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...