Garveyism: Ujamma Is The Abeng Collection Mission

The Abeng Collection: Our Mission - Garveyism 

When Marcus Garvey trod the world in the early 1900s, he noticed that people of African descent filled the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder in most societies he encountered. Garvey recognised the need for Africans to uplift themselves: mentally, spiritually and economically. He realised the importance that men and women of African descent unite, under one accord, Africa for Africans at home and abroad. He preached cooperative economics (ujamaa) and started black-owned businesses that encouraged world-wide trade between people of African descent. Wherever he travelled, Marcus chanted. "Up, Up, Ye mighty nation, you can accomplish what you will!" 

In the spirit of The Right and Honourable Marcus Mosiah Garvey, The Abeng Collection steps forth with our mission to unite Africans at home and in the diaspora. The principle of Ujamaa (cooperative economics) steeps our mission. By bringing African and African diaspora designers to the world market, we link people together through economics by establishing commerce and trade between Africans in North, South and Central America, the Caribbean and Africa. The Abeng Collection's goal is to control every link in the supply chain, from means of production through distribution to retail. 

"Take advantage of every opportunity; where there is none, make it for yourself!" ~ Marcus Garvey

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The Abeng Collection by House of Dalle: The Abeng Collection, fitted, custom designed clothing with african styles and tones.

Sound Di Abeng in June, 2019 Sign Up

This month, June, 2019, we are giving away free gifts for signing up to our Free newsletter, The Abeng. 
Sign Up Now! for a chance to win a prize from The Abeng Collection and The Abeng and My Conscious Pen. 

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Five Things About Kenya That Terrorism Will Not Shadow

Let's Talk Nairobi, Kenya
by Kaya Omodele @TheAbeng 

From: https://www.stripes.com/news/africa/al-shabab-says...

With these latest terrorist attacks in Nairobi, Kenya this past Tuesday (January 15, 2019), there have been many negative images (however realistic and necessary they may be) released for the world to see. In this information age where "shock and awe" is more mantra than mere phrase, sensationalism is the holy grail. 

For me though, there are far too many negative narratives of Africa and the African Diaspora. I understand that there is war and crime and violence all over the world and I reason about these realities here on The Abeng and My Conscious Pen regularly. But if all we discuss are negatives, then the narrative of the Black World, our diaspora, will be taken in as all grim and gloom. 

But Africa and the African Diaspora are on the move, forward and upward, ever. And in this spirit, I am listing some of the most positive happenings in Nairobi, Kenya.

Five Things To Love About Kenya

1. Growing Economy. Kenya boasts the second largest economy in East Africa. (In 2015, Ethiopia, with a much larger population, overtook Kenya as the largest economy in the region). With a GDP growth rate for the past 5 years at around 5%, Kenya's economic growth is solid and above the United States'. And the projection for 2019: 5.8%.

2.  Large, Vibrant Cities. Nairobi is a thriving, dynamic, metropolitan city, where over four million citizens hustle and bustle, repping more than 40 ethnicities. Hundred of  multinational companies and NGOs have their East African/Central African regional headquarters located in Nairobi; on top of all that, it's also a tech and creative hotspot.

Millions all over the world are wondering what's wrong with #Nairobi.Why don't we show them the real Nairobi we all know.The beautiful city #Nairobi #ThisIsNairobi #RiversideAttack pic.twitter.com/WWRLPVAXgO

— Patrick🇰🇪 (@PatricPatricks) January 15, 2019

3. Creative Kenya. One of the most intriguing qualities about Kenya for me as a writer is the fertile environment for creative storytelling. Young storytellers, whether authors or filmmakers, are encouraged to tell compelling stories, though sometimes faced with a government fight against unsavory content.

In April 2018, The Kenya Film Commission (KFC) promoted "My Kenya, My Story", a mobile competition in which they called on young, independent filmmakers to submit their smartphone, film projects. And the annual Slum Film Festival calls on filmmakers from slums and ghettos in Nairobi to submit their films showcasing stories. 

Some of Nairobi's stories and storytellers:

Are you in Malindi and would like a copy(is) of any of my books? Hit me up. I am sending a package on Monday and can include yours. pic.twitter.com/LiNFr1eMT5

— The Storyteller (@Eewangari) January 18, 2019

4. People of African Descent are Repatriating to Kenya Blacks in the African diaspora are moving to Kenya, Nairobi and Mombasa in particular, where we are finding business opportunities in an economic environment that's fertile for entrepreneurs with innovative and sometimes even simple hustles and ideas. For those of us thinking of African repatriation and business, keep in mind that value in any market can be found when a need in that market is identified, qualified and quantified. 

When thinking of making Kenya (or any African country) home, or a business location, due diligence is paramount of course.

Jamal is from Philadelphia, USA and repatriated to Kenya and has start up consulting firm.

From Compton, California, Preshley Knight moved from the United States to Kenya after she became extremely ill. She began hustling cakes on the streets in Nyeri, parlayed that into working for a bakery and now has since started up her own company, Wakanda Express Tours and Africa Immigration Consultants.

5. Kenya's Music Scene

While the attack on Nairobi was indeed horrific, that level of violence is not the norm for this thriving, young city. It's a shame that much of the media mainly report news in a way that commands clicks. While some of Africa is indeed at war within itself, most of Africa is on the rise or booming. As black writers, let's be responsible, balanced, logical, compassionate; let's place news about the Motherland in perspective.  

Sources:
 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2019/01/kenya-al-shabab-target-190117054949463.html

https://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/oped/comment/Kenya-creatives-industry-movies-support/434750-4382088-5y5f81z/index.html

https://www.kenyanvibe.com/the-kenya-film-commission-calls-for-entries-from-young-filmmakers/

https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2015/09/03/436617865/he-had-one-week-to-make-a-movie-for-the-slum-film-festival

https://www.vogue.com/article/the-kenyan-cool-girls-guide-to-nairobi

https://www.kenyanvibe.com/top-10-hip-hop-artists/



 

My Journey Getting Published by Kaya Omodele

My Publishing Journey

by Kaya Omodele @TheAbeng #TheAbeng

My book The Abeng and My Conscious Pen: Cries of Redemption is now in the hands of my editor.

The challenges getting a book published while behind a prison fence are many; obstacles jump up outta darkness like duppies/jumbies in the night. A problem will inevitably roll up like some old higue wanting to suck out all your energy and joy, threatening to transform your process into a nightmare.

But don't worry! Problems are mere opportunities to find creative solutions; so, fret not thyself. The ancient Egyptians found ways to time and harness the disastrous overflowing of the Nile; they converted destructive annual flooding into irrigation from which sprang one of the world's earliest and greatest civilizations. In other words, they made sugar outta ssshhhh (shingles ;-)  )

So, right about now, I'm saying "Big up!" to my very own team of ancient Egyptians:

• My editor Tynisha from Dasheen Magazine and Camelitta Ink & Co...
• My publisher Sabrina from Beneath The Surface, Publishing...
• My production manager/marketing and sales specialist Rene...
• And Midnight Express Books for helping me maintain The Abeng and My Conscious Pen platform, not to mention my sanity.

I give nuff thanks and honor, Ladies.

It takes a village, people.

Bless up,

Kaya Omodele

#TheAbeng #abeng

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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Mother To Son: Go Read a Book!

Drawing property rights to The Abeng.../ YardCore Int'l, Publishing

Copyright 2010 K. Omodele

One sun-parched, Third World July noon, a mother scurries around a metal-creaking kerosene stove, simmering curry chicken and white rice in enamel pots when she notices her eleven-year old son fingering a string, making diamonds.
Mother to Son:
“Boy, yuh bored, nuh?”
He snorts but doesn’t look up.
“If yuh bored, go and read a book! You can travel round the world in a book.”
The boy throws away the string. “OK, Mummie.”

Years later in Foreign, one January evening with the mercury sinking two degrees below zero, she’s stirring up marrow-heating soup with provisions and dumplings. He’s in his mid-teens and she refuses to buy more than one T.V., which she locks and keys in her bedroom.
“You won’t be like the typical American pickney*, nursing on no boob tube. This thing dims out yuh wits. It too visual. It show and tell you what to think, so yuh don’t even use your imagination to picture what nice piece a chicken would look like, smell like. I want yuh wonder and envision what a Andorran sunset look like, why blood deh in George Jackson eye, what Gambia mussy** feel like to Kunta Kinte. I don’t want yuh depend on the T.V. to show you.”
“Mummie, everybody I know in school got a T.V. in their room. We living in Foreign now. Is Foreign.”
“And wha happen to that? Well then read a foreign book, then. You not getting no T.V. in yuh room. Hear me, GO READ A BOOK!”

One morning three years later he’s taking this girl, Missy, home from Days Inn after a night that began in a dancehall with her gazing at his rope chain. He pulls his BMW up outside The Blue Nile across the street from Howard University. He doesn’t live with Mummie anymore and now three T.V.’s sit like Great Propagators around his apartment.

The girl’s eyes furrow. “What you stop here for?”

She half hides a chuckle and hurries behind him into the bookstore.

He nods at the girl behind the counter, “Morning,” and heads straight to the new releases where he snatches up Assata Shakur’s autobiography and marches back to the counter.

As he hands the book to the cashier, he feels Missy stare. He glares back.

She says, “I don’t mean no harm but I ain’t never known no nigga that bought no book.” She glances around the Blue Nile. “Shit, I ain’t never been with no nigga in no bookstore.”

He winces while paying fifteen dollars for the book. “You still ain’t.”

“Ain’t what?”

“Been with no nigga in no bookstore.” He spat. “I ain’t no nigga, dutty gyal***” He can feel Mummie grimacing.

The cashier gives him his change and a grin.

The girl catches her jaw before it hits the ground. “You look like a nigga to me!” she says, snaking her neck.

“And you sound like a dutty gyal to me. Go read a book, any book.”

He two-steps out the door, the girl at his heels.

*child
**must be

***dirty girl

Copyright 2010 K.Omodele


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Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis (When I Write...)

Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis

(When I Write...)
a free-style

©2010 K. Omodele

When I write, I:
seal long–time wounds in my soul
try stitch a heart that’s been torn
mend this conscience I've worn...

When I write, it's like:
slitting my wrists when I vent
scribbling blood with my pen 

        I'm awakening each sense…

When I bleed through my pen, it's like:
purging away old stabbing pains
watching them swirl down the drain
then lifting my face to more rain...

I word to di riddim of drums when I write!
I sound di Abeng from plantations when I’m right !
draw power from village and slums, passage rites!

I AM
Tom Feelings when I write/
Count Ossie when I write/
When blind, more sight/ when dark, more light/
my stain, my plight/my pain, my fight/

I create a unique, lyrical mural -
when I write...
I am right.

©2010 K. Omodele

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The Under The Mango Tree (Next Part)

©2009 K.Omodele

Pruitt’s eyes riddled holes through him.
When Owens didn’t elaborate, the Detective sergeant wrenched his face and chopped a crooked fore finger at the younger detective.
“Well Man, out with it. Wha’? you want me box it out you mouth?” Wrenching his face up couple notches, he tiraded. “LISTEN HERE OWENS. I don’t want no more ghetto heroes. The LAST thing this country need is a next criminal masquerading like some damn Robin Hood. Which Fidel? I want out this boy light, Owens, before he shine no brighter. YUH UNDERSTAND ME?”
He pounded the table again; Owens’s gun jumped again.
He boomed. “Miss Lorna, bring the rest a the bottle!”

Behind the counter, Lorna’s eyes locked on the glass she was rinsing. Her hands trembled, so she balled them up to steady them. Took a deep breath, grabbed the rapidly-emptying bottle and rolled back her shoulders on her way to their table. She released the rum and a smile, and if they woulda paid attention, her eyes would’ve betrayed her. But as it was, they didn’t take stock; so, with her ears 'pon cock, she scampered back to her refuge.
Pruitt drained his glass, refilled it, and then furrowed his brow. “Well...”
Owens’s face didn’t move a twitch when he replied, “At the Foundation dance- Sound The Abeng Hi-Power playing tonight.”
Pruitt studied him. “Yeah? Make you so sure? Last time we miss him, ‘member?”
Owens picked up the bottle, smirking as he poured another drink.
“Trust mi nuh. A little bird tell me. And I hear the boy love Sound The Abeng sound system. You know how it is with them youth deh. This bird know for a fact that the boy goin deh tonight. Same bird tell we 'bout the girl, the baby mother. And that did pan out, right?”
“You must make me meet this birdie.”
“Maybe after tonight.”
Behind the counter, Lorna washed the same glass for ‘bout the third time.

Meanwhile, in a shanty enclave ‘cross town, Natty Fidel and Dally share a meditation…

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(Chapter from the book Untitled)
©2009 K.Omodele
All rights reserved. Do not copy or reprint any part or section without the written permission from the author.