image may be  misconstrued. You have had too many years in the industry to be naive in how you are being ultimately perceived.

Still inspired by you, Ms Badu!

Love, Light and Blessings

Tai  

Finding My Voice - Maintaining a Balance

Sometimes, especially in this challenging period that I am presently facing, finding my creative voice can be a real task. What I mean is when LIFE takes over, I  tend to abandon my creativity and thus, start 'losing' my voice. When this happens, I start to 'lose' my pitch, my tone, the personality and the urgency of my voice. In other words,  I get caught up with LIFE and get carried away with all of the external forces out there, which leaves me frustrated. Furthermore, when I feel this 'loss', I feel the essence of my voice seeping away like a damaged IV drip.

As I take on this journey with my writing class and most importantly, with my overall writing, I know that it is important for me to maintain a balance. A balance on keeping hold of my current economic realities and my creative capacities. All in all, I know that I have to keep a studied focus to my creativity, but also keep on being focused with other important areas in my life.

 I feel like right now that I am balancing on one side of a seesaw, and that all my writing is holding on, precariously, at the other end of this seesaw. You get the picture, right?

However, in all of this, I am a spiritual person. I call on Yahweh/Jah at all times to get me through my difficult and challenging days. I talk to my husband who always gives me amazing words, wisdom, strength and unconditional love. I pray, meditate and practice stillness. Ultimately, I know that in order for me not to abandon my writing voice and to keep it relevant, I have to:

•  Keep on writing consistently everyday. This usually is one of the top tips that is recommended to new and advanced storytellers/writers/novelists. I am now understanding that the sheer mass of my writing - regardless if it is good or bad - will become the raw matter in which I will chisel my  burgeoning and nascent voice.
• My writing voice is really the voice in my head. It’s not how I talk aloud, but how I talk to myself, in the noisy cavern of my skull. I listen to myself talk, inside, and that’s the voice I try to get down in writing.Getting that voice from my head to the virtual paper — that’s the trick. It’s not easy, but again,  I try to do it often as I can, and hopefully, I will get proficient at it. I see it as a rewiring of the synapses, so that my head-thoughts shoot down into my fingertips and come out as typing motions, as bits and pixels.   
• Find out what is true. I write a lot, and most of it will be (and is) BS. I have concluded that with  my creativity I cannot filter the BS if I want to find the authentic truth.I sort through the BS until I've learned to recognise the truth, by feel, by emotions, not by any logical criteria. The truth looks remarkably like BS
• Find clarity. Good writing, it’s been often said is clear thinking. If my thinking is muddled, and I feel out of balance, out of synch, then I know that my writing will ultimately suffer. However, I’ve found it’s a matter of simplifying. I am practicing to  remove extraneous ideas and words until I have only what is needed to express a simple thought. Strip all the BS away and be left with the bare bones. With that, I can start writing with a clear and concise voice.  
• Remove the noise. It’s a process of subtraction more than addition. I know that I have ended up with too many words, because I have never subtracted I always want to hold onto things which drag down my writing. If I find that the noise gets in the way of my voice, I am learning to strip it down, trim the noise from the bush until I am  left with the unadulterated  truth.With this process in mind, I  write, edit, and then ultimately, remove the noise. I feel that currently, in society today, that most people have too much distraction and too much noise in their lives to hear their own internal thinking. Too much is going on around them, and online, and they have no time for solitude and for being 'still'. Because of this mass distractions that we have in front of us, we can’t hear our own inner thoughts, our brilliant voices, without solitude. I am also learning to  remove the noise in my own life as well; all those distractions which keep me being unbalanced and out of place with my creativity.
• Use your voice. I know that I am not embarking on a quest for my voice just for the sake of beauty, accolades or a healthy sense of ego; I know that this is not enough; I know that I must use my voice to express myself, to help others, and in some way, change the world.

My writing is starting to come out of a place of authenticity. This is something I touched on with a previous blog post. So if this is my starting point, my reference mark, then my writing will continue to flourish.
Although I do have my days of unbalance and trying my hardest to maintain my balance, I know that in continuing to find my voice is my own odyssey in keeping my balance and remaining focused with my voice and my writing.

Energised By Creating: Now My True Writing Journey Has Begun...

The more I write, the more I feel energised by this surge of creativity that has suddenly come over me like sweet, dripping, melted honey on newly homemade bread. It's like I have a current of electric energy shooting through me, urging me on to just keep on writing and being authentic to my creativity.

Since joining the  'Memoir: Life Writing' class  a few weeks back, I have really started to discover and explore the richness of my family history and how I can integrate it and intertwine it in my novel. I have so much material to work on, that it has finally taken me this time to see what I have before me. Once I was really afraid and fearful, but now, I have this creativity in the palm of my hand, or should that be the tips of my fingers, and I just can't stop writing.

 Within all of this, I have managed to dig deeper into the archives of my mind, shake off my cobwebs and keep on stepping forward in this writing journey. It's been hard, challenging, and at many times, frustrating. However, within all of this, it is helping me to grow stronger on how I express myself in my creativity. I'm becoming more inspired in what I am writing about, thus, I have finally started to shake off the vampire energies of my procrastination that had threatened to starve my writing. I now have some idea why I procrastinated in my writing. Because I didn't believe in me. I didn't believe my own voice. Really, I didn't think I could write. I was scared of my own voice and thus I suppressed it for so long. All of the self doubt voices that I had in my head about my creativity I have completely muted. It doesn't matter how much other folk validate you - and trust me, I've had lots of validation from friends and strangers in the past about my writing - I just was far too scared to let go and really feel my writing and the overall impact it has had on me. I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet, strum my own guitar or sing my own refrain, but I know that I have something worthy to say in the books that I will write and eventually publish someday.

As I read back snippets of what I have written over the last few weeks, I can see my growth. The bones of my writing have now snapped back into place, and the skeleton that I have left behind and been holding up for many years now has meat on it from the words that I am writing and continue to write.

Let me continue to feed my creativity, fatten up on my writing and become genuinely nourished and nurtured once again. Because this hunger that I have for my creativity is truly propelling me and urging me on to continue this sometimes fraught journey and path that I have decided to choose for myself.

This writer refuses to starve...

Writing Life: Keeping the Pandora Box Ajar

See, this is what has been puzzling me over the last couple of weeks.  I recently have joined - against my initial fear perhaps ? - a writing class. There are only two Black people in there - myself and this other woman. Initially, I thought that she was going to be 'standoffish'. Because you know sometimes, when we, as a people gather collectively under other people's gazes, we tend to blank out people who look like us and gravitate towards people who don't look like us. I think you understand where I am coming from! Anyway, suffice to say, and based on my own faulty assumptions (!) she has turned out to be a really warm woman. There is something about her spirit which is really nurturing.

So anyway, I started this class, which is about memoir life writing. I'm only on week two, but I've learnt so much already. I know that a lot will probably expose some still opening wounds for me; but I know that through my writing and my journey of creating and putting my novel together, it will help me to ultimately heal. And that is what I want out of all of this.

During the first week, we had to do this exercise in how we saw ourselves as writers. It was a visualisation exercise, where we had to see where we see ourselves now, and how we see ourselves in the future. This was by doing two separate drawings. I found it interesting that the whole of the class immediately tapped into my visualisation straight away. They got it totally, even though our backgrounds are so apart from each other. The irony!

I completed my homework for that first week, and we had to write a 'close' version of our birth/childhood and only write 2 A4 sides maximum. I wrote about my twin and I. It was cathartic. I read it for the class. They loved the way that I wrote this short piece and encouraged me to expand it. I was floored.

A lot of the times, through my writing, and yes, my journey with my writing, I keep on beating myself up. I have now given myself the permission to just go with the flow. With that I can be authentic with myself and also, with my creativity. I need to shrug out of this sweater of defeat and keep on keeping on. I know that I can do it. I need to stamp and grind fear into the ground so that it just becomes dust ready to blow away and disappear. It's a given for me to travel this sometimes crooked path; to come to the many bends and obstacles but I will continue to navigate them and jump right over them and continue with my writing, and yes, my journey of discovery.

There are still a few things that I have to do, but I am approaching them very carefully. All in all, this life writing course will be my own Pandora's Box.  It will be ajar in the sense of adding authenticity to my writing. And that is what I propose to do at all times from now on.

The Frustrations of Becoming a Writer: Embracing without Fear

Ok. I have decided to blog about my journey on embracing my writing and becoming a writer. So many times I have been afraid to pick up my pen or touch type my keys, as I’ve just been afraid to ‘let go’. I’ve seen others who have taken the leap of faith into their creativity, and I feel that I am just sitting on the side kerb, watching the traffic of my creativity speed past me. Why do I feel so frustrated? Why am I procrastinating and giving up my dreams? Why am I fearing this particular journey? Why do I want to run away from the words that I have been forming  and fermenting in my imagination like a ripe mango, waiting to burst, with all the flavour and juices, but still continually beat myself up and tell myself that I cannot do it? What is my creative block that is stopping me?

Only I myself can answer all of my angst ridden questions.  It seems to me that I am self – sabotaging my words, my creativity. I am  taking my words hostage and refusing to open up the recess of my mind and just… write. I have it all planned; I’ve written a few chapters, and I know how this novel will eventually pan out to be, but yet, I have all of these frustrations and fears of becoming a writer. Maybe this small voice that keeps on echoing in my head, like bad audio feedback, is telling me that I need to stop seeking this pasture of creativity. But see, I have always surrounded myself with words. 

Ever since I was small and was able to read books independently, I wanted to write. I wanted to become a journalist, but my mama just looked at me; her eyes just gave me THAT LOOK, and I knew that this was never going to happen in my lifetime. I thought that I had committed a cardinal sin – in fact I had. She either wanted me to become an accountant – which was never going to happen, as I have dyslexia when it comes to figures. I think it's because when dealing with numbers, statistics and everything arithmetical, you are using your left hand side of the brain. I always was in tune with my right side, so this was just a fantasy for my mama. If I wasn’t going to be an accountant, she wanted me to become a doctor. Well, that realisation for me was never going to happen, as I remember when I was young I kept on having repetitive nosebleeds. The sight of blood to my young eyes scared me beyond beyond! My mama only wanted me to fulfill her dreams so she could brag about my professional status. It wasn’t that I was incapable of doing these particular careers, I just was not interested. So, I rebelled.

I used to write in secret. In my diary – there were no blogs when I was younger, as the information age was just a far away star in the constellation, and I was a young girl just wishing on a star. I wanted  to see my words take print and make sense to other girls, who looked like me, who spoke like me and was possibly going through the same growing pains that I was going through. I wanted my writing to be a filter for my life.

Now, I have come to the stage that I will write. I have my writing wings on and I am ready to fly to the next level; to take my impending novel and carve out my own literal landscape. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t sell; although that would be the icing on the proverbial cake; or if the awards don’t knock down my door ; although a little validation from the world of authors would gently boost my ego; or if it gets repeatedly knocked back  and rejected by publishers; that’s fine with me, I can always self publish it and take my own control, without others dictating to me on how my novel should read. Really, I have to write to survive. That may seem to be a bit dramatic, but it's how I am feeling right now. I feel that this novel that I have deep within me is ready to explode and I  just need to feel the fear, push against my frustration, expel my procrastination and just do it anyway. 

So, everyday, whilst I have the time, I promise to myself that I will at least try to dedicate two to three hours a day to my writing; something that I am guilty of not adhering to. But I will not be beating myself up, as LIFE sometimes takes over and so it may be impossible to do these hours.

One of the things about writing consistently, is that you have to be disciplined. I need to be disciplined in my creativity and also disciplined in writing this novel. I never want to be in a position in my own life and have regrets when it comes to writing this novel. I have made too many regrets on this wondrous journey, however, I have packed them away and placed them in a suitcase and  wheeled them away on an eternal vacation. 

For me, to be disciplined means that I will have the freedom to write authentically, clearly, joyfully, with abundance, freedom and with love. I see discipline in this context differently and this is something that I have to always have in mind when I get out my pen or pound on my keystrokes to take on the oncoming chapters in my novel.

So, yes, my fears and frustrations still present deep within. But what I need to do is turn these negative qualities into just words, where they will, in their own paradoxical way, keep on liberating me and where I can finally cancel out these feelings that are stopping me from fully embracing the real authentic me.

Imagining Words: Still Creating

Sometimes its very difficult for me to separate my writing and my researching. What I mean is that I tend to get sidetracked in the archives of my research, which have become very personal to me as they touch something in me that I thought that I had suppressed years ago. Once I find something fascinating about a particular piece of research which relates to my novel, I then become distracted. And when this happens, my procrastination sets in like an unwanted blemish smack bang in the middle of my forehead. Sometimes, trying to keep on top of solely my writing can be a real test for me; a challenge that I need to really tackle like a star football player doing his best to win a point for his team.

I'm not sure how I can master all of this. However, writing this specific book is in a way, cathartic to me; sometimes I fear of what I have written, then my fear transforms into self censorship, which I do not want at all. If this is the case, then I have to ask myself, what is the whole point of writing this novel? What is the point of writing in general if I am going to put a block on my creativity and my imagination?

  My words are my voice. A voice that I have suppressed like a hostage who has suddenly developed 'Stockholm syndrome'. A voice that I have always used to validate others in their creativity but not my own.  A voice that sometimes regurgitates and can't stop writing and then cancelling it out, because in the back of my mind I say to myself that I am 'not good enough'. I've thought long and hard about joining a writing course. There is a particular course that I want to join, but I'm am slightly hesitant, as I've not had great experiences before with writing classes. I became disillusioned with my writing, starting censoring myself again and basically stopped. My imagination and words became stuck in my throat and my 'voicelessness' started all over again like an unwanted mantra. But I guess now I really need to take a leap of faith and really start believing in me and start putting on my self validation armor.

 I just know that when my novel finally gets published - and who knows when, as I refuse to put a timescale on it - that the disclaimer is read by folk who will fully understand that the novel is a work of fiction and something that has sprung out of my fertile imagination. That it will not be taken personally, and see that my words are an imagination of events and that they come from my creativity which I refuse to stifle and censor.

So, I am still imagining my words and still creating a space for my words. I'm just taking the time to nurture and enjoy this time to read and research and let my imagination catch up with me.

The Knowing: True Realisation

When I looked into his eyes, I saw my past, present and future.

We had such a bond, that I was fearful that the baggage I might have unconsciously carried from past relationships may tip my harmonious feelings into imbalance.

See, it started six years ago. I was at an apex in my life where I knew what I wanted in a relationship. I knew that I wasn’t going to find a spiritual or humble man in the domains of a social setting, where nicotine and alcohol induced fumes were mandatory. Where the pretentious ones gathered like a winding mass of uncertainty and insecure beings, looking for their next fix for one up man ship. I also knew that I had outgrown that scene. I was like a caterpillar who was seeking my own personal metamorphosis, and most importantly, I hadn't sought desperation in a long time solution of finding a man who could complete me. I was already completed. I just wanted to find my other half. Paradoxical, I know, but I felt that something was truly missing in my life. I wasn't looking to compromise at all. I just knew deep within the alcove of my mind what I wanted in a man. A strong man. I am not only talking about strength, but one where we could go the extra mile together, instead of pursuing separate agendas. Somebody who would not feel intimidated about me. Somebody who I could just be ME with; to liberate the mask that I have kept on for so many years in past relationships.

No, I was sure of what I wanted. But how was I to get to the crucial point of manifestation of a stable, spiritual, humble and honest counterpart?

Meditation and prayer sustained me in my elusive search. However, this in the long run did not keep me company - especially when I needed somebody to be my own cheerleading section. Yes, the responses I got from prayer and meditation were satisfying, but I was impatient for the manifestation to take place. I was weary of the hollow echoes that were filling my space. When would it happen? How would it happen? Would it take me by surprise? Or would it be something that be staring at me, right in the pupils of my complacent gaze?

I looked to modern technology, where I decided to become one of the millions of people out there, who utilised the cyber community to elicit a meeting of minds. Ha! Who did I think I was kidding? But I thought I’d give it a try.

Initially, I was fearful, but I kept on telling myself that fear would just leave me in the same position as before; lonely and continually searching for that elusive mate and counterpart Nonetheless, I decided to take the ultimate chance and put myself out there. I felt like the lone woman, you know, who is hanging on the ledge, waiting to take that drop and not knowing what I would see or how I would feel after I took that leap. I was stepping into the realms of the unknown. I had no idea of what type of responses I would elicit, but I decided to embrace my fears and do it anyway.

I was so glad I did.

Our meeting was inevitable. It wasn't even planned. He was my destiny and I was his. As soon as we started communicating together we spoke at union; in one voice. His struggles and challenges became my struggles and challenges. His future and what he wanted became twinned with mine. His lyrical accent reminded me of natural landscapes and his laugh was like a cool bubbling stream; it cleansed away all of the negative baggage that I carried in the past when it came to relationships. It was  around this time that I finally forgave my father for abandoning me. I was able to see the link on how I used to carry around this anger, like the well worn piece of cloth I used to carry as a young child for comfort; my security blanket. The tapestry that I embroidered with my hurt and disappointment with my father started to gradually fade away, and the colours of my threads became brighter and clearer.

His presence was so on. We meshed together like rice and peas. Egusi soup and pounded yam. He is my yin and I am his yan. We balance each other out like well oiled scales. Sometimes the scales tip more towards him and sometimes they tip towards me. We can have misunderstandings and sometimes our communication can be perplexing like a scientist trying out his first formula. But in the end, we are harmony and unity.



Now, six years later, after a lot of struggles, challenges, upheavals, envy from external forces, we will be joining in matrimony. Soon. Very soon. The whisper of our unification will come from spirit; it's gotten louder and our ears have pricked up eagerly to this whisper - but all in good time. We knew when our time would near. We knew to be patient and ask spirit to continually guide us and protect us on this sometimes tumultuous journey. However, the most vital in all of this knowing, he knows, I know, and our celebration will be a joyous occasion, shared with only folk who were there with us, unconditionally. Together with new and wondrous people that I have met recently.
I could say that our love was written in the stars, but that sounds a bit trite. So, let me just say that our evolving status, our undeniable oneness is scribed from the ancients. We knew each other before we even knew each other.



Here's to both of us, when we will be rocking in our identical rocking chairs; hands entwined so that the deep brown lines on our palms match up; soft smiles glowing on our upturned faces; caused by the splendid heat; sipping on our homemade sorrel; on our porch; in our promised land.



That's the knowing; that's the true realisation of what we have been through and how we have gathered strength, like moss on a stone, through all of this we have purified what it means to be with L*O*V*E.

Living without Lack: A Healthy and Positive Choice

When I look back at my life and what I have done, all I can do is widely smile to myself, like a Cheshire cat who is enjoying their top range of milk and cream.  Time and time again, I tell myself that I am living without lack, and instead, I choose to live with joy and abundance in my life.

Yes, I have faced many challenges -  and I am still facing them - but that doesn't make me give up. Instead, it drives me fiercely towards the goals that I share with my loved ones, and thus, making me further determined to achieve and maintain these goals.

The spirit of my creativity is currently a driving force and abundant energy in my life, and as I continue - even with tough challenges - I am still on my continual marathon . I know that sometimes I may become breathless,  but this alternates with a pumping rhythm of adrenalin, pushing me ahead; forcing me towards the finishing line of my destiny, which is definitely within tangible and tenable reach.

Living without lack is a healthy and positive choice for me, which I have started to slowly integrate into my mindset and ultimately, my life.

My mask has finally unglued itself and now I am starting to show my genuine authenticity, where I can be free to be me. With this I am finding that my writing is coming from a true sense of understanding; I'm embracing my writing like a familiar piece of clothing, where my material is becoming soothing, enjoyable and starting to fit and suit me extremely well.  The lack of burden that I now write with has been inspiring, and it has given me a sense of freedom.

The fear of my words no longer hold me hostage and my procrastination with my creativity has released my imaginary insecurities. 

Now, let me go and continue to run my marathon...

When peace is all you need: The inevitable passing of Whitney Houston.

This morning, after my morning meditation, I switched on my laptop. I wanted to check my email. I went to Yahoo.com and I saw the simple words: 'Singer Whitney Houston Found Dead'. I was shocked; I ran downstairs to inform my sis. We switched on Sky News and watched the truth unfold before our stunned and tear laden eyes, just to confirm the headline that I had just read. She was really and truly gone; the light had dimmed.

I'm not a person who star worships or puts 'celebrities' up on pedestals. Don't  get me wrong, I love the odd bit of gossip now and then, but I do not live vicariously through the lives of celebrities. And the cult of celebrity right now seems to be a booming industry, both online and offline, but I do not really pay attention to it at all. However, Whitney, to me, personified my growing years; she was the soundtrack to my mid twenties when I first became a mother, and I guess, responsible for another life. I am the same age as Whitney - she was born in August 1963, I was born in September 1963. Obviously, our lives were completely different, but there was always something about Whitney that I was pulling for; even when allegations that turned into truth about her drug use, I wanted to raise her up and believe in her, regardless of her circumstances. She had such a wonderful talent, but when I used to see pictures of her looking unkempt and bedraggled, coming out of seedy nightclubs - especially the last images I saw of her the other day - I shook my head and my inner voice joined the ongoing cacophony of the choir judging Whitney.

Whitney's voice brings back so many sweet memories for me, and her voice was  extraordinary when she was at the apex of her vocal dexterity.  But the positive always aligns, like the planets,  with the negative when writing about Whitney. It was well documented in the media about her demons, but don't we all have our own internal demons? This is not to excuse or justify what she was doing with herself regarding her drug use, but it seems so sad so tragic, may I say, so inevitable, from what I have read so far, of her dying alone in a hotel room in Hollywood.

I'm sure all of the salacious and scandalous stories will emerge like a cancerous tumour in the aftermath of her passing; the blame pointed squarely at her ex husband, Bobby Brown for leading her down this drug laden path, and other negative variables surrounding her death; the superficial tributes and chatter from her 'friends' and from the very industry that she was part of, that inevitably, was the loss of herself and physical death of Whitney Houston.


But from me, a lover of great music and who appreciated the stellar quality of your amazing vocals, Whitney, your voice was superlative. Period. Nobody in my lifetime, in my opinion, could touch you when you sang.

Whitney, my sweet, blessed sister, you had your raging demons, that were always on display  and broadcast  like venom to the world. We have them as well, but we are fortunate that we can hide them so they are not broadcasted and judged  so viciously.

May you rest in eternal paradise Whitney,  and hopefully you can find peace there where you couldn't here, on earth.

Challenging Times: What to do when you are in that proverbial stuck mode?

The last couple of months have been extremely challenging. No, strike that, the last couple of years have been challenging to the maximum.

I'm now back home in London. I was living, with my husband, in Holland, BUT  it was a soul destroying experience. Not because of my darling husband, but because of the events that occurred out there. I won't go into it, as it is private, but suffice to say, it was an eye opening experience. These life changing events  have taken resident in my psyche and burned into my memory. It will  make for a fantastic novel one day, if I decide to open up the proverbial can of worms which are still wriggling about in that particular environment.But I digress!

You know that adage, ' you don't know what you have got until its gone'? That, in essence is what is resonating with me so much lately. I took a lot of things for granted. I did not appreciate a lot of stuff. Not to beat up on myself here, but leaving London and taking this particular journey was paradoxical for me. In a way. I'm glad that I had the chance and opportunity to travel and live somewhere different. But I wish it was for something else! I made the choice and I am happy I made that choice, because I wouldn't be writing these words today. Most importantly, I would still be in 'exist' mode, thus, no change or dare I say, I would not be facing these difficult challenges.
 
Coming back to London I feel that I have to recreate and reestablish  myself all over again. It seems like a long slog, and it has been extremely challenging and dang right difficult. When you are in the current position that I am in, and being vulnerable to boot, you look to a Higher Power; get all introspective and ultimately, look for tools which will allow you to fly and soar once again. That's what I am doing, but I've taken a few proverbial knocks and my armour has been slightly dented!

My relationship with Spirit has always been consistent, but sometimes, on occasions,  I feel that my voice is just echoing in the wilderness. I feel that I am in the desert, looking for ways for survival; some water for my off and on dry and mute voice, where my words and sometimes actions, are looked upon as a challenge from my loved ones.

Nonetheless, I am a survivor! I have always been a survivor. Reverting to 'victim mode' is not hemmed in by my particular DNA. I will always remain an eternal optimist.

So, what does one do when challenging times slaps them on the side of the head? Well, for me, its needed. Before leaving London, I couldn't 'see the forest through the trees.' I lost sight of the bigger issue and what I had to do with my life. I was just 'existing' and going through the familiar route that we, as humans have been programmed into: to be 'successful'  products of society.

Now, I am gradually seeing the wood, the wonderful forest and all of the beautiful leaves! I see the colours, the smells; my senses have been revitalised. Its funny, in times of challenges how things in your life become finer tuned and dare I say, crystal clear. Its like I was looking at my life through a misty window, and now, albeit at times, I see amazing clarity.

My journey is still challenging and sometimes I do get 'stuck'; I will still face hurdles and barriers in what I know that I have been predestined to undertake before I transition.  However, my journey, my path, though still, at times,are littered with many baggage that I have to bear, seems altogether, lighter.

In closing, my sister has a quote on her fridge, which reads: 'Challenges do not come to small people, they come to great people'. Very valid and true.

I see my current challenges as growth. Sometimes growth can be tiring and painful, but when one reaches their full potential, watch them ascend. Watch me rise.

Some Justice and Peace at Last for Stephen Lawrence

22nd April 1993.

I'm not sure what I was doing on this particular day, but I clearly remember watching the early news about a young black man, an innocent teenager,  who was stabbed to death whilst waiting for a bus in Eltham in SE London.
I also remember that my youngest son was just 6 months old, and my oldest son had just turned 7, and I remember staring into their beautiful ebony eyes and asking  myself how his mother must've felt; knowing that her son was never again to return to her loving embrace... That her son was no longer coming home... That he was no longer able to reach his potential as a young man, and one day, having his own family. That Stephen Lawrence could never fulfill his dream of eventually becoming an architect.

I remember staring into the wistful and innocent gaze of Stephen Lawrence. The ever omnipresent image of Stephen Lawrence, with his striped t shirt on, gazing into the camera lens with a slight smile on his beautiful, cocoa brown face. A smile that held promises of so many things to come in his life. And then he was stabbed relentlessly to death, by virulent  and venomous racists, who chased him down like a runaway slave and  who took away his dreams and evaporated his own destiny..And this made me even more aware that  living within this 'multicultural' society was just a dream. It was not utopia. I had fear.I had an unhealthy, almost pathological  fear for my boys that they would, one day,  end up as a statistic and a blot on this vanilla landscape.

I was politicised before this event. I remember going on the '18 dead, nothing said' marches on the still unsolved mass murders of black teenagers in the New Cross fires in 1981 I remember me, as a young, skinny, afroed young girl, shouting down 'Babylon' on the injustice of being burnt alive, due to the colour of their skin. Where my Africentric posture and words eventually gave me a voice to cathartically  release my frustrations and injustice of living in a society that never saw me. I began writing about my 'invisibility' of being a young black woman, trapped within a society that viewed me with  intolerance and yes, disgust.

I attended the Macpherson Inquiry at Hannibal House in Elephant and Castle in June 1998. I saw the smirk of those white men who casually sauntered away, with blood on their hands and murder on their conscience. I am proud that I was one of the angry spectators that threw eggs at these bastards. I remember,  there was a lot of uprisings on that day; a lot of justified anger. I remember laying in the street in Elephant and Castle and nearly being arrested by the same police force who had let these murderous brutes walk away. How ironic.

After the blunders, the collapse of the private prosecution that the Lawrences brought against the murderers, the out and out racism, no, strike that, INSTITUTIONAL RACISM of the police force, today is a bittersweet day for me I will never forget. It had a huge impact on me, a mother with two young black men.

I cry tears for Stephen Lawrence, and the extent of SOME justice for him; my tears will still flow every now and then until there is a fair completion. Until all of the murderers involved are convicted and sentenced. I pray that they will also be held responsible for Stephen's murder as well. That is why  I have written that SOME justice has been meted out today. Its not complete, but I remain forever optimistic.

I hope to attend the Old Bailey tomorrow morning when these murderers are finally sentenced. My voice will be the loudest and I will be visible.

Finally Stephen Lawrence can rest in paradise and ultimately, peace.

New Eyes: New Year: New Creativities: New Expressions

I realise that I have a book, in fact, several books inside of  me, waiting to verbally regurgitate all of the words that have accumulated in my mind, in my journals, where my words have gathered digital dust on my many hard drives that I have had over the many years. What has kept me procrastinating and stagnating? A four letter word which recklessly reared its ugly head countless times: FEAR. See, I have been AFRAID. I have censored, silenced and self edited my voice, until my voice just became an inner  monotone of  self speak that I always assured myself with when trying to overstand my reluctance towards writing. To be honest though, over the last few years, I haven't had the pure luxury of just sitting still and being IN WRITING, due to a thing called LIFE.. I have made excuses, relayed my thoughts, muted my voice and just 'got on with my life'. But all the time, I saw folk who were my peers - who were not necessarily better creators than me - forge ahead like runaway horses, beating their own finishing lines, and I am still standing and procrastinating at  the starting point.

Yes, its a new year, and no, this is not my new year's resolution, as resolutions are there to be severed, and to be honest, I have never really taken them seriously.. No this is my wake up call to my inner voice. My voice that has always pestered my spirit for creativity. My writing. My life. This is truly. my alarm buzzer moment when I have to write this year. Writing is my existence, my reality and ultimately, my life. Writing to me is healing and therapeutic. And I have had a few moments over the last couple of years where I need to let go. I see this as a prime point to start re-engaging with my creativity.

Now I will be looking and seeing my writing with new eyes. Revitialising my writing as new creativities and enjoying the new expressions that I feel my writing will engender for me in this new year.