Abeng Recent Reads

                             What We Have Been Reading Lately

                                          Kaie "Kaya" Omodele @TheAbeng

An advocate of self-education, Marcus Mosiah Garvey told an audience in St. Kitts, "Read! Read! Read! and never stop until you discover the knowledge of the Universe."

- Artful Journalism - Essays in the Craft and Magic of True Storytelling; Walt Harrington

- Just Mercy; Bryan Stevenson

- Journalism Next - A Practical Guide to Digital Reporting and Publishing; Mark Briggs

- "The Black Family in the Age of Mass Incarceration"; Ta-Nehisi Coates. The Atlantic, October 2015 Issue

- Rise of the Warrior Cop - The Militarization of America's Police Forces; Radley Balku

- Bienville's Dilemma - A Historical Geography of New Orleans; Richard Campanella *

* It's amazing how much Haiti and the Haitian Revolution affected New Orleans and Louisiana

We Tribe: Granny Turn Ninety

by John Holyfield 

You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them. ~Desmond Tutu


On November twenty-first, di whole tribe come together for my Granny ninetieth Earthday. We travelled from crevices and corners, over hills and through valleys, from all over the globe, literally. I grinned 'round di hall from tables of Elders to young mothers with suckling, realizing that four generations worth of ourstory was gathered together. This was really an' truly a  family reunion.
The Tables of Elders was like a council and Granny sat as regal as Yaa Asantewaa.
As her eldest grandpickney, I was the first one of my generation to make a speech. Spent a whole night writing it, just tru I write better than I talk. But when the time came, I just stood there gazing at Granny and my Tribe. Then words just tumbled straight out mi heart and soul. Yeah man, had a chat with the  whole tribe of  family and friends 'bout what my Granny means to me.
My heart wrap up in a smile whole night.
Granny is real, not just this rickety-frame, cotton wool-hearted, caricature grandmother. She is complex. One of the things I love about her is she is vibrantly mischievous-her wit is a file, her tongue, a cutlass. She gets a twinkle in her eye just as she bout fi swing di blade. She and her sister, my Great Aunt, have this ongoing war of wits that, truss mi, will mek yuh laff till yuh belly buss.
Having family, relatives and friends in the same building one time, I could feel the genuine love. As a whole, my tribe is very supportive of one another, individually and collectively. We don't have much backbiting and envy among wiself and, so, we love come together and celebrate. Suh wi stay. And dance? We love that. We will keep a birthday party for the pickney dem, then turn it right 'round into a birthnight dance hours later- fi di big people dem.
When my aunt spoke about my uncle, cousin and grandfather who have all ascended to the ancestors, I felt their presence. I mean that literally. Their Life Force burns on, hasn't been extinguished by the passing of flesh nor the winds of time. Is honor saluting love when we reminisce about ascended family, f'real.
The whole event was a moment I will forever cherish, Jah know. Four generations ah mi tribe danced together to Reggae, Soca and oldies. I couldn't help wondering, in this age of upward mobility, in this "land of prosperity", how many more generations would keep up our tradition of gathering the Tribe for celebration. Will our children's children honor the tradition?

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Granny and We Tribe

One thing I love 'bout my family is that we close-knit. For instance, I have dozens of cousins and we don't distinguish with labels like first-, second-, or third-; every single one ah dem is just plain ole cousin. That's how I like it. A next thing: there's nothing half 'bout brothers and sisters, neither.

And is nuff ah we, plenty ah we. All over in England, Canada, the U.S.- in more than ten states; all over the West Indies-one ah we even lived in Costa Rica, a few in Africa.

My Uncle Stuartie used to call the family, "the Tribe." See, in a tribe, the whole village raises a child and throughout my life my Granny and aunts helped grow me, even some of my teenage years. When I was born and my mother continued her schooling, my Granny, Jah Bless her, tek mih in an' mind me. I mean, I went to live with her and she took care of me. So, for my few toddler years, 'til I was 'bout four, I was raised by the tribe, the village. And Granny, is the Matriarch.

In November Granny will be Ninety. In her time, she has read current news articles declaring: How To Survive The Great Depression, A Hundred Years Since Emancipation, Germans Blitz London, Fidel and La Revolucion, The Collapsing of British Colonialism, National Independence, Federation Folds, and CARICOM Lives. She's outlived dozens of Prime Ministers and Presidents. She limps with a walker now, but I see photos that could've made magazine covers- one with my late Grandfather back in the days and, truss mi, Barack and Michelle couldn't stand next to dem.

She chastises me:

"Why you talking so? Speak English, proper English."

But Granny, the damn English don't even speak proper English.

Everyday I remind myself that its she one who labored over the stove for me, regardless if I was behaving:

"hard ears"; "boderation"; "schupid; like yuh doan have no sense, or wah?"; "mannish"; or like I don't "have no manners."

Wait, side note. My Great-auntie just fight mi off a piece a buns and ask, "Is you one have mouth?"

So, the Elders in my tribe are pushing up in years and now its time I mind them. I been visiting with them here in ATL, and my recent days I been cleaning ceiling fans, helping turn mattresses, boiling ginger, opening guava jelly bottle/jar, grinding up pepper with a grinder (not a blender, an ancient grinder). Sometimes, right when I'm concentrating on writing, one of them screeches out my name, pushing my annoyance button, 'til my vexness turn up. Through clenched teeth I reply boyishly, "Yes, Granny." (or Auntie) Truss mih, is all love because when its all said and done, they are my biggest supporters, they have loved me without conditions nor obligations, and for the longest time.

And I am thankful. I am grateful I have people who cherish and share a bond from all over the globe. This is my Tribe. And I love it to Life.

Bless up Uncle Stuartie.

Never gone! Never Forgotten

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When Things Fall Apart

 When Things Fall Apart

©K.Omodele

Each day I see the effects of the absence of men/fathers/husbands from families in our communities. It is apparent in my neighborhood with the little boys who scurry the street at close to midnight. It is evident when my own blood sister's eyes squint tight with frustration 'cause her little man got into trouble at school. Another sistren's young daughter talks about her Dad constantly, but hasn't seen him in 'bout a year. Seems like everywhere I turn, absentee fathers leave their marks-things fall apart.

When we gone, things fall apart in some way or another. The family fabric is altered when we're not there and some Sisters struggle on their own, many resorting to hustling or food stamps to supplement meager single incomes. They struggle alone in five-season old dresses and patch up-patch up jeans. Drag our seed around with them in mini vans, subway cars, or putt-puttering twelve-year -old Mirages, dropping the children off at day cares (they can barely afford) or family members. Then, they rush off to cash registers or  mop closets or clerk desks or,  community colleges if they're lucky.

From Lagos to Linden, London to LA, when fathers disappear children become some department's statistics. Often, girls grow into fractured women and boys into inmates. I KNOW. I'm sure you know, too, what happens to our families when things fall apart.

Bredren, Love our sistahs/Big up di Sistren! Mentor a child!
Or get the hell out the way.

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