Accra, Ghana: First Impressions

When I was in the second grade, I went to live with my Dad while my mom went to live in Ghana for her studies. I remember being so envious. She sent me postcards and coins, my first purse, and lots of stories about this country I couldn't really quite picture. I mean living in predominantly White communities doesn't lend itself to imagining a world that is all Black, on all class levels in every area. My mom has traveled all over Africa, east, west, south, and north and has come to conclusion that our ancestors were probably Ghanaian. There is no evidence of course, as we can only trace our roots back to Iowa, but she did say there was something special about it, and those childhood memories have always stuck with me. Perhaps that's why Ghana was on my top 3 countries to go to next. I wanted to finally see it for myself.

So here I am, having blown all my savings on this 30th b-day trip for myself and I can already say it is money well spent. In another few hours my mother will arrive. She is presenting at a conference on the Black Diaspora, some of which I will be attending. I have already met several of the other presenters and it sounds like it's going to very interesting. My mom will be talking about Madame President (refer to Feb blog post), the conference she held with the women of color who have become presidents of their learned societies. I've also met people who plan on discussion gender roles in the Diaspora and the psychology of race.

I just arrived this morning, after a brief layover in New York and a very long flight where my Ghanaian seatmate woke up just in time to ask me for my number. Sorry folks, I'm not Stella and I don't have a visa for you...just putting it out there. As the plane cut through the clouds and I got my first glimpse of Accra, I was reminded a little bit of Japan. It was the the green landscape and the colorful roofs. Then as we got closer, you could see how red the ground looked, just like Georgia, but flat and with palm trees. It's funny how every place leaves it's impression. The more I travel, the more similarities I see between landscapes.

I managed to get my luggage and navigate customs with ease. It helps that everyone speaks English. This is already turning out to be a much different trip that my last time in Africa...which was my trip to Senegal when I was 16 (my French is not great and my Oulof really sucks, so communication was not very fluid). I was relieved to meet up with people from the Hotel where the conference is being hosted. The drove me on a magical mystery tour to find an ATM that takes visa. NOTE: Do not bring a non-visa ATM card, every ATM here is all about visa. Would have been nice to know before hand. We found a bank that takes mastercard and then I met some other people from the conference and had lunch, worked out, and discovered the hotel pool (which has its own bar with a happy hour with live music :) )

So far everything is lovely. It's cloudy and humid, with very little sun today, but 30 degrees cooler than Portland yesterday. The land is very flat and the buildings are walled and have a Caribbean feel. There are palm trees and traffic is kind of insane. I am totally afraid to cross the street. Now I'm going to go crash a private party at the pool (saw some cuties) and then I'm going to check out a jazz club. I met this woman named Toni who is a US ex-pat who has lived here since 97 and runs a jazz club and a spoken word open mike night (which I might be rocking later this week). Yup, I could probably live here. Can't wait to see my mom and meet up with her friends.

Post-racial society my ass!

Okay, I'm not foaming at the mouth today. Meditation, rum, and some pool time totally helped that, but I am still pretty pissed. I wrote a poem about it, but before I get to that I just have to share something I witnessed today. Today is my last day in the States before my big trip to Ghana, so Dad I ran some errands (after the pool) and decided to have lunch in the park.

This park is one of several parks in downtown Portland. As we drove by you could see it was packed with a mixed crowd, lots of street kids, but also families and tourists all making the most of the sun and water. We parked and took some Sandwiches to sit on the hill over looking the fountains. As we are actually experiencing a real summer for the first time in Portland and it is close to 100 degrees outside, everyone was in various states of undress sunning and splashing in the fountains, which are a collections of pools terraced in a waterfall formation in the center of the park. It smelled like sun screen and it was just one of those chill summer moments.

Then my attention was drawn by these two White street kids. I'm guessing they're street kids because no one else would be wearing that much clothing and carrying backpacks. It's too hot for that. Plus they seemed to be a part of the collective of teenagers hanging out on that side of the hill. They started to wrestle. At first it seemed aggressive but playful, but then it looked like things were escalating. A few punches were thrown and then they were on the ground.

"Where are the cops now?" I asked my Dad. "They can arrest a Black man in his own home, for doing nothing, but no friendly neighbors are calling to break up this damn fight."

Their friends pulled them apart, but as I watched the scene unfold I began to notice a subtle drama playing out in body language. There was this White girl in their group and she was crying and these other two girls were talking to her, then this Black guy with a mohawk came on the scene. They all seemed to know each other. At no point did I see him touch her, but I heard her clearly when she told her friend "That Nigger Hit me." To which he responded "Nigger, I'll show you Nigger!" He got in her face...though once again, he didn't actually touch her, and then the two White guys who just got done fighting each other jumped on him. Then they were all three fighting while she repeated several times "That nigger hit me." And miraculously the cops materialized. Amazing what happens when you see a Black face involved in an altercation. Suddenly it's no longer something harmless, but an issue of security. One of the kids signaled that the cops were coming and everyone quickly disengaged and walked away in different directions.

Dad and I decided it was time to head home, but as we passed we watched the cops talking to the Black kid and one of the White kids who had jumped on him (the other one had walked the other way and was long gone). It didn't end as badly as it could have, but I noticed that no one was saying shit to that girl who had called the guy a Nigger. I guess if you are a White woman and you're angry and run off at the mouth, it's not a police matter. But they say we live in a post-racial society. Right?

This poem is called:
To the White Supremacist Patriarchy...you are not absolved.

I don't care if Colin Powell says it's okay,
IT'S NOT OKAY.
You are NOT the good neighbor,
NOT the good citizen,
NOT the liberal, the friend,
the good Christian
you say you are
if you still can't see me
through your fears
if you can't come to me
without pretenses,
without the lie of separation,
if you can't look into my eyes
and see the pain, the betrayal, the anger,
and accept your part in it.
If you choose to let your guilt
blind you to my truth,
if you can't look into my eyes
and see your own reflection,
then we are both lost.

Angry Black People

I have been that Angry Black Girl, that one that says the thing that makes everyone uncomfortable, the one who demands space to speak the truth of what it is like to be Black in America. It's nothing new, it's nothing rare. If you are Black and grow up in this country and don't live in a bubble, something has probably happened at some point in time to really piss you off. That something might be just a realization of how f%$#ed up our history has been, how many Black missing people were found buried in Mississippi in the summer of 1965 alone, or it might be something like racial profiling, not getting that job because you have nappy hair, or being called Nigger by that crazy person on the bus. Black people are twice as likely to get heart disease, high blood pressure, and type 2 diabetes. On average we live about 5 years less than White people and is there any wonder why? It is stressful living here, but what's even more crazy making is that because angry Black people are seen as scary or threatening to White people, we are often told that our anger is inappropriate. We are told that in order for them to hear us, we must speak in a calm voice. We must suppress our feelings to be palatable,because heaven forbid you say something true and some guilty feeling White person gets upset about it. Well, I'm sick of it. SICK! And to hear it coming from Colin Powell, just pisses me off even more.

Back tracking. I am in Portland visiting my Dad. We've got the TV tuned to CNN and we are watching Larry King live with special guest Colin Powell. Larry's first questions for Powell were in regards to the recent arrest of Dr. Henry Louis "Skip" Gates JR.

For those of you who don't know Skip Gates, he is one of the most notable Black public intellectuals in the US. Gates was one of the co-editors of the Norton Anthology on African American Literature and among other things put together a PBS mini series on African American Lives. He is currently a professor at Harvard. Recently, he was arrested for "breaking into" his own home. This is another example of things that could possibly inspire someone to feel what bell hooks terms a "killing rage". Gates' key got stuck in his front door. He was eventually able to get in, but in the meanwhile his White neighbors called the police to report a possible burglary. The police showed up, words were exchanged and then Gates was arrested for "disorderly conduct", though I maintain that Gates was really arrested for being an angry Black man.

Gates is about 58, a little shorter than me, and walks with a cane, so clearly he is not very physically imposing. As he had managed to get into his house by the time the police arrived, and had access to his identification which clearly illustrated that he was indeed in his own damn home, I can only conclude that his only real crime was possibly running off at the mouth because he was angry. And while you theoretically can't be arrested for "reckless eyeballing" anymore, apparently you can still be charged with the crime of being an angry Black person.

In recounting these events, Powell stated that he thought the neighbors who called the police were just being good citizens and that the police were correct to respond the way they did. Then he all but said that Gates deserved what he got for not being "cooperative". What kind of bullshit is that? While I usually respect Colin Powell as being a very intelligent, well thought out person, I feel like he has just lent validity to a notion I would spend my life working to invalidate: that Black people must still be trained to "cooperate" and that we should curb our feelings to make White people comfortable.

It's 2009. When does this end? SO slavery is over, Jim Crow laws have been abolished and yet still there has to be some way for White America to get keep us in our place. A few weekends ago, I was at the Hidmo performing at Tamika's Tanzania fundraiser when I looked out the window and saw a group of young Black men. They weren't doing anything. They weren't talking too loud. They weren't committing any crime. They didn't look suspicious to me at all. They just looked like some people walking home. Suddenly there were sirens and they were surrounded by the police. A group of us went outside to take pictures and bear witness. As I watched, it was clear to me that this was not the first time this had happened to these young Black men. They knew exactly what to do. They lowered their eyes and kept their hands in front of them. The cops told them to assume the position, so the all slowly and quietly put their hands on the hood of the cop car and spread their legs so that they could be more easily frisked. Several more cop cars descended upon the area and at no point in time did I see any evidence of ANY criminal activity. I guess it was just another WWB, Walking While Black incident. The cops glanced back at us from time to time and then eventually left the boys to go on their way, but what was that all about? What if one of them had gotten angry? Would he have been arrested? I've seen angry White people before and none of them got arrested. Why the double standard?

When do we get to feel what we feel? When do we get access to these so called "equal" rights that we've been promised under the law? Let me just say this, because someone needs to say it, those people who called the cops on a man entering his own home were not being good citizens or even good neighbors. Had they been good neighbors they would know their neighbor by sight. I know mine. Also, the police officer who arrested Skip Gates, was not just doing his job. The job of the police is to protect and serve. He did not accomplish that by arresting someone who clearly had committed NO crime. I have to agree with Obama's initial reaction. The actions of the police were STUPID, but more to the point they were deplorable and should be illegal. And lastly...I don't care what Gates said, or what tone he used to say it, no one should be arrested in their own home for NO DAMN REASON. And that it happened was totally racist, wrong, and I am totally pissed about it. But moreover I'm pissed at Colin Powell for legitimizing and placating the guilty white response. It isn't okay.

Black Girl Crew

About 6 months ago, I got an email from a friend inviting me to a discussion on health and reproductive issues. She had this project that required her to host an educational forum in the community of her defining, and she chose to define her community as 20-40 year old black, professional women who live in Seattle. The discussion sounded interesting and also I was excited to meet other black women, so I went and it was fantastic. We stayed for hours and ate and talked. I met a lot of new people and I felt like I had walked right into something I had been searching for over the course of many years. I wasn't the only one to feel this way. We decided we wanted to get together again and thus the Black Girl Crew was formed and we have been meeting monthly since then.

My ex-roommate, L Boogie, is a Morehouse man. He once described going to a Historically Black College as being like a four year breath of fresh air. He explained as how being in an all black space was like taking a break from all the daily white black interactions that we have grown so accustomed to... and how refreshing it was not to have to deal with it. My mom also talks about her first trip to Africa and what it was like to be a black girl from Iowa seeing black people on billboards and knowing she was in a country where everyone was black from the street sweepers to the president and how amazing it was to, for once, not be in the minority.

Growing up in Wisconsin as a black middle class kid in a white middle class neighborhood, going to school with a bunch of people of all colors who lived to take chunks from my self esteem meant the only all black space I had that was comfortable and affirming was at home or with my extended family in Iowa. I didn't experience what it was like to have a group of loving and supportive black peers until I moved to Japan. There I met some wonderful people who also happened to be teachers and who I had a lot in common with, including a love of travel and learning. It was wonderful to come together in community, but kind of bittersweet that I had to go so far to find what I had been missing and that our time together was temporary.

Since then I have tried to recreate this kind of community. During grad school, at my stint on the Green Mountain, my friend DD and I created the Black Diaspora which ostensibly would have been a group of black people coming together to support one another during a difficult time. Unfortunately, this turned into a highly politicized venture with all kinds of unforeseen issues. First there was the question of how to define black at an International school. The international students who happened to be black had such a radically different culture and upbringing that they were often confused or disbelieving of the experiences of their US counterparts. And then there were some white students who were highly offended by being excluded from the group, which made some black students uncomfortable with taking part in it. It was complicated, rich, interesting, worth doing, but also uncomfortable and in many ways it missed the mark for me in terms of feeling like I was a part of a supportive community.

There have been other groups, formal and informal, but nothing quite like the Black Girl Crew. My girls are fierce. We are a community of young black women. Some of us are students, some are teachers, AIDS educators, insurance adjuster, social workers, business women, or film makers. We are poets, writers, singers, artists, story tellers, comedians, dancers, and activists. We are straight, gay, and bi-sexual and run the political spectrum from conservative to radical. We are all different shapes and sizes. Some of us have traveled, some haven't, some speak other languages, some don't. Some of us have children, some of us will never ever have children. Not all of us are from here, but we all live in the Seattle area and have our different versions of what that means. We come together in community. We share our lives, the good and bad, we support one another on our journeys. We don't always get along. The conversations are spirited. We talk loud, laugh long, and sometimes cry, bitch or get annoyed. But in this space I can take that breath. I see myself in the faces of these women, hear my voice in their stories, and for a few hours once a month, I am able to take that part of me that always feels "different" and put it aside, knowing that in this one place, I can be the "same". And even more importantly, I can be myself in my entirety without reservation, without being afraid that my light will shine too bright or that I'll make someone uncomfortable or that I won't be understood.

This weekend, we ventured out to Shelton for our first retreat which was themed Purpose and Passion. We stayed at the home of an elder, an amazing woman named Dr. M. When you first meet Dr. M, she seems like any other well dressed, Afrocentric, older black woman. Her home is spacious and light, covered in African art and books. It is out in the middle of the woods and overlooks the water. She doesn't believe in using over head lights so there were lamps and candles. We all introduced ourselves and talked and Dr. M really interesting, critical, and totally irreverent. I was in a car that arrived late, so we received a thorough dressing down, which at first seemed really intense. But for all her intensity (and over the course of the retreat she was biting and at times really harsh), Dr. M managed to bring to light a lot of different issues that have been affecting our groups. Though she talked about time and communication and seemingly "little things" she showed us how these so called "little things" that we were letting slide, had begun to build up into bigger issues. This made me reflect on some of the other groups I have been involved with and how, while we were productive or able to work together to accomplish things, we never developed a great deal of trust for one another because of the little things, like people's varying concepts of timeliness, or different styles of communication.

The retreat was really interesting and special. I felt like I had a wonderful opportunity to really connect with the women in the group and also that I learned a lot about what kind of work needs to be done to sustain a community. We had some intense conversations. We also laughed a lot. And after dinner we had an impromptu beat boxing free style poetry and song circle that was as beautiful and meaningful as it was hilarious and random. There are so many writers in the group that we have decided to form an offshoot group with the end of goal of either putting together some shows or possibly an anthology or both. There is something so powerful in simply being together. I'm looking forward to learning more about what it takes to really stand for another.

The Happy Hours of Summer...

After the misery of a ridiculously cold and long winter filled with working and hibernating and trying to stay warm, this summer has been well worth the wait. Not only has the weather been exceptionally gorgeous, but there is this indescribable sense of fun and adventure inherent in each day. The economy in WA sucks.Coco is just one of the most recent people I know to get laid off, but surprisingly she is not terribly upset. Not only does this provide her with the opportunity to really think about what she wants to be doing, but she is allowing herself to take a short vacation. I mean having worked continuously since she was 15, I think the girl is do a little funemployment. And so with the beginning of my fabulous vacation from school, I have had lots of people to hang out with. And we have been hitting the happy hours like nobody's business.My first vacation stop was Portland. Coco and I drove down for a visit with my Dad which mostly turned into more happy hour and hanging out at the pool.

What's great about Happy Hours with Coco, in addition to the free drinks she seems to inspire (just by being hot and a little snobby), is the randomness. On Tuesday we drank our way through West Seattle and totally ran into some crazy people. Yes, Shaheen you are making my wall of shame. In fact we have decided to start a separate blog about our Happy Hour adventures...using our favorite bar aliases Ginger and Alex (short for Alejandra De La Vega...my alter ego).http://hhwithalexandginger.blogspot.com/ On Wednesday I swore never to happy hour with Coco again, but that was short lived. After pedicures and a lovely complimentary lunch at Cedars, we hit up Wann in Belltown for free sake and sashimi. Afterwards I headed to capital hill to get a massage, then I was on my way home when I stumbled across free salsa at Babalus.

For the record Babalus is home of the WORST mojito I have ever had in my life. Followed by the worst rum and coke...and the most expensive glass of Riesling. The last time I was there-maybe a year ago- one of my friends was denied entry for not being "appropriately" dressed. This is Seattle right? The place where even at formal dinners, somebody has on fleece and REI hiking boots. I think jeans and a sweater is actually pretty decent...all things considered. This rudeness, coupled with the cramped space, and bad / expensive drinks meant was more than enough to deter me from ever wanting to go back. Plus, the fengshei is horrible, but lighting is peachy and inviting and Cambalache was playing and it was free. So I just stepped in for a moment and then ran into friends and the next thing I know I was on my way to Casa de Mojito for more drinks and salsa.

Yes, everyday is a magical mystery tour. There is taekwondo and meditation, my only constants, then bike rides, or walks to Greenlake or dancing and happy hours or hula hooping. Yesterday I went to the huge REI downtown for the first time. I felt like I was stepping into a whole other world of things that have nothing at all to do with me. There were kayaks, and stupidly expensive shoes, a whole wardrobe of backpacks, and harnesses and god knows what. It was very overwhelming, but interesting. And then somehow I ended up at the Seamonster bar listening to some very loud acid jazz and sipping on a watery mojito with my girl the Lioness (Leo for short). When it got too loud we walked down 45th to check out Selena's but I was once again sidetracked by the music coming from Babalus. Clearly this is one of those places I love to hate. As we passed by there was an 80s song on...which is the theme music to a whole generation I have come to loath and despise. I wouldn't have even considered going in, except when we looked in the window Babalus was filled with young, good looking black people that I hadn't met yet. Leo was game so we checked it out.

That's right, I accidentally stumbled upon the answer to that ever pressing mystery "where are all the black people in Seattle?"...at Babalus on Thursday night for 30 and up Grown, Black, and Sexy. I shit you not. That's the name of the night and the theme of the movement being staged by a woman named Thai and these two guys whose names I don't remember. And the 80s music...turned out to be good 80s music mixed in with some more contemporary jams. Ladies were dressed to the nines (I was so NOT prepared!), there were some very good lookin' brothas...also dressed like they couldn't possible be from Seattle. People were steppin' and singing and there was good dancing happening and joking. Everyone was friendly and the crowd was 95% black professional people IN my dating age range. What?!? I love this summer. It's the best summer ever. Headed to take a nap before the bonfire this evening.

Sappy Morning Poem

Thing called love-REJJ ©

Tumbling down the sidewalk
of broken love affairs
skinned hearts and bruised egos
Will you be my bandaid?
pick me up and set me right
sooth my wounds
with salve words
and fresh romance?
I need some new skin,
a new street,
a new friend
to walk hand and hand with
on the path to infinite.
I need a new moon,
a new song,
another chance to get it all wrong
or maybe this trip
will be the right fall
the right love
at the right
time and space
the perfect collide
of person, place,
and this thing
I keep avoiding.

Tamika's Tanzanian Expedition Fundraiser

This Saturday, July 18, at 8:00pm and the Hidmo Eritrean Restaurant, Tamika Jackson will be hosting a fundraiser to raise money for her trip to Tanzania. The Hidmo is located on 20th and Jackson. The cover will be a sliding scale between $10-25. Doors open at 7:30pm, but the show begins at 8:00pm. There will be spoken word performance by Peeches and myself, followed by a special musical performance from fabulous punk band NighTrain. After 9:30pm, tunes will be provided by DJ Alternegro....who is amazing. I will also be hosting an art table and Mz. Blu will be selling her jewelry.

Tamika has spent the last two years as a HIV/AIDS educator and tester/counselor serving a community of African American women in Seattle. She was also a Shanti Volunteer.Tamika has also been working diligently to achieve a firm academic foundation in her studies at Seattle Central Community College. Within one year of returning to college she has accepted two scholarships from SCCC and the Greater Seattle Business Association. She has also earned two awards from Phi Theta Kappa, the international honor’s society for two year colleges, accepting one regionally and another internationally.

This is a sister who is really all about helping her community and growing into her power as an educator and a student. Part of her achievement has involved taking part in a class about global health. Through this course, she received an amazing, eye and heart opening experience that taught her more about other countries' health, and health care systems (or lack there of), what part the U.S. plays in maintaining the disparities felt through out the world, and how NGO’s are working to remedy some of the inequality. Now she has an opportunity to learn more through the Global Impact Program through Seattle Central.

The Tanzania visiting team will consists of 15-20 students, faculty, nurses, physicians and community members who will be volunteering in the Maasai Community. They will be working on community building with women, HIV/AIDS prevention, providing labor for community projects and working with orphans. There may also be an opportunity for Tamika to work in a clinic doing triage. This could be amazing experience. As a member of our community, Tamika has worked very hard to help others, now it is our turn to help her out. Please come to her fundraiser party this Saturday and if you can't, but you still feel moved to support her, below is the link to her pay pal account.
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=6668339

Some Shorts

Here are a few of my new poems. REJJ ©.

Mimosas in summer...

She was a quiet poem
expanding into the summer night
the season wrapped around her
a dress of sleepless adventures.
She was the grace
of an expressive sky
full clouds shape shifting in the wind
the blossom of her hair
against a silver moon
the uneven swagger in stride,
on her lips,
the shy smile of an extra champagne
contained, self-possessed
a flush of unspilled secrets
in her eyes


Giving up

I am willing to give up
my insecurities,
my fears,
my stubborn sensibilities,
my baggage
I'll leave it on the free corner
and walk away
simply knowing
my journey will be better,
lighter

Your Attention Please

I don't want to be the invisible girl
don't want to take it all to heart
but hard to recover from
you forgetting me
never ever really seeing me
not even in periphery
when I'm all up in your face
trying to displace
the perfume
in the wake of some other girl
I want to be her,
Happy to be
walking away from you...



Unsettled Spirit

The restless anger inside me
like silt stirred from
the river bottom
muddies the water
clouds the peace.
I want to believe
that forgiveness is possible
is innate within
my genetic code.
Why would God suffer me
to be so easily stirred
without the ability
to settle.



To the beautiful black man sitting next to his white girlfriend: a haiku

Eyes glued to my ass,
I am NOT dancing for you.
Stop staring at me!

Taking it personal

It's always so damn personal.
The political is personal,
the professional is personal,
the everyday is personal,
the you and me is personal,
Tell me what is impersonal?
Not the way you looked at me
took a grater to my self esteem,
so hard to rise,
so easily unleavened
and I haven't learned how not to hate you
and I admit,
it's personal.


The Truth

I am afraid to be open,
but yet I'm all open,
all the time,
split lengthwise
and splayed to sun,
seeds scattered in the winds
planting my dreams
and hoping for rain,
hoping fear is unfounded.

Return of the Chia Pet

Here is my post secret for the day: I didn't become "cool" until 1997. That's the year I graduated and migrated to Seattle. Up until then I was that random girl, never quite fitting in anywhere,mercilessly teased for everything and anything: "You talk white", "What's wrong with your hair?", and etc, etc, etc. I was the Chia Pet...so named for my trademark afro. Kids used to follow me around school singing "Chi, Chi, Chi, CHIA!"

Before there were natural divas like Jill Scott and Angie Stone, or India Arie singing "I am not my hair", there were no pop culture references to say that being nappy was cool (with exception of Don King...and the cool factor there is debatable). In fact every influence that I grew up with(outside of my immediate family)identified black beauty with being skinny, but curvy and having light skin and long straightened hair. And coolness, for a black girl in Madison, Wisconsin was being beautiful, knowing how to dance, knowing how to talk to boys, listening to rap and hip hop, and while not being "dumb", not being super smart either. Being the intelligent, pudgy, nappy headed feminist, who loved to read and played soccer (not basketball like every other black girl), was too embarrassed to dance (though for the record,I am a damn good dancer), who had no idea what to say to boys, and who spoke with a clear-dictioned Iowan accent meant I missed the mark. So what happens when you're not cool and you have parents that make you go to middle and high school? It's not pretty.

There was the daily hazing, the constant insults from all directions. And then, though we rarely got caught and there were no phone calls to mom or interventions, I fought at recess every single day of the seventh grade. I used to carry a heavy lunch sack to smack people with...not because I liked fighting, but because I had to defend myself (clearly this was before I had learned any tae kwon do).

Everyone always asks me why I hate Wisconsin. Well, it's not the state itself...though I do hate football traffic, those hideous foam cheeseheads, beer, bratwurst, and winter...it's all the bad memories I have from surviving school. I spent several years feeling completely miserable and demoralized EVERYDAY. Eventually I was too exhausted to care anymore. And when I finally graduated and was legally allowed to leave the state, I got the heck out of dodge to a place where no one knew me. I felt free for the first time to be myself without the same fear of ostracism. And suddenly (magically almost) I wasn't quite so uncool. It's not that I had changed to fit the mold, but rather that I changed my attitude. I decided that I liked who I was and saw no reason to hide or blend. And this seemed to work for me. I made lots of friends and started having fun...no more fights, no more snide comments following me like a cloud, my life as I knew it had fundamentally transformed.

Yesterday I was downtown on my way to meet some friends for dinner at the Alibi Room and I had a Chia flashback. I was crossing 3rd, and though I had my i-pod on, I totally heard these black teenage boys talkin' shit about my hair. It had been such a long time I actually felt shocked and somewhat scandalized to think this could be happening to me again after all these years. One of the girls with them lightly chastised them for being mean, but the rest of them thought it was hilarious and suddenly I was 13 again not knowing how to respond, but feeling hurt and like an outsider in my own skin. I didn't say anything. I reverted to that familiar voiceless self-pity and it sucked. That's not who I am anymore!

So here is what I want to say now: There are as many ways to be a black woman as there are black women. I may not fit into someone else's box or live up to someone else's standard, but this is who I am and if you have a problem with it, that's exactly what it is....YOUR PROBLEM. I'm done fighting. I'm done trying to dumb it down. That insecure 13 year old may still live in the depths of my psyche, but the greater part of me is the woman I've become, the world traveler, the teacher, the artist, the writer, the soon to be black belt (AUGUST 15th!), the original Afro-Feminist Samurai. This journey may have it's obstacles, but the higher the mountain, the better the view from the top....from this summit looking back on who and where I was, I'm content with picture and excited for the adventures to come. I finally feel like I'm growing into who I'm supposed to be and nothing anyone else says or does can derail me from my highest good. And by the frickin' way, my hair is FABULOUS! Now you know.

Thee Satisfaction at the Fun House

I first met Cat (Satisfaction) and (Thee) Staci, dynamic hip-hop duo from outerspace better known as Thee Satisfaction, on January 3, 2009 at the Hidmo where they performed for Mz. Blu's b-day party / Communities Against Rape and Abuse fundraiser party. Their energy was insane, their lyrics were hilarious and unique, all set to the background of pirated tracks including Michael Jackson's Thriller. They rapped about bi-sexuality, having a sexy girlfriend, being from outer space, and all sorts of not-your-usual topics. It was kind of lost in space remix of songs you thought you'd heard, but different. Very different. Since then I've been stalking them around Seattle, so when I heard they would be at the Fun House, even though it was a school night and seriously past my bedtime, I decided to go check them out.

The Fun House is located on 5th and John in the shadow of the Space Needle. On the outside it's a non-descript boxy building whose only distinguishing feature is the seriously creepy clown face above the entrance. Did I mention I hate / have a slight fobia of clowns? Inside, the creepy clown motif continues. There are clown puppets and skull figurine liberally distributed throughout the venue, along with gray and black cobwebs. Above the bar is a disembodied pair of legs clad in black spiderweb fishnets, high heels with a kissy lip print on the soles, and panties that read "all you can eat". True to the name, there is a funness to it. There are retro pinball machines, a pool table and even an outdoor basketball hoop located in the back. The wine red walls are lined with black pleather booths and blue 50s style formica tables. The L shaped bar has swivel seats, and every window and pillar is covered in bumper stickers.

I was early, so I sat on my swivel stool, in the rosy glow of Christmas lights, and sipped my cuba libre. Cat and Staci came by to chat. They both looked pumped to be there. Staci was clad in big dark glasses, a denim vest over an orange t-shirt and skin tight black jeans...total nod to the 80s. While Cat was equally punked out in skinny jeans and flannel, her red tinged fabulous afro ever gigantic, the diamond stud above her lip glinting.

When I asked how did you get into hip-hop, Staci replied "Basically out of necessity." Staci cites her trip to South Africa as inspirational. She says the hip hop scene over there is not to be believed. About a year and a half ago, the couple decided they were tired of all the samey crap they heard on the radio. It was time for them to make their mark. Cat talked about their first big show, which was in June of last year at the Langston Hughes Performing Arts Center. "We 're still babies," she said, referencing all the things they've had to learn about sound and performing. And it's true, there is a rawness to their style that comes from being new, but that's part of the greatness of it. Since then, Thee Satisfaction has performed all over Seattle,Learning and improving as they go, including their most recent performance during the Gay Pride festivities of last week. For more on that check out The Stranger.

By the time I finished my first drink, the warm-up act was on. I had never seen Tiffany Sedinsky before. They are a band of two, the guy in flannel on electric guitar, the girl in all black playing the keyboard. I can only describe the sound as punk meets indie waltze with a Napolean Dynomite like drum machine in the background....lots of chords, topped with Tiffany's soft hazy croon. Interesting, not what I would have expected, but not bad either. It was good music to people watch by, and the crowd was an eclectic multi-age mix of punk and hip-hop with a few 50s greasers and some seriously tattooed possible roller derby babes...also not exactly what I would expect, but that's perhaps what is so cool about Thee Satisfaction. They are so different, so outside the box, that they cross genres and draw fans from all different walks of life.

Tiffany Sedinsky was followed by DJ Darwin. I am a bit of a snob about my music and what I will and will not dance to, but DJ Darwin totally got me on my feet. Not since DJ Whatever and DJ Self Administered Beat Down, have I heard someone make random really work. He started with some pop songs from different eras, some 80s music, some 50s music, then mixed it with some hard house beats and made them work. Side note: I am currently going through this stage of hating the 80s with the fire of 1000 suns. I don't know why I keep getting invited to these damn 80s night fiascos where everyone is wearing side pony tails and jelly shoes and listening to music I didn't even like the first time around. It's over people! Move on. So I was shocked to find myself breaking a sweat to the 80s and actually enjoying it. It didn't feel like 80s, it was like the music had finally evolved into something worth listening to, something worth grooving to...thanks for that Darwin!

And finally, after I'd actually gotten sweaty, Thee Satisfaction took the stage. And when I say took, I mean like that literally. They were high octane energy, dancing and playing off one another. I'm not sure how long they've been together, but they have that fluidity of a couple who knows one another well. The sound was a little off, but that surprisingly did not detract from the presentation, but rather gave the music that tinge of campy other worldliness they are known for. They were goofy. They played with the crowd, coming off the stage, inciting dancing. The new stuff was cool and I'm totally looking forward to the new CD "Snow Motion" to be dropped sometime later this month, but my all time favorite Thee Satisfaction jams are "Sexy Girlfriend" and "Permission to Bash". If you haven't heard them, you should. These ladies are totally futuristic and I'm stoked to see what they come up with next.

To find out more about them check out their blog at http://www.theesatisfaction.blogspot.com/

Luther Smith's Airport

In 1927 when Luther Smith was 7 years old, he was captivated by the journey of Charles Linberg's solo flight from New York to Paris. This was the beginning of a life-long fascination with aviation. He and his brother would walk five miles to the Des Moines Municipal Airport just to look at the planes. When he turned 13, the employees at the airport had gotten so used to having him around that they offered him a job. He started by cleaning up the area where many came to watch the planes, but within a few weeks he was invited to assist the mechanics. Smith was overjoyed to get a closer look at the planes and soaked up everything he could. The Des Moines Register (the local newspaper) ran a story on him, naming him "America's Youngest Grease Ball".

During that time the United States Postal Service had just begun using airmail. They were unwilling to pay the commercial airlines the extra money it would have cost to ship the mail, so they ended up using military aviators. As an assistant mechanic, Smith became acquainted with many of these gentleman and they became his heroes.

During the 30's there were no African American military aviators, but this did not stop Smith from building a dream. After graduating high school, Smith attended the University of Iowa where he studied engineering.In January of 1941 the government decided to establish a "separate, but equal" facility in Tuskegee, Alabama, where the first African American military aviators could be trained.In 1942, Smith was accepted for training and that was the beginning of his career. He received his wings in May of 1943 and went to combat from there.

"We were given the same training, we wore the same uniforms, we were given the same types of aircrafts. It was exactly the same, but segregated," recounted Smith during an interview given December 12, 2006 on the Pennsylvania Cable Network. "The significant thing about our training at Tuskegee was the commanding officer of the base was a white Colonel who was dedicated to make sure that these young black American military cadets were going to be given an opportunity to be trained as military aviators as good as they could be taught." Though all the cadets were black, all of the instructors were white and Smith talked about feeling like he was on an "oasis" of integration in the very segregated south. He talks about how in some ways the military had a seamless transition into integration, in that since they were already wearing the same uniform and doing the same jobs, black soldiers were well equipped to join the whites. However when the 99th squad, the first all black squad of Tuskegee Airman, were initially deployed for a mission in North Africa, there were greeted with annoyance by their white counterpart, and not given the same amount of on the ground support. It was extremely difficult for them to get acclimatized to desert combat. In the end they were able to persevere and the program continued.

Smith became a Tuskegee Airman and flew 133 successful missions during WWII. On Friday, October 13, 1944 Smith's plane was shot down over Hungary. He went into a tailspin and his leg was trapped inside the plane. His oxygen mask was ripped from his face. He lost consciousness and miraculously was able to parachute out, though he landed in a tree and broke his hip. German soldiers rescued him and he became a prisoner of war. Though they hospitalized him and gave him the best treatment they had available, by the time he returned to the States in July of 1945, he was completely malnourished and permanently disabled. He weighed 70lbs and had to be hospitalized for the next 2 years.

After 2 years, a committee determined that he was no longer fit to serve, so he retired and returned to the University of Iowa to complete his degree in engineering. He was warned that he might face difficulty getting a job, but this did not discourage him from continuing his studies. He graduated in 1950 and while the government had instituted an equal opportunities employment policy, he was still unable to find employment, as no one wanted to hire a black, disabled veteran. He went on about 60 interviews. Then he applied for a position with General Electric. After a few weeks they sent him a rejection letter. Then a few weeks later he received another letter from them rescinding their rejection and inviting him to interview in person. Unbeknown to Smith, his wife had contact GE and shamed them for looking at Smith's color and not his experience and qualifications. It worked and Smith worked for GE for the next 37 years.

Here is a man who has literally given life and limb for his country, who has succeeded against all obstacles to become one of the first black military aviators and a graduate engineer. My Uncle Jimmy, and other like minded souls are currently embroiled in the stuggle to rename the Des Moines Municipal Airport in honor of Luther Smith. But for whatever reason, no one seems to be listening.

Though I was born in Des Moines, I only lived there for two years. Still I return often to visit my family and I feel a sense of connection to the people there. I come from a long line of Iowans. My great-grandmother established the first black beauty school in the state of Iowa and my grandfather was one of the first black dentist allowed to study dentistry. Being black in Iowa (well in the US in general), in those times, was no day at the park, and yet there are these amazing individuals who did what they could to live their lives with meaning and dignity. Luther Smith is one of these people and I would like to see him honored. What better way to pay tribute than to rename the place that first nicknamed him as "America's Youngest Grease Ball."