Mother To Son: Divinity Within

 Copyright 2012 K.Omodele

This fog-filled Sunday morning, just one hour after the cock did crow, a mother snatches some dung-smeared eggs right from under a fowl and runs some stand pipe water over them. She storms through a back door clutching three warm eggs, tracking mud on the hand-polished, hardwood floor with her Bata slippers.

She sits the eggs inna old enamel bowl and turns to her son and squares off, hand akimbo. Brows dig furrows while her eyes fling daggers at her eleven-year old boy. 
He lowers his eyes.
She wrinkles her mouth around a word but then press her lips taut as a goat-skin drum.

"Un-GOD-ly? So they say." 

She jabs a finger in his chest with every thumping syllable.  

"I more spiritual than whole heap ah hypocrite wha' you see go to church every week, whether 'pon Sat'day or two time 'pon Sunday. Ah sure I more righteous than thiefin' Parson Brown with them t'ree pickney and t'ree different babymother outta di same damn congregation."

Her son's back is pressed against the rough, board wall.

"Mek ah tell yuh dis, mih Son! See here, going to church don't mek nobody Godly or righteous. Nuff ah them in church 'pon Sunday, dirty and bad mind. I don't have to go to nobody church to pray; live and treat people good. Yuh have One single Almighty but plenty ways fi express yuh love for Him. Every church want say their way is the one an' only way. That is wha' yuh call religion an' doctrine. I don't deal with religion; I deal with culture. Seven culture have seven different ways of expressin' love for The Mos' High. But, Son,  when yuh want talk to God, if yuh really want talk to HIM and feel HIM, don't bother look around out deh  for HIM."  

She  grips his sagging shoulder firm with one hand, but caresses his chest gently with the next. 

"Yuh muss find Jah within yuh heart, mih Son. A church will only give you belief an' faith.The pastor or di priest can tell you bout rituals and rites. How after the cow jump over di moon, she drop dead and mek horse fat. But yuh want find spirituality? Know yourself and yuh will find divinity within."
The boy pick up his chin off his chest, hoists it up high.

Copyright 2012 K.Omodele

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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 (consciouspen.blogspot.com)