tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50724797896580528472024-03-19T19:02:47.268+00:00The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.I'm optimistic and pragmatic on varying days. I'm also a paradoxical being depending on my opinions and my moods!
My parents hail from SW Nigeria - the Yoruba people. I love to write and muse - hence the different thoughts on this blog about some of my "out loud " thoughts on well... life: identity,race, womanhood, notions of family, expressions, creativity,love and my 'invisibility' as an UK born NaiJAH woman,living in a 'multi cultural' society.
All pieces are original and copyrighted.Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-77786044319968501162016-04-04T21:51:00.002+01:002016-04-04T21:56:41.351+01:00GirlHood Memories of a Yoruba Church<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I was raised up by the loud, West
African ‘hallelujahs’, in stone, cold Hackney Pentecostal churches, attended mostly by Nigerian/Yoruba women, who duly pledged their 10% in crisp, white envelopes to be
deposited into the pastor’s basket at the altar. The discreet, tokenistic
passing of the collection plate usually followed, where everybody became your
audience as you placed your money in the deep recess of the plate. You see, the pastor did not want to hear
the jingling sharp echo of the coins when they fell into the plate, but the
soft, fluttering sound of pound notes as they landed inside. The pastor’s
facial expressions truly defied gravity when this
occurred. It was definitely a sight to see.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">There these women were, getting down
with the tribal beat and sensuous sounds of the talking drum; the twanging of the rhythm guitar, that
sounded so much like Sonny Ade, ‘back home’. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">There these women were, singing in
loud, and out of tune voices, but clapping and snapping gold ringed fingers in
sanctified rhythms for Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">There these women were, getting down
and *</span></i></b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">‘owambe’<b>
for Jesus, as though they were manically dancing in Fela’s shrine.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> There these women were, sweating and wiping dripping
foundation stained melting faces. Helmets of Afros wigs awkwardly awry and
flipped relaxed hair that had sizzled back into their au natural states.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> There, these women were fanning their cheap cardboard fans, brought from the local Woolworths, creating their own DIY air conditioning
moment for Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> There these women were, throwing themselves on
cold tiled floors for the love of the Holy Spirit, and speaking in undetectable
tongues, interspersed with their
mother’s tongue,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> There these women were, playing their roles of
spirit filled women without their absent husbands by their holy sides .<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><i style="font-weight: bold;"> There these women were, showing off their
sartorial styling, as they smoothly
undulated down the wide church aisles: using it as their own personal catwalk with fresh, brightly coloured, patterned
Dutch wax materials, fashioned into contemporary **</i>eros and bubas<i style="font-weight: bold;">, accompanied by
their stiff, obedient ***</i>gelees <i style="font-weight: bold;">pointed
towards a satisfied and receptive heaven. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">These are some of the memories that I dearly hold of attending
church as a young girl. My Yoruba influenced church memories of my childhood.</span></i></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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* Partying</div>
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**Traditional top and wrapper </div>
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***Stiff head wrap</div>
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<br />
****Disclaimer: All the Yoruba language purists, please forgive me if I have spelt some of the terms incorrectly. I do not have my people around me; I am just surrounded by the Caribbean Sea!****</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-42906283085471841872015-10-07T01:33:00.000+01:002015-10-07T01:34:52.504+01:00Thoughts from the Other Side of the Postcard #3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As I write this long blog post, I am trying to excavate
and type out the words to my fragile emotions. It has taken me several rewrites
and loads of paradoxical thoughts and angst filled editing to get this out of
my subconscious state and into my conscious being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems that I have been carrying my past like an
overstuffed travelling suitcase. See, my seemingly enchanted life that I
had discarded in London, had been swept along with the tidal waves of
romance and marriage; these were an anchor for me before I made life
changing decisions to emigrate from my uncertain familiarity.</div>
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<br />
I had a great job as a counsellor - helping vulnerable people with their dual
diagnoses, mental health, anti social behaviour orders with
disenfranchised youth, domestic violence, teenage mothers, and other
supportive elements of my work. I tended to work within agencies, where for me
the pay was better, and most importantly, I was not tied down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In retrospect, sometimes I wish that I should
of thought better about job security and the pie in the sky pension. But this
did not hover on my horizon at the time. I knew that my duration of living in
London was becoming shorter and shorter, hence my somewhat laissez attitude I
had towards the stability of my future economics.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At the time, my boyfriend, who is now my husband, was
living, working and bringing up his two children in Holland as
a lone parent. Their mother in Dominica had given him custody and he wanted
them to have a better opportunity at life and education in Europe.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because of my working patterns, the fluidity and flexibility
of my work allowed me the freedom to catch the Eurostar on many long weekends.
I was able to <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just steal away, receive
my warm embraces and eagerly anticipated kisses, ride our bikes , in
unison, on the flat roads and bike sanctioned lanes in Arnhem,
Holland, and just to feel his strength and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>solidarity calm and our one day imagined
fantasy that we would be together for ever! By the way, his qualities have not
changed. He is still my protector.</div>
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<br />
Although I was living some kind of blessed life in London, surrounded by my two
delightful sons and a chosen handful of dear friends, I was at a standstill; I
was stagnating. My oldest son had moved out. My youngest son was undertaking
his A levels in a college that was nearer to his father's home and he decided
to move there instead. So I was free. However, like Eshu-Elegbara,(A Yoruba
Orisha), I was at the crossroads of my life, looking to see what direction I
needed to take; I guess my destiny told me soon enough. With all of this in
hand, I swapped all that I had ever known for our unplanned adventures and the
idyllic notion of stirring the nascent writer in me and settling in the
comforts of the 'nature island'.</div>
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<br />
The Commonwealth of Dominica is a small, tropical island <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which sits midway along the Eastern Caribbean
archipelago, and is squeezed, like a slice of lime, between the two islands of
Guadeloupe, which is in the North and Martinique, which is in the South. These
two islands <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>are still under French rule.
Dominica has had a fraught relationship with France; however it gained its independence
from the UK in November 1978.</div>
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<br />
Dominica is truly a beautiful, lush country, where about two thirds of it is
covered by tropical rainforests, and boasts, according to the locals, 365
rivers - a river for each day.<br />
I initially saw Dominica as a place where I thought that I could loosen my
tight fitting jacket -I wrote about this metaphor in a previous blog. However,
unfortunately, I lost my blog to the evil clutches of cache, forgetting to
renew my domain, and pure and utter carelessness on my part . My tight jacket
for me was the oppressiveness I was feeling about living in London. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How my life was becoming restrictive. So, I
decided to excitingly exchange my monotone for Technicolor. I was tired of
living in the cold and grey climates of London. I was weary of drudging to work
and keeping up the rhythm with disenchanted commuters who hated their jobs but
loved their monthly pay packets. I was tired of squeezing onto <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tubes, buses or trains, where my nose would be
constantly assaulted <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by offensive odours
on varying days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to feel some
sun on my skin, feel the sand between my toes, and just truly breathe again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that I would be able to swing
and daydream in my simple hammock on our soon to be built
veranda, and feel the sweet and tranquil breeze of the Caribbean
Sea that was just a glance away from our property, hoping that it would <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hypnotise me, energise my writings and inspire
my creativity. </div>
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<br />
When I landed in my newly adopted home, I offered my skills and expertise from
my professional background. However, because I wasn't in the 'know', I wasn't
able to successfully navigate my way through the maze of nepotism, political
affiliation and lack of kinship within the country. Due to this, and after
a while when our savings started to diminish -which was also offset by the
fragile economic instabilities of the land - which ultimately led to our
own economic uncertainties, we took the initiative of plugging into our
entrepreneurial aspirations. We took our love and knowledge of herbs, massage,
aromatherapy and oils and started hawking them on the streets of Roseau. We
built up quite a loyal customer base and met some very interesting people on
our journey. People were fascinated by my precise and proper English accent and
the way that I had seamlessly integrated into a small, island life - together
with the pitfalls and joys that I experienced on this mountainous, undulating
small island. I loved being with my husband, creating our fresh herbs (grown on
our land or locally sourced by locals), together with the oils and creams that
we lovingly produced. I loved receiving positive feedback and glowing
testimonials about the healing benefits of our products, and how even folk,
with small monetary benefits, would still come and patronise us. How
ironic it was when we had a great following from the many medical students who
studied conventional medicine at Ross University located in Portsmouth. How
gravitating it was to see the familiar faces of people in Roseau going about
their daily business, and the hails, injected by witty, sad and delightful
conversations we would get from complete strangers who brought our
products. Folk who felt so comfortable in opening up to us on the kerbs
and sidewalks of Roseau. Sometimes it felt that I was conducting informal
counselling sessions on the roadside! It was so edifying for both my husband
and me; we took a lot of blessings with us. We also saw how the other side of the
human spirit could be the and how some particular folk would vent their
silent grudges and envy towards our way. But we just laughed joyously at the
bitterness and 'let it go' and just smiled inwardly at the up and
down nature - which reflected the topography of the land -of
our fellow human beings let we met on our journey.</div>
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<br />
However, the Tropical Storm of Erika literally cleaned away my cataract
fantasies of surviving and living an almost sweet life in the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>paradise I created within; the tempest rage of
Erika surprised and drenched the country and its unstable infrastructure
in Dominica. The storm had accelerated our desires to leave, because frankly,
things were no longer working for us over in Dominica. Faced with a
non-existent economy, a paucity of people with tight, limited or no budget to
splurge on our products, a slow dribble of tourists coming into Roseau <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the environs, and the hard, frigid
realisation that we are not in a financial position to conceptualise our
aims and objectives for our business <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for
now, we started looking at other destinations in the Caribbean. Erika
manifested that for us. We came to the decision that Guadeloupe was the perfect
place for us for now: it is only two hours away from Dominica on the ferry, and
also, as it is an EU country, our rights living here as EU citizens are
protected. Again, the irony that this seems to afford us is not lost on
me and it seems to be a continuous loop with my story of migration.<br />
<br />
Post Tropical Storm Erika and leaving the ruins of Dominica, I never glanced
back towards the tall body of Dominica, as the ferry
lethargically carried my husband and me - still traumatised - to the
French Overseas Territories of Guadeloupe.</div>
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<br />
We had been offered sanctuary from the storm from this delightful woman,
Marilyn, who is from Dominica. We had met her and her beautiful family on
previous occasions on our fact finding visits to Guadeloupe. I will never, ever
forget their authentic support and their unconditional love. It truly makes me
believe in the decency of people who don’t even know you, but will offer you
shelter. These people are not family, but they have made my husband and me feel
that we are family. I will never forget them, as it has truly made me believe
in the loving kindness of strangers</div>
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Whilst in silent contemplation on the way over, I was
still attempting to decipher the haunting images of Dominica that had left me
feeling so sad:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Set adrift from the
many broken bridges, where cars, buses and four wheel trucks had to cross
raging, dirt filled rivers to reach their final destinations; roads,
recently heralded by the people and the government, which were solely built and
constructed by Chinese labour, and now were teasing us with large
craters and seismic splits, showing us the true nature of their shoddy
construction and faulty workmanship; small villages decimated by the
sand, uprooted stripped barks of trees and twisted, awkward limbs of these
trees, waterlogged and bobbing in unfamiliar locations; large, foreboding boulders
carried along by an unforgiving storm and dumped outside unsuspecting portals;
cars, bikes and dumper trucks carried along like balsa wood toys and
unceremoniously scattered within the many rivers, the heaving mud and sands of
these waters and the Caribbean Sea; landslides of mud taking away part of
a community in Petite Savanne, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>who were
peacefully slumbering in the watery embrace of Erika and having no awareness
that their last inhaled and submerged breaths would be their conclusion to
their diverse lives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The solitary images of Dominica, with scant attention from the world media and
the sometimes glaring mistake of geography with that OTHER Dominica, was really
only pushed forward by the proud daughters and sons of the soil - who live
inside and within the sizeable areas of the Diaspora -who made the world know
that the Commonwealth of Dominica DOES indeed exist, and that they, as a small
island will rise and reunite once again; this was their rallying cry in the
aftermath of the destruction. For me, my realisation and my status as
being an ' outsider' but married to a proud son of the soil -who by the
way decided to return back to his homeland after living in Europe for
several years, where he was sick and tired of bolstering 'foreign', when his
beloved country needed his support - and after nearly three years of
living in Dominica the storm helped me to eliminate my own romantic veil
that had me covering my eyes to see, that indeed, Dominica is extremely
underdeveloped, is not really prepared for natural disasters, is
systematically riddled with poverty and varying levels of inequalities when it
comes with access to health and employment (the statistics for unemployment is
very high), with a very weak infrastructure and, in my own subjective
opinion, a completely inept and incompetent government, lead by an
indecisive and weak leader.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
These have been some of the images that still pierce the innards of my
soul. That has still stayed with me. A month anniversary of Tropical Storm
Erika has come and gone. People on social media, out on the streets and
elsewhere are still talking about it. This time it was different though. When
Hurricane David literally blew the galvanized roofs, houses and other movable
objects to oblivion in 1979, nearly thirty six years ago to the day
on unexpected islanders, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other
social media networks did not exist. The internet was just a pixel of
somebody's imagination. The impact of social media has been phenomenal on
giving the Commonwealth of Dominica it's rightful voice. It is a voice, I hope
of redemption, hopefully of salvation, truth and reality of what has to be
faced in the aftermath.<br />
It seems like only yesterday that I was receiving Lime mobile alerts
warning me about "Tropical Storm Danny". The gender of the
storm had changed, but what it had engendered for Dominica was complete
disaster and devastation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Although there has been a chorus for unity and the rebuilding of the country, I
will remain distant and observant and watch Dominica from the shores of
Guadeloupe. Time will tell, just like the precious time it will take to build
up my beloved, adopted country, Waitikubuli, 'Tall is Her Body'.</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-82861962523267265432015-04-06T20:09:00.001+01:002015-04-06T20:09:42.593+01:00Disappointed in Dominica<a href="http://wwwtaiishere-tai.blogspot.com/2015/04/thoughts-from-other-side-of-postcard-2.html#links">The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.: Thoughts From The Other Side of the Postcard #2</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-27013136117354951282015-04-06T20:05:00.000+01:002015-04-06T20:05:59.654+01:00Thoughts From The Other Side of the Postcard #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Right now I am sitting in a cafe in Mero. It is a hot, sunny afternoon in the Commonwealth of Dominica, and it's the annual 'Reggae on the Beach'. Today is special though, because the event is a fundraiser for the <a href="http://dapd.weebly.com/">DAPD</a> - a really worthy cause and I applaud the owner, Frederique, of the popular eatery, Romance Cafe, on this beach for taking the much needed initiative for bringing the many disabilities that face some Dominicans out from the shadows and into the clear light.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Sadly, it seems that disabilities are somewhat kept hidden within this society, so it's nice to see their visibility, if albeit for a day.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">As my vision becomes further accustomed to my surroundings, my awareness is sharpened by the differences between the 'privileged' and the 'underprivileged'. The differences are in plain black and white - excuse the pun- and this pains me so much. The remnants of colonialism lingers like an unwanted odour, and the consequences of this are very real to see.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">I innerstand that other people's joys and ultimately privilege should not be a beacon to my dissatisfaction and unfairness that I constantly see played, like a broken DVD player, before my eyes, but there is a real and nagging sense of inequalities on this paradise tropical island, and its is glaring, just like the bright sun rays bouncing off the Caribbean Sea. It's impossible not to see the real chasms of poverty that I sometimes see on this island.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> As more and more privileged folk move here, to make Dominica their final place of destination- where they can afford to build palatial mansions deep within the fresh interior of the verdant and abundant rainforest, or high up, within the precipes of their privilege - some of </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">the poor folk of the island have to live in plywood huts, fortified by galvanised roofing , sometimes clinging on the waterfronts of abandoned beaches, dotted with derelict and functional fishing vessels. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">On the same token, there are Dominicans who have built wonderful, pastel coloured homes in the many luscious locations that they call home after being away from home for many years. </span>This in no means eliminates the dignity and pride that these citizens may have in their humble abodes, but there is clearly disparities displayed with the 'haves' and 'have nots' in my beloved adopted country. These same mansions, built on steady foundations of mountainous landscapes tend to look down condescendingly on some of these shanty roadside parishes dotted throughout the island; and the hopelessness I witness of young, unemployed youth, sitting on stoops or older men, who maybe cannot access their farming lands or plots, frequenting the many rums shops in the neighbourhoods is a wake up call to this intense poverty. I can validate this claim, as I pass these places on a daily basis, thus I cannot escape this dismal reality as I drive with my husband, on the way to Roseau.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">About a week and a half ago, an article was posted up on a <a href="http://www.traveladdicts.net/2015/03/titou-gorge-dominica.html">website</a> The site is geared towards independent travellers and was entitled "Disappointed in Dominica". It caused some controversy amongst Dominicans living here and the diaspora, because the author spoke about poverty - although this was not the purpose of the article. He really wrote about being disappointed about being a tourist on a cruise ship and not having enough time in enjoying the sights and additionally, the lack of organisation around some of these tourist sites. From my innerstanding of the article, he just merely touched on the issue of poverty, however, unfortunately this is what the commentators seemed to zero on in. I wholeheartedly agree with a lot of the commentators points being made about his limited capacity about being a cruise ship tourist and that it is virtually impossible to see the natural abundance and beautiful natural sights of of the 'nature isle' in this particular capacity. I also see the implications that can be assumed when talking from his privileged stance as the ' an island struggling with poverty and trying to accomodate tourism'.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">He further asserted that </span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">'the island's infrastructure just isn't able to handle the amount of visitors it is receiving.'In my opinion, he is correct on both accounts. What was sad, after reading a lot of the comments were the myopia that some of these commentators chose to use when it comes to the obvious poverty on this island.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> Its real!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">This is an island that used to be known for its agriculture. It was an island that had abundance of crops - bananas was their gold - before agriculture stopped being the main event and where tourism has inconsistently taken over.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Where, during tourist seasons I see loads and loads of buses parked by the port in Fond Cole, or the bayside in Roseau, with gigantic cruises, that could swallow up Roseau - waiting to see if they can pick up tourists to take them totourist sites, such as Trafalgar Falls, Champagne Reef and other such splendor sites. Nonetheless, when the tourists come in on the cruise ships - either in Roseau, Fond Cole Harbour or Portsmouth - they have already booked their package trips. Consequently, the local bus drivers lose out, even when they try to sell their laminated dreams on size A4 papers. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">I have since found out that a lot of these bus drivers used to be farmers. Make of that what you will.</span></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">I talk with my husband, who was born on this beautiful island about the golden years of agriculture in Dominica. He has so many stories about the days, when he was growing up, about the plentiful of crops that grew on this island. Now the banana industry has been ruined by Black Sigatoga disease - further information about this destructive disease can be read <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_sigatoka">here</a>. To hear Dominicans talk about the poor plight of the state of agriculture in Dominica is very sad; in fact it is a daily conversation heard on street corners, in shops, on buses and all around the island. Because agriculture seems to be a non factor here - right from the top of the government - in my opinion, the land loses its wealth. When the land loses its wealth, it then filters down to society. So the complete denial and myopia about not seeing the poverty of the land is worrying and unrealistic.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> Yes, its integral to have a love and pride about your country, but when the inevitable becomes evitable, its important for the rose coloured spectacles to become detached and view what was used to be a certain romantic nostalgia for your country and transform it into cold reality of what is currently happening in Dominica. In order to</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> view the reality of what is happening in their precious homeland, its time for some of them to perhaps, spend more
than a few weeks in their homeland, before they go back to the comfy
confines of the diaspora, and embrace the benefits that they have there and may not get over here for now. </span></span>I am not meaning to sound alarmist, but as a writer, I don't want to censor my words and be inauthentic with my opinions, as it is what it is. It is what I am seeing every day, and there does not seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel when it comes to agriculture.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Poverty is rife here because of the total eradication of the agriculture sector. The unemployment rate is extremely high for the youth. The economy is non-existent. There is a paucity of investors. And no, I am not including the ever growing community of Chinese who are over here, with their shops which sell inferior goods, without any kind of consumer awareness.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">This country is beautiful in terms of nature, but it has failed agriculture. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Agriculture used to be the backbone of Waitikubuli (the Kalinago name for Dominica), but now it has a slipped disc. I am optimistic, and I see a clear vision for Dominica, however, it needs some of its sons and daughters of the soil to start returning home to make a difference. Fortunately, I have met some, despite the challenges that they face, they are home.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Lato,arial,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.5px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> Typing furious comments about the realities of your country will not make a difference, especially if you are seeing red through the lens. </span></span><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-44837424120745686122015-02-23T15:14:00.000+00:002015-02-23T17:43:08.627+00:00Thoughts from the other side of the postcard: Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Some folk think that I am living the charmed life on the 'Nature Island'. Don't get me wrong, my life style has changed drastically, and all for the better I may add; running our business, hands on, and doing something that I have wanted to do for a long time. It seems appropriate that our business is all about nature and wellness - we create our own herbal massage oils and aromatic creams, with herbs and spices either grown on our land, or sourced locally from farmers who do not use any harmful fertilisers or chemicals. We also package dried and fresh herbs. We go out on the streets and sell to the locals and tourists. I feel that I am living my dream!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Check out our Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/entaiseEnterprises?ref=aymt_homepage_panel">EnTaise EnTerprises™</a> for further information. Well, after that quick sponsor advert, let me continue with my blog post!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I first starting blogging about migrating to The Commonwealth of Dominica, I compared it metaphorically to wearing an ill fitted, tight jacket. My jacket still feels tight at times, but mostly it is transforming into a better fit, all the way around. At times, when I do my daily reflection and meditation in the morning, when I have offered up a libation to my ancestors, when the different tropical birds are chriping away in flowing harmonies,from my wooden shutters or balancing on the rails of our soon to be completed verandah, where the many small lizards scamper and seek sanctuary from the hot solar rays, where our cat and two dogs dart freely around the land, I I marvel at it all, and the same time, I get a bit perplexed at it all. I mean, here I am, sat in the lap of nature, where the Caribbean Sea is not a mirage, and the many bowing trees of moringa, the great big mango tree, sandwiched against our soursop tree, the trailing passion fruits, which constantly carpet the soft, rich earth earth, where plants and plants of wonderful smelling, aromatic basil, succulent plants of aloe vera, peeking scarlets of tomatoes, heads and heads of lettuce, and other vital crops, lovingly cultivated by my husband's hands; where the tall palm of our coconut tree - where coconut water is drank - instead of purchasing it from a shop, and the soft jelly flesh of this nut is devoured hungrily by my husband and myself, I am in awe. Absolute awe and cradled in the abyss of paradise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But, on the other side of this postcard of my thoughts is my perplexion thoughts, on why there is not any manufacturing plants to capture the amazing resources from this land, the high rate of unemployment of youth, the continuing plague of the rise of alcoholism and the slow emergence of crack cocaine, the disenfranchised people left to accelerating poverty because agriculture on this precious island has been abandoned due to the political ramifications of it all, on how the cost of living on this island is exhorbitantly expensive. The economy is virtually non-existent -except for the small Chinese community, who dominiate the majority of business in Roseau and the environs , In addition a recently voted administration who have constantly been accused of corruption and other negative deeds within the land - check <a href="http://dominicanewsonline.com/news/">Dominica News Online</a>, which gives some indication of how people feel about Dominica, and some who are attempting to advocate for change. I won't go too much into the political aspect however, suffice to say, it does not look too good for democracy. But hey...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember, as a young girl, just reaching the milestone of my puberty, that I did not want to live in the UK when I got older. It wasn't due to any conscious thoughts at all, I just felt that I did not really belong there. Since that time, I have had paradoxical notions about my 'Britishness, and how my identity ties within all of this. I just knew that I wanted to marry somebody who did not live in the UK. I wanted to be with a man who was either from Africa or the Caribbean and who would mirror my thoughts. It took a long, long time. But I guess, when you have that belief, that nagging intuition, it finally manifests. Well, it did for me, albeit, it took me two children, studying for two degrees, stress, heartache and then joy to finally manifest into my reality.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was briefly chatting to a brother on Facebook earlier on today. I think, in his own way, inspired me to write this blog post. He told me that what I did was an inspiration for others to follow my lead; and to also bridge the gap between the diaspora and the motherland. I know that fear sometimes takes us out of the equation to literally step out on faith. Fear, I know, has kept me back from my dreams. But as I sit here,with the brillant sunshine pouring truimphantly through my mosquito screen, and when I stand up, I can actuallysee the Caribbean Sea, sparkling like jewels, I give thanks to the fierce Goddess within me, that never gave up on my dreams - even when there were negative forces against my husband and myself to abandon them. I give thanks to my ancestors, to whose shoulders I balance on a daily basis, who keep me humbled.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I do not see myself as a pioneer. I just listened to my growing intuition -which has grown even sharper whilst living in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Dominica">Waitukubuli</a>. I know its the spirit of my ancestors, who are gently guiding me towards the direction that I was meant to live. My late mama was born in Nigeria, I was born in London, and I am now living in the Caribbean. Make of that what you will.</span><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-90819547321004089832015-02-17T02:15:00.003+00:002016-04-04T22:25:03.245+01:00Changes...Can also be challenges as well<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The other day I was going through my news feed on Facebook, and out of the many inspirational picture images I saw was this one, and it jumped out at me. I had to read it many times as it was brillant and so true:</span><br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">" You can't spell challenge without change"</span></b></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, and something that has become so relevant and authentic to me lately.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ever since I have moved to my newly adopted country, The Commonwealth of Dominica, I have hardly, hardly any kind of contact with my family - my siblings and other members of my extended family. I just want to insert here that these circumstance have been external, it is not something that has happened in isolation. This has been gathering whirlpools of stagnant water over many years. And now, I wish to put a filter on it - and start cleansing and healing myself from this pain and disappointment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Now, those of you who are aware of the meaning of my name, I have a twin. In the Yoruba culture, twins are revered; even the mothers have a special twin name given to them when their twins are born: 'Mama Ibeji'. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, what has happened to my twin? I did not invite her to one of the most amazing experiences in my life - my marriage. That should give you, the reader, an understanding where I have stood ( and ultimately fallen) with my twin. There was a genuine reason for this. I had no regrets then, as I have no regrets now, several years later. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our family is not great on support at all, as the dysfunctional contributing factors including envy, resentment and umitigated rage from certain sectors of my family, have attempted and succeeded to block this change. I can hold up my hand in this lack of support towards my family, as I have also been part of this dysfunctional tumour, by being on the front seat and not wanting to 'rock the boat' due to fear of what other members of my family would think of me, or say to me at the time. However, I cut off this cancerous tumour when I moved thousands of miles away. I needed to get away for my own sanity and I am glad that I did.I have been through traumatic times, but I have overturned them and literally come through the fire, to dust myself off from the molten ashes that have attempted to stain and tarnish my character. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of elevating me, and applauding this brave and pioneer move that I have made to the other side of the world, without any kind of family support and family network, there have been some family members who have had underlying hatred and undeserved resentment thrown onto my path. Thus, my journey has been an obstacle of barbed pieces of wire, constantly reminding me of the pain that I have endured on my path. But, as I write these words, what did I expect? A person who is unable to help themselves, cannot help or support others. When a person speaks of themselves as a healer and they are still expunging their own kind of pain onto other people, then they are still within their healing process and cannot heal other peoples broken spirits, until they heal their own. <i><b>Take note my twin sister...</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember, when I initially came to reside in Dominica, people just assumed that my family were from here; that my bloodlines flowed so smoothly, just like the 363 rivers and streams that are on this beautiful, tropical island. I mean, I am from the same tree in a sense, but the branches are different. I was always told that my husband is my family. At first, I rejected this idea, as I wanted to include my twin - I mean, we existed together for nine months in a womb, we reluctantly dressed alike until my sister willingly left - but after seeing her nasty disposition before I left the country and the pretence that I kept up with it in order to gain some kind of semblance and attachement with her, I just let it go. But after today, she is symbolically dead to me. I will not go into the whole extent why I had to make this indelible decision. Suffice to say, I am glad I have. I feel like a weight has been dropped from my shoulders. I feel that decades of pain and guilt that she has consciously pushed onto my burdened shoulders and fragile spirit has flown away. I feel free from anger, resentment, envy and ultimately, hatred from my twin sister.I no longer feel pain, I just feel a sense of relief. I feel sorrow for our lost cord, our connection, which when I think about it was severed from an early stage, when she decided to leave my mama's home, (age 12) because my mother's tongue was too strict. Because she didn't want to be disciplined by a strong Nigerian/Yoruba woman who had her best interests at heart. So, with the reverence of twins in our culture, she broke the golden rule. I think she has been trying to play catch up since.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I used to shrug at the idea that you cannot choose your family , but you can chose your friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">However, this is about change, and I am about to undergo a huge </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">shift
in this trend. So, my organic and holistic family consists of my
husband, Enson Williams, my two young men, Benjamin and Akin, and my
younger brother, Tayo. That is fine for me. This is my new definition of
family.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So now, after really reflecting on it, and because it is a really hard challenge to face, it has made me see clearly now, where I can truly feel the change of redemption from this bondage that has held me down for so many years regarding my family. I can forgive, because in all of that, <u><b>I LET GO</b></u>. And in my letting go, I give permission for all of the family dramas, the dysfunctionality, the guilt, the pain, the envy, the pettiness, the divisiveness and all the other negative elements of my family, to just leave... To get gone! My vision has become clarified through this mind blowing change. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">And so shall it be. </span> </span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-45321587410292237092014-11-04T17:45:00.001+00:002014-11-04T18:09:58.605+00:00There is no place like home... or is there? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Like Dorothy, in ‘<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wizard of Oz’</i></b>, I want to click
my proverbial ruby heels at times and murmur the lines <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘there’s no place like home’</i></b>
to be whisked away, just like Dorothy, to home and her comforts of home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, I want to go back to the ‘home’
that I sometimes miss. But then, like Dorothy, I eventually wake up, stare at
the ocean that is within my view, and thank my ancestors that I am here for a
reason, even when the thought of ‘home’ becomes a site of comfort to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The primary theme to my uncompleted novel is what the
notion of ‘home’ is to my protagonist, so I am quite versed in the contradictions
that I am always facing when it comes to this pertinent issue for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I often try to conjure up what the notion of ‘home’ really
means to me. I over stand, that my constant analysis of what ‘home’ is always
shifting and transforming; thus my notion of ‘home’ is always a constant change
for me. When I look from it from the perspective of an Afrikan woman, born to a
Yoruba, Nigerian woman, born in the capital of the UK, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>then my notion of ‘home’ means to me – and let
me just stress here, as it’s subjective to me – as being an ‘outsider’. I never
felt that any stage in my life that I ‘belonged’ in the UK. I went through the
motions of carving my education, a career and just being ‘present’, but there
was always the questions of me belonging. My sense of belonging was always
inconsistent to me. However, when I have my moments of deep reflection and
meditation, and looking into my own lens of reality, together with my sometimes
chaotic upbringing, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have this almost contradictory
feeling of what the UK represents to me. It’s all I have known. All I will know
– for now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My reality is that I am far, far, far away from home. The
ironic thing in all of this is that this place, residing here in the village of
Salisbury (the birth of my husband) , part of St Joseph’s parish, in the
Commonwealth of Dominica, is <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>starting to
feel like the only true home that I have had. I do not have family here, but every
time I look into the face of a Dominican, I feel that I am ‘home’, and I am not
even touching on the fact that I have been told that I resemble a family
member! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I moved around so much in my life. I was a gypsy before
having any kind of over standing and notion what it meant to me. My life has been
made up of nomadic wandering over the years. I guess I have been
overcompensating and trying my damn hardest to place an anchor on this shifting
base which I called ‘home’. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">With my two boys, I attempted to make a ‘home’, but I still
was kept afloat, constantly moving, every year or so, on my baseless foundation
and my lack of over standing in demanding decent social housing, when I fitted, like a jigsaw puzzle,
into the criteria. But due to my rebel spirit, I didn’t permit anyone to dictate where
and how I should live – be it on the twenty second floor of a tower block in an
impoverished neighbourhood, or deserving of better residential standards to
bring my children up; I decided on the latter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried so hard, but there is one thing that I
can say that I proudly achieved with my sons though. Through all of the upheaval
of my relentless moving, they were fortunate enough to keep their own personal
anchors with their fathers; my precious boys were able to attend to the same
schools – throughout their formative years. So now, they can proudly state that
they have the same friends from high school, which is something that I wished
that I had.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So even<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with the one constant wheel, on my sturdy
caravan, I was <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>trying to get and
maintain some kind of semblance in my wanderlust <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>life, I never wanted my boys to go through
what I went through growing up. Because of my constant moving around, I never
had the chance to make genuine and sincere friends in school. I never had a
high school crush; I was never ‘the most popular’, simply because I was on ‘the
move’ all the time, so the roots to my growing up eventually became frayed and
ultimately, abandoned. My growing pains suffered immensely due to my sense of not
belonging to my peer group. This was keenly evident to me when I attended a
reunion several years back, and some folk forgot that I had even existed! What
can I say? <b>*Laughing*</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After literally half of my life spent in the UK, primarily
in London, I then took the absolute conviction to pack up and move to a small,
tropical island on the other side of the world at the end of 2012. I had
nothing to burden me down; my emotional luggage that I had kept tightly and
solidly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wrapped up , which accompanied
me on my many journeys were discarded. I can really relate to Erykah Badu’s
classic song, ‘<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bag Lady’</i></b>, because I was dragging around all of my bags and I
needed to release a lot of them and just ‘let go’ - and I did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sons have grown
up – one is working full time and the other will be graduating next year from
university. I miss them tremendously, but fortunately with the plethora of
social media, I can keep in touch with them with a flick of a button, thousands
of emoticons to convey my love and my dry sense of humour and a scroll of a
mouse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Why did I move to a country that I had only visited in the
past? It starts with <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">L</b> and ends with
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">E</b>. Yes, </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 107%;">L-O-V-E </span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">carried
me all the way to these shores. Although my husband had lived in Europe - Netherlands
to be precise - before I met him, I still encountered some negative naysayers
who assumed that I was only returning due to his ‘immigration status and
restrictions’. So far from the truth that a hiccup of a giggle and an upturn of
my lips into a smile would invariably appear every time I would tell these
naysayers the undiluted truth. Sometimes I didn’t have the energy and just let
them bathe, like asses, in their ignorance that they proudly wore as priced
pieces of designer wear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is so humorous
to me how assumptions are created, only to realise that the truth will always
prevail; and the truth has set me free. Let me just explicitly state at this
juncture:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My
husband obtained his EU passport a long time before I was manifested into his
existence; before my soul had captured his heart and my name had lingered on
his heavily Dominican accented tongue - so there! </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My husband is a creature of nature – literally. His spirit
was rapidly declining because he could no longer be in the crux of the natural
habitat that he grew up in. He could no longer feel the grit of soil beneath
his strong fingernails that were starting to peel, due to the lack of Vitamin
D. He could no longer speak a language that was oppressing his tongue and be
part of a system which was depleting his spirit; in a system where his
invisibility as a Black male was countered with pernicious stereotypes of a
dreadlocked man, who raised his children singlehandedly, in a system that
psychologically kidnapped his two biological, Afrikan children – too long for
me to go into here, but maybe another blog post… All of this added to his own
upheaval from a land that wanted to hold him down and imprison his senses, so
he made the correct decision to make his own personal odyssey to finally return
back to his rightful home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After we both decided to make this <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gigantic <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>move; taking a leap of unadulterated faith, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>after weighing our options of the pros and
cons - the advantages far outweighed the other - we wholeheartedly decided to
marry – it wasn’t a whirlwind romance either, as we had been previously been <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘courting’ long-distance for six years –we had
a wonderful and simple ceremony, which was attended by selected close,
authentic friends and a bare minimum of family members, so there were no levels
of toxicity, but instead, a whole heap of loving vibrations throughout our
lovely ceremony.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So now, I sit here, on the veranda, peering out at the
Caribbean Sea, as the warm fingers of the solar rays reflects on the surface
like prized diamonds, and ‘home’ almost becomes my jewel in my crown, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, the feelings of being homesick
almost engulf me, however, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>like the
tender waves of the sea, it ebbs and flows like the tide, as I continue to
daydream of what ‘home’ really means to me, and how it can comfort me in a land,
that although is beautiful and full of natural splendour and calming energies,
it is <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>still, at times paradoxically <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘foreign’ to me.</span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-61106870010554994502014-07-20T16:21:00.002+01:002014-11-04T21:22:53.226+00:00I Never Knew Her, but I Came Through Her :A Paradoxical Tribute to my Mother: Caroline Wuraola Olagundoye.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFPSDNqRP7j2OZ-OxHC0cz9t_Ccb7pMAmR-5DD7NNyfQImpBb85fekjngJTJeo3lS7Rdps6banUW7mY2jI1N1MwyQ0qwVo9uttdjRqq4FwJcEVJ8bomV1F_vLaoVo5mRrFkzbPScXy9s/s1600/iya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFPSDNqRP7j2OZ-OxHC0cz9t_Ccb7pMAmR-5DD7NNyfQImpBb85fekjngJTJeo3lS7Rdps6banUW7mY2jI1N1MwyQ0qwVo9uttdjRqq4FwJcEVJ8bomV1F_vLaoVo5mRrFkzbPScXy9s/s1600/iya.jpg" height="320" width="250" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I knew is that she came from Nigeria; the Yoruba
people, who are located in the south western part of Nigeria, also known as
Yorubaland; a country, where they have the most populous in Africa. The Yorubas
stem from a fierce and proud ethnic group that is steeped in tradition, a rich
cultural legacy and a global recognition of this group, in different parts of
the diaspora where Yoruba has influenced her sons and daughters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My mother’s name, Wuraola, literally translates as <b><i>‘gold
in wealth’</i></b>. The Yoruba people believe in the notion of reincarnation.
Perhaps she was a royal princess in her past life, because that was the name
which was ascribed to her at her birth.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember celebrating my mother’s birthday on June 19<sup>th</sup>,
but after she left us, I found out that she was in fact born in the second week
of July. I have no idea why she celebrated her birthday in June.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">She was born in Ondo State, and she hailed from a provincial
town called <b><i>Owo</i></b>, which according to oral history, the town can trace its
origins to the ancient city of Ile-Ife, the cradle of Yoruba culture, the town
also has the largest palace in Africa.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that my mother came from a polygamous union; my
maternal grandmother, whose name was Eunice, was the first wife. My maternal
grandfather, who was commonly known as ‘Pa’ was the village headmaster, so his
status was elevated with this title, thus he was able to afford to marry many
times. Because of this he managed to have seven wives, including my maternal
grandmother. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My mother was the ‘buffer child’. In other words, she was
the middle child of my grandmother’s union. She had an older brother – I think
he was a couple of years older than her, and a younger brother, who trailed
behind by about three years. Respectively they were known as Uncle Eddy - who I
also came to know as Uncle Olu -and my uncle Aerial. They all formed part of a
large extended family, which spread out like spilt ink over the whole town.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">All of her brothers are deceased now, thus the treasured
secrets of my mother’s youth and ultimately, her life, before she embarked on
her journey to the Motherland, have been interned with them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I knew is that my mother crossed the Atlantic Ocean,
after saying farewell to her parents and her extended family. With her bride price held precariously on her
head, she made her watery and choppy journey across the ocean; the motions
swept away her emotions and became buried with the bones of distant ancestors
who gloriously and mournfully rested on
the sea bed.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her joy, laughter, gaiety, fun and a fulfilled sense of
herself were replaced by the dark, ominous, hanging and gloomy clouds that
hovered above as her feet attempted to navigate the unfamiliar terrain by the
white cliffs of Dover.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My mother arrived sometime, perhaps, in the late fifties or
early sixties. I am not too sure of the exact dates. However, I do know that
although she wasn’t a passenger on the SS Empire Windrush, she was however, a part
of that landmark generation. Nonetheless, her voice was still excluded and
muted on the celebrations that her host nation gave to commemorate the landmark
journey of her Caribbean brothers and sisters of this post-war joviality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I knew was that she was a student, studying midwifery
in London, UK. Her brother, my uncle Olu, who had his own young family living
in London, was her persistent, all-knowing and all watching chaperone. In the
sepia pictures that I have seen of my mother – before she gave birth to the
twins – is a secret, mysterious smile that was ever present on her face; a
graceful, beautiful mask of serenity and calm before the storm clouds erupted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that when I used to gaze at my mother’s ethereal face
when I was young, I grew fascinated by her tattooed marks on her face. I
thought that she got up each morning and drew them, with her sharpened kohl
eyeliner, as part of her make-up routine. They were four short strokes of black
marks stamped on her high cheekbones. Every time she smiled –which was not very
often – they jumped and leapt joyously from her cheekbones, like swaying blades
of grass from her village. When she frowned, or looked sad, they looked like talisman
of sadness, hopelessness and a reminder of her life ‘back home’. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I knew was that when she met my rebellious father, he
obsessively pursued her like a fat kid who fiends for a forbidden piece of
candy. I knew that my father – although I knew that my mother took a starring role
in their nascent soap opera – lit the simmering embers of my mother’s heart,
igniting it so much that she had the burning desire to go against her parental
wishes back home, trade in her traditional bride price, which balanced
indecisively on her head, and marry my immature father in a fiery and blazing
state of wantonness. Because she could, as the cacophony of disapproved voices which
reached out wistfully across the perilous seas were drowned out by her
rebellious spirit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that my mother was a few years older than my father.
I do remember, after she left this earth and transitioned ‘back home’, finding
her marriage certificate, deep within the archives of her secretive life. I
noticed, in shock, that she had falsified her age to match the same age as my
father. Apparently, in my mother’s culture at the time, it was a taboo for a
female to marry a younger male. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I knew is that she raised two sets of twins – two girls
and two boys – singlehandedly. At a time in Britain, where being a lone mother
was a moral outrage; especially if you came from a society where the holy
trinity of marriage, family and children were sewn into your <b><i>Iro a</i></b>nd
<b><i>Buba
</i></b>* from an early age. Consequently, the wages of supporting your
children were either non-existent or that the status was not declared due to
the unbridled shame.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew because of the stress of raising these two sets of
twins in the revolutionary sixties – I had no idea when I was in my youth that
my mother was divinely blessed in giving birth to twins from a cultural
perspective – without the needed intervention and support of her extended
family and the comfort and luxury of her familiarity within a compound
environment, where the notion of family roots were as embedded as the roots of
the baobab tree, and the navel strings of my mother’s umbilical cord.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> My mother’s
demotivation about her single status as a mother became her decline towards a
pervading sadness that became her veil of trying to cope in an unwelcome
climate, which was inevitably stifling her growth. The sunshine of her youth
was replaced by the frigidity of motherhood and what was expected of her as an
African woman, living as ‘other’ in alienable circumstances.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Because of these shortcomings, my mother had to rely on her
host nation dependants to ‘nanny’ and foster her own dependants for a paltry
fee. This was before the era where the
safe guarding of children were entrusted to local authorities , where the welfare
of children were scribed into legal documents; to assure that these children
resided in homes of safety, comfort, trust and cultural awareness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew at a tender age that Caucasian skin could not look
after my tough ‘negro’ hair, or delicate ‘coloured’ skin. So, my body was
abandoned like an unattended, wild forest, in these ‘homes’ where we were
clandestinely dropped off, by my mother in different locations along the south
eastern and northern regions of the UK. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew because of the unmonitored fostering places, we were
unwittingly placed in by my mother. Some of these foster homes hid the foreboding
shadows of paedophiles, where the grooming of young children was sanctified by
a few pieces of melted chocolate, and promise s of rides in amusement parks on
nearby seaside piers.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> These monsters defiled
our bodies with sexual abuse and molestation, where the innocence of girl twins
was shattered and the quiet cries which never reached my mother’s ears. She was
deaf to all of our silent weeping, as her colonised mind held white skin as a
beacon of light, and ultimately, hope, which shone into her darkness of
despair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that after my mother passed, that the pain, betrayal,
fear, and racism of these experiences that she ultimately suffered, grew inside
me - like a seed germinating - that I had to initiate intensive therapy, in my
mid-twenties, so that the seed growing within me had to bloom like a flower and
not spike like a thorn into my life, so that I could manifest my burgeoning
maternal duties to my two precious sons, a different spectrum of care, love,
devotion and hope. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that I had to readdress the imbalances of my life and
straighten my uneven path so that my journey could be straight and my steps would
become even and lighter with my emotional baggage that I have accrued over the
years.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that every Saturday mornings, as a youth returning
from my fostered , vanilla landscape existence, and getting used to the voice,
smell and presence of my mother - whilst my twin brothers entertained
themselves with the weekly weekend jovialities of Tiswas and Bugs Bunny, -I had
to follow my mother to Ridley Road market, in Dalston, Hackney. I cringed at
the unfamiliar tones of my mother’s accented English. I cringed at her loud
announcements when she would meet her friends. I cringed when she used to
barter for items in the market. I cringed when my aunties would bellow in
forceful and aggressive tones to ‘face my studies, and always pray’. I cringed
when my school mates would tease me in the weeks following, as being ‘<b><i>Kizzy’</i></b>,
because they had spied me at the market with my loud African mother. I cringed
at all of the different ‘coloured ‘ shades of blackness that surrounded me like
suffocating fog…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> These memories are
indelibly tattooed within the recesses of my mind, and sometimes, when I think
about these memories, I feel a the rising paradoxical thoughts of sadness and
celebration.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">But I now know that these were my mother’s markers of a culture
that were lost and then rediscovered in the familiarity of friends who had gone
through the same experiences. Being isolated and abandoned by careless,
carefree and reckless husbands in a strange land, where their looks, accents
and sense of selves were questioned, ridiculed and shunned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that my mother sought a soothing sanctuary in a
religious environment, where she was validated by a white Jesus. Where each
Sunday she would proudly wear a freshly made <b><i>ero and buba, </i></b>with a
matching, starched <b><i>gelee</i></b>**, which pointed proudly to the heavens that she was
worshipping. Where the shaking of the tambourines and the choruses of Yoruba <b><i>Ase</i></b>***
and hallelujahs reached the nether regions of the women as they shook their <b><i>nayshes</i></b>****
for Jehovah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I also knew that after my mother’s death, I found in her
possession, an ancestral charm for the <b><i>orisha Ibeji. </i></b>This is the orisha for
twins. My mother – as all mothers from the Yoruba people who give birth to
twins – was given the title, <b><i>Mama Ibeji,</i></b> which translated means,
‘Twins Mummy’. This is a very prestigious title to have in Yorubaland. I now fully
understood why my mother consistently gave us black eyed beans to eat every
Saturday. I wonder if she did this when we were away from us. If so, why were
we not protected from harm? These questions I had to let go, because the
reality of my experience has made me who I am today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Nonetheless, I guess we were her living shrines, and the
sacrifice that she made at her altar of pain was immense. I see that now; I
over stand what she, as an African woman had to go through in a country that
never truly embraced her; an African woman who always stood on the margins and
was disenfranchised because of her colour, her race and her gender. </span><span style="font-size: large;">She was my mother, but she was seen as ‘other’ in alien
surroundings</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, now here I am, living in another country. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My life, although
content, still remains somewhat unfulfilled, at varying times. This may be due
to still trying to find my footsteps in a new country, and also because of the
social isolation that I feel at times. Nevertheless, I would not swap these
feelings and emotions, because, once again, they have come to define who I am
and am becoming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My life has not been too easy; I wasn’t born with a silver
spoon in my mouth, but a rusty one. Because of my life – although I am a
survivor of the pain that manifested within me – the path that I walked has been
strewn with many obstacles that could’ve defeated me. However, with the mosaic of pain that has had
an impact on my life, there has been a dazzling shaft of sunshine and a
kaleidoscope of light, with the birth of my two beautiful sons, Benjamin and
Akin, who are grown, secure and actualised into wonderful human beings.
Additionally, I have been divinely blessed with the love of my life, my
husband, Enson Williams, who makes sure that I am comfortable, loved and safe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I now know that the often fractured relationship that I had with
my twin sister is slowly fitting into the jigsaw pieces of my life. Although we
are separated by an ocean, I feel her presence on a daily basis, and I am
amazed at her tenacity of how she been able to have a grip on her life and the
wonderful journey that it has taken her to. I am proud of my <b><i>Ibeji</i></b>!
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The chapters of this episode still need to be written about
my twin brothers. I will leave that for another time…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The couple of
authentic friends who swayed and stayed
by my side, who offered me a life jacket when I needed to keep afloat –
Michelle Williams and my darling spiritual fulfilling sista friend, Samantha G... I am fortunate to have these two true friends in my life!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I now know that by writing this authentic commentary about
my mother is a tribute to her ferocious energies, life, and who she was what
she represented as a Yoruba woman and ultimately, her warrior spirit that infuses
me each day; writing this has been extremely therapeutic for me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It’s been twenty-five
years since she passed to the other side, and it’s only now that I have started
dreaming about her, reconnecting with her in my meditations and feeling her
eternal essence, that surrounds me like a peaceful mist. I know that I can
obtain the peace, because I have started picking up the pieces of my mother’s life
and where the meaning of her life is embroidered with the frayed seams of my
life. Where I can, in my fifty-first year on this realm, begin to really exhale
and feel complete in mind, body and spirit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but I came through her to learn many
lessons about who I ultimately am; the woman that I have turned out to be; the mother
who I materialised into, and the wife who I longed to be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never knew my mother, but through my creativity I am
beginning to know her as I finally write and inscribe these words to you, to
your memory. I whisper them in your daily presence, fuse, and twin and
reconnect my energies with your own, and meditate them to myself and say that
to you, my mother –Caroline Wuraola
Olagundoye - these words and thoughts are dedicated to your everlasting memory.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ase!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7e5KbWF336xgJcSVo1XfyvRHluhbjnlNuLnOPjcckItX7hJnsJp7AhfpErLzoRBG4jACt335XmlaQclou4KPKtKLM-Ffgi5aSAtiBlmvqfDfOl0aRozN5WX6HU3m78cFrvpKEPaHnVM/s1600/mama+ibeji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7e5KbWF336xgJcSVo1XfyvRHluhbjnlNuLnOPjcckItX7hJnsJp7AhfpErLzoRBG4jACt335XmlaQclou4KPKtKLM-Ffgi5aSAtiBlmvqfDfOl0aRozN5WX6HU3m78cFrvpKEPaHnVM/s1600/mama+ibeji.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> * a Yoruba woman’s
traditional attire Iro = wrapper and Buba= top ** A head wrap usually worn with
the ero and buba *** Amen/Blessings</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">****Colloquial term in Yoruba for women’s
backsides/buttocks.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-91156655475188484312013-03-18T01:23:00.001+00:002013-03-18T01:23:43.580+00:00Migration: I have my own domain:)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Finally, after having a sub-domain for many years on blogger.com, I've now got my own hosted Wordpress blog domain! How cool is that?<br />
<br />
So after emigrating to this beautiful island, its now time for me to migrate this blog and all of my words to my new domain...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://myspiritrevivedindominica.com/" rel="nofollow">Jah's Country</a><br />
<br />
Like me, my new Wordpress blog is adjusting, so there's still tweaks to be made and challenges to be conquered along this new journey of transformation and opportunities.<br />
<br />
So long Blogger... we've had a nice and steady ride. I learnt so much from this site on blogging, html, seo and other important factors to understanding the world of blogging and beyond...<br />
<br />
See you there!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-15580782129856632242013-02-07T10:58:00.000+00:002013-03-18T00:37:28.138+00:00In Transition: Getting Used to my Tightly Fitted Jacket<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGWkAE2RBqrWwe68EjgC9HuMkKZWfT9VuhUwsVzbbqpsqhneRGvGVd1_7X08K-NPnnFJGTPCJ4ePpGNIswGnX7lhKssDEK9MyImjnqCCiNB3D8O_ZuIo4c4Q1iKU-0u69ZkN-ZQ-WYVw/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGWkAE2RBqrWwe68EjgC9HuMkKZWfT9VuhUwsVzbbqpsqhneRGvGVd1_7X08K-NPnnFJGTPCJ4ePpGNIswGnX7lhKssDEK9MyImjnqCCiNB3D8O_ZuIo4c4Q1iKU-0u69ZkN-ZQ-WYVw/s320/rainbow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Well, my dream has manifested. So many times over. Regardless of the envy and begrudging attitudes of some folk ( from some sectors of my family), I am here, in the land of plenty, beautiful scenery, fresh fruit literally at my fingertips, a steady stream of sunshine, and most importantly, with my darling husband. I will always be blessed, regardless of the obstacles that some folk want to continuously place on our positive paths!<br />
<br />
They call Dominica the 'Nature Island', and truly, the scenic views of the landscape are amazingly awesome and breathtaking - I will touch on this in another blog post. Where we live we have the wonderful image of the Caribbean Sea just within our eyesights. Can you imagine, as I open the wooden blinds of our bedroom, gently rub my weary eyes, stretch and rise in the early, quiet, warm morning of my newly adopted country, I can see the dazzling deep blue shimmer of the Caribbean Sea. Can you imagine the blessings that I ultimately feel living in this small island of paradise?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ATMs8RaQlMLGSa5j4I5Bxw66hTADsZNxxCcYthtY68TKK0vEZCf2FmFhgQ5l0J6cATssoN1jpQ0LXp1Ir17mWbVUtfH4_2vc_JfBNgUJ55yj_G1ntNPBfXERNJXEaqn2vv7QDS4jMjc/s1600/caribbean+sea.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ATMs8RaQlMLGSa5j4I5Bxw66hTADsZNxxCcYthtY68TKK0vEZCf2FmFhgQ5l0J6cATssoN1jpQ0LXp1Ir17mWbVUtfH4_2vc_JfBNgUJ55yj_G1ntNPBfXERNJXEaqn2vv7QDS4jMjc/s320/caribbean+sea.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've been in Dominica for the past month, and I was saying to my husband the other day, that sometimes I feel that I am wearing a tightly fitted jacket; trying to get used to its size to make sure it fits me perfectly and I am comfortable wearing it. I see this analogy as how I am adapting to this beautiful country. Sometimes there is discomfort, sometimes there's a tightness, and sometimes there's a restricted comfortableness! This is because I am still adapting to my surreal (in a sense) surroundings. I have to get used to the chilled attitudes of folk here. Eliminate my notions of efficiency, and definitely get rid of my British stiff upper lip. I mean, I was born in the UK, and as much as I have never consciously embraced my 'britishness', its still imbued deeply within me. I can't escape it. But I can eliminate the attitude and embrace my buried deep new one, my 'Caribbeaness' as such - even if my people are not from here originally.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmriV8VgytaYtgLxSQzEP2_Lxat4ERdPisP-cFHncdp35ugYkCH8dqB-2tn__ckEA5Yh-KPB8cK_L0Wp6BL35WtbJ5O_TnibEJKI8R5BY5ibM8P7710LS-R-AvdC3r-Um9MOEInlnlBVg/s1600/mango+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmriV8VgytaYtgLxSQzEP2_Lxat4ERdPisP-cFHncdp35ugYkCH8dqB-2tn__ckEA5Yh-KPB8cK_L0Wp6BL35WtbJ5O_TnibEJKI8R5BY5ibM8P7710LS-R-AvdC3r-Um9MOEInlnlBVg/s320/mango+tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtzTLHx57dX5qt8e4XWry12Em0a_kNUhR3Zjk6pQ0rYCPRQXnpR0_E8j6dIG934U1pa_0JT_aW5jMVZ30eh5pMhyP76wYtXNj8tOw6HfiMWv7U9qYHCQCqaOJua0Zj93O5dEf-jNmIF0/s1600/pumpkin+patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtzTLHx57dX5qt8e4XWry12Em0a_kNUhR3Zjk6pQ0rYCPRQXnpR0_E8j6dIG934U1pa_0JT_aW5jMVZ30eh5pMhyP76wYtXNj8tOw6HfiMWv7U9qYHCQCqaOJua0Zj93O5dEf-jNmIF0/s320/pumpkin+patch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, over the next few months I know that my tightly fitted jacket will become much looser and will fit me so much better. Thus making my comfort in living here relaxed, as I get used to my new surroundings. In the interim, I will be drinking in all of Dominica, like a baby being breastfed for the first time. Still writing and being creative. Still working on my novel. Still daydreaming. Still loving. Still being positive and optimistic. Still blogging on my new experiences of living in Waitukubuli - pronounced <i><b>Wa-it-tuku-buli</b></i> <i><b>(tall is her body</b></i>) the original Kalingo name for Dominica.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned in a previous blog, once I have settled over here I will be migrating my blog onto my own domain. I am still trying to come up with an inventive and memorable name. Any suggestions?<br />
<br />
Watch out for my carnival tinged post soon. Carnival season is alive over here and I am excited to be a part of it as an appreciated spectator.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com6Dominica15.199386048560006 -60.6445312511.281423548560007 -65.80810525 19.117348548560006 -55.48095725tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-63375260872354286862012-12-21T16:58:00.000+00:002012-12-21T18:36:52.252+00:00Shooing Away The Dust...Brushing Off My Collar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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,<i><b> 'it's been so long, I'm missing you baby...'</b></i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Soon, very soon...</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-57038827059479003002012-12-18T12:34:00.001+00:002012-12-18T12:34:53.671+00:00The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.: When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless<a href="http://wwwtaiishere-tai.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/when-young-black-male-lives-are.html">The Musing and Words of a UK African Woman Living In London.: When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-84029537982029992272012-12-18T12:14:00.000+00:002012-12-18T12:30:12.299+00:00When Young Black Male Lives are Worthless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Instead, I, like others have found a real comfortable <span style="font-size: small;">spot</span> in the sand and <span style="font-size: small;">burrowed</span> my head <span style="font-size: small;">deep within</span>, hoping that the killings will eventually stop; that the self hatred will fade away like <span style="font-size: small;">a pair of well faded levis</span>. 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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My neighbourhood is becoming a overpopulated <span style="font-size: small;">cemetery</span>, <span style="font-size: small;">scarred indelibly</span> 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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">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<span style="font-size: small;"> - each way - </span> so he <span style="font-size: small;">w</span>ould not be caught up in the 'postcode honour' that these young black <span style="font-size: small;">boys</span> 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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thankfully, after <span style="font-size: small;">I went to live for a couple of years</span> 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.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">*Update*</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My son <span style="font-size: small;">is now in</span> <span style="font-size: small;">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<span style="font-size: small;"> and become another 'statistic'.</span></span> </span></span><br />
<span class="GingerNoCheckEnd"></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-85844568754023817592012-12-15T10:07:00.003+00:002012-12-18T12:12:37.610+00:00Be About It/Do It: Preparation: Soon... very soon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>' the loudest voice is just a whisper in the wind'</b></i></span>© Taiwo Ogunnaike - 2012<br />
<br />
As I prepare to leave Europe, emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually, I look back on what I have gained living here. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
My politicisation(sic) filtered way into my consciousness in the early 80s. For me it was the reverberation and shouts of <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>'13 dead, nothing said'</b></i></span>. 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 <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>'other'</b></i></span>, and the impact of being aware of this knowledge hit me <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>HARD</b></i></span> in the solar plexus, literally winding me.<br />
<br />
I know, I was a naive, 17 year old, closeted by religion, juxtaposition with the white Jesus hanging on red velvet wallpaper.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>ME</b></i></span>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>BABYLON</b></i></span>. 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:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><i><b>BE ABOUT IT</b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><i><b>TO JUST<span style="font-size: large;">...</span></b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> DO IT!</b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
Soon, very soon... </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-28856803526570662702012-11-13T08:06:00.000+00:002012-11-13T08:07:22.376+00:00Keep on Keeping on: Consistency with Life and Blogging.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes I have to ask, or rather tell myself, to keep up the
consistency of the writing on my blog. I admit, when <b>LIFE</b> 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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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**<br />
<br />
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 <b>LIFE</b> 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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, <b>LIFE.</b><br />
<br />
Soon, very soon... </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-66848791050496132082012-10-28T02:51:00.001+00:002012-10-29T20:34:51.473+00:00Nights Like This - Reloaded<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.<br />
<br />
The nights are drawing in as my countdown begins.<br />
<br />
Soon, very soon and I cannot wait.<br />
<br />
To be continued... </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-6150481335643644932012-10-16T18:28:00.001+01:002012-10-16T18:28:47.770+01:00A Change is Gonna Come... Soon!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="background-color: lime;"><b>MRS TAIWO WILLIAMS</b></span>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Soon come!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-80654030450930078972012-06-09T11:41:00.000+01:002012-06-09T11:41:10.858+01:00My Whys: High Expectations and Creativity.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Its time for me to come ashore and just write, whenever I feel like it, with no high expectations.<br />
<br />
Thank you once again to my anonymous commentator.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="GingerNoCheckEnd"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com2London, UK51.5081289 -0.1280050000000301251.364427400000004 -0.37767900000003013 51.6518304 0.12166899999996988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-61027297090422491582012-06-07T20:24:00.000+01:002012-06-07T20:24:30.229+01:00On&On&On... My Personal and Loving Rebuttal to Erykah Badu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">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.<br />
<br />
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: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXH-TknXVIg&feature=relmfu">Erykah Badu @ Adornment 2007</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, here is Erykah's rebuttal to the controversy about the video:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">3:33pm dallas </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><a class="twitter-anywhere-user" href="http://twitter.com/waynecoyne" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font: inherit; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">@waynecoyne</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> 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).</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">You obviously have a misconception of who I am artistically. I don't mind that but...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">By the way you are an ass. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Yu did everything wrong from the on set . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">First:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">You showed me a concept of beautiful tasteful imagery( by way of vid text messages) . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I trusted that. I was mistaken. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Then u release an unedited, unapproved version within the next few days. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">That all spells 1 thing , </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Self Serving . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">When asked what the concept </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. " </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I understood , because as an artist we all desire that. But we don't all do it at another artist's expense . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">From jump, </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Instead, U disrespected me by releasing pics and rough vid on the internet without my approval. (Contract breech )</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">That is equivalent to putting out a security camera's images of me changing in the fitting room. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I never would have approved that tasteless, meaningless, shock motivated video . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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 . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I Should have followed my first mind back in studio when recording the vocals "your way". </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">( Red flag.) It was uncomfortable. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">For that I am at fault . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Hope it works out for ya ,Wayne. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Really i could give a shit less.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Still love your live show tho. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And , you're welcomed. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Lesson learned . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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 . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">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 . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">O, And on behalf of all the artists u have manipulated or plan to manipulate, find another way . </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">These things have been said out of necessity. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And if you don't like it </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">you can KiSS MY Glittery ASS .</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">O and Nayrok told me to tell u to kiss her ass too .</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Almost forgot. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Peace </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Ms. Badu</span></b><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">source: <a href="http://www.twitlonger.com/show/hno30u">Erykah's Rebuttal </a></span></span><br />
<br />
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! <br />
<br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">'I'm an artist, I'm sensitive about my shit!' </span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">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.</span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><br style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">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! </span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">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. </span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><br style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Ms Badu, I am a fan of you and your music, but you need better people on your side who have your BACK. </span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><br style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">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.</span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i>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.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i>Still inspired by you, Ms Badu!</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i>Love, Light and Blessings</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #bebebe; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><span style="background-color: yellow; line-height: 22px;"><i>Tai </i></span></span></div><i style="background-color: yellow;"><br />
</i><br />
<br />
<span class="GingerNoCheckEnd"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-36788788003715083582012-05-19T12:25:00.000+01:002012-05-19T12:25:45.161+01:00Finding My Voice - Maintaining a Balance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
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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:<br />
<ul><li> <b>Keep on writing consistently everyday.</b> 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. </li>
<li><b>My writing voice is really the voice in my head.</b> 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. <b> </b></li>
<li><b><strong>Find out what is true.</strong></b> 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</li>
<li><strong>Find clarity</strong>. 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. <strong> </strong></li>
<li><strong>Remove the noise</strong>. 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.<strong></strong></li>
<li><strong>Use your voice</strong>. 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.</li>
</ul>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.<br />
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.<br />
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-71507563200080579492012-05-11T14:35:00.000+01:002012-05-11T14:35:56.000+01:00Energised By Creating: Now My True Writing Journey Has Begun...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">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.<br />
<br />
Since joining the <i><b>'Memoir: Life Writing'</b></i> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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This writer refuses to starve...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0Southwark, London, UK51.5081289 -0.1280050000000301251.364427400000004 -0.37767900000003013 51.6518304 0.12166899999996988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-91785302868241895962012-04-29T12:58:00.000+01:002012-04-29T12:58:05.510+01:00Writing Life: Keeping the Pandora Box Ajar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/wBApMFw9b_0/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wBApMFw9b_0&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wBApMFw9b_0&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com1Hackney, London Borough of Hackney, London, UK51.544205 -0.05421499999999923623.8374435 -59.81984 79.2509665 59.71141tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-55062597016716932972012-04-18T15:49:00.000+01:002012-04-18T19:09:18.788+01:00The Frustrations of Becoming a Writer: Embracing without Fear<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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 <i><b>‘let go’</b></i>. 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?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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 <b>THAT LOOK</b>, 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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-87375985509302774622012-04-08T20:38:00.000+01:002012-04-08T20:40:07.938+01:00Imagining Words: Still Creating<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com2Hackney, London Borough of Hackney, London, UK51.544205 -0.05421551.53433 -0.073956 51.55408 -0.034474tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5072479789658052847.post-4746551458089541212012-03-23T17:38:00.001+00:002012-03-24T22:35:40.592+00:00The Knowing: True Realisation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div lang="en-GB">When I looked into his eyes, I saw my past, present and future.</div><div lang="en-GB">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. </div><div lang="en-GB">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.</div><div lang="en-GB">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?</div><div lang="en-GB">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?</div><div lang="en-GB">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.</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-GB">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</span></span></span> 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.<br />
<br />
I was so glad I did.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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 <i><b>even </b></i>knew each other. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://wwwtaiisherecom-tai.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss</div>Tai Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07279595981299397058noreply@blogger.com0London, UK51.5081289 -0.1280050000000301251.364427400000004 -0.37767900000003013 51.6518304 0.12166899999996988