Africa Was Born in Me: Black History 24/7, 365

Black History 24/7, 365 @TheAbeng #theabeng

Black history is world history. African history is part of the Black story; after all, Black history didn’t begin with slavery, neither did it end in Africa. Black history reaches from the Rift Valley floor to the various ages of mass-incarceration cages, to repatriation and reclamation of African citizenship. Black people stories rather leap off ships, jump off cliffs, tear their own skin with sparks from munitions than live bowed on knees. Black history (ourstory) is love while gritting teeth, while kissing teeth, while sucking teeth, while grinding teeth down to chalk so as not to have families torn apart. Black history is Black people story.

We now reclaim Black history as Black people’s story–we will tell our own stories, express our own experiences; we will no longer sit down by another fire side and hear someone else tell us who we are, what we should be, who we should dress like, how we should talk. I want talk how-so-ever I feel fah talk to me Nua. And if it pidgin, or creole, or patois–soundin’, is because one time we couldn’t talk unless we talked like how the colonialists talked–speaky, spokey. So, Black history is Kreyol, Black story is Creolese, Black story is Patwa, Black story is Ebonics or Pidgin or Papiamento or Krio. AND, Black history is also Twi, and Yoruba, and Mandinke, and Xhosa, and Ibo, and Hausa, and so many others because African tongues is the root of we ‘tory, our story.

African history is black history because Africa is born within us, and walks with us; right, Nana- Buluku and Olorun? Right, Shango? See me, Nyame? Listen me, Nyambi, nuh man? Africa born in all we Samba, all we Rhumba, all a we Nyabinghi, we Kumfa, we Kumina; in all we Merengueing and we Limboing and we Wining, and we Kumbaying, mi Lord. You overstand? Africa born in all we cassava and yam and ochro gumbo and metemgee/oil down/run down and even when we pop a top a pour a lil libation pon de ground for we bredren wah gone; Africa in deh, it in deh, ayahhh- ohhhh, it in deh.  

“I am not African because I was born in Africa but because Africa was born in me.” ~ Kwame Nkrumah

Washington, D.C.

Cartegena

Georgetown

Abeng Editorial: Coronated Queens

Coronated Queens

by K. Omodele @TheAbeng

I'm drawn to strong, steely queens who bend but don't break, who may crack but don't shatter; practical, can-do, will-deal-with-any-situation women; Women who throw hands akimbo and laugh in the faces of hurricanes; though a continent removed, women who gather skirts and frock tails, bend over and toil soil under sun; one empress who wheeled a truck all day, then on the refill, struggled with the over-sized nozzle at the pump, trying to earn a check that way.

Centuries ago these women would've stood up, gathered hammers, axes and saws, and built a whole girls' dorm for Old Timbuktu; would've encircled, forming council 'round Yaa Assentewaa while she cranked up.

"Since you men won't fight the British invaders, we women will fight them ourselves."

The type of women who ride, like warrior-queens Nanny, Nyabinghi, Nzinga, like Hatshepsut ruling over Egypt and Ethiopia.

Empresses whose I do's ring true through decades; whose heart-fires slow-burn, turning up in time; sisters who step up in courts pleading for brothers, cleaving to brothers, year dragging after year grieving but believing in brothers. Women of resistance who raise right fists in the air, like Assata, Andaiye, Angela and Bonita; women who stand for their men, stand with their men; sit with their men; never trailing behind but, with heads high, walking side by side with their men. Like Waiyzaro Menen, empresses who are coronated on the very same day as their Kings.

DUB POETRY: Coramantee Heart (The Revolt)

Abeng Dub Poetry: Coromantee Heart (The Revolt)

copyright 2013 K. Omodele

                    

Re-volt noun 

1 an act of rebelling. 2 a state of insurrection. 3 a sense of loathing. 4 a mood of protest or defiance

              

 Medsing* thru mind window beyond barred sills, pass the mill,

Lift mine eyes up to the hills from whence come Jah will,

I sight Boukman, Bwa Kaiman, Palmares in Brazil,

Feel like Djuka to de bush and go Maroon in the hills,

'cause teLIEvision, pure derision, images unreel,

Vanity innoculate me like snake under heel,

Meh Granny used to warn me "hard ears goin' feel"

From chopping cane in the field, now life behind steel.

The wicked carried we away in slave bangles and rope,

We leggo cutlass and hoe, now tote the corporate yoke,

But revolt deh in meh soul like gold in Guyana dirt,

Pull on me Kwamina** pants, button me Cuffy***-link shirt.

Sight, that great Zimbabwe Wall deh masoned by us

Lalibela stone churches carved from rock and such.

Pyramid and Jah Eye inked 'pon the dollar they trust.

Timbuktu we build that up outta sand and the dust.

Thru the Door of No Return herded to hell in a rush,

Plantation by ship, prison complex 'pon de bus,

Rather chuck miself overboard, "freedom is a musss"

With meh Coromantee heart and meh Black Carib**** gut.

Wicked carry we away in rusty shackles and chains

Tried strip we culture and we pride, give we heckles and pain,

Revolt run thru me like oil under Trinidad soil

Sharpen meh Coramantee thoughts with meh Ashanti file.

The wicked Cari we beyond Mama Africa breast,

Far from de River Niger, just niggas in de West,

But Revolt boil meh blood like the Caribeyon' Sun,

Meh heartbeat...Coromantee; Hands beat Congo drum.

             

* medsing- meditating

** also Quamina, Kwabena (in Twi). Referring to the slave leader of the Demerara Slave Revolt

*** also Kofi (in Twi). The leader of the 1763 Berbice Slave Revolt

**** In the Eastern Caribbean (St. Vincent), slaves escaped to the hills, joined Caribs and intermarried.  Their offspring became known as Black Caribs.