Baba Malcolm

I have never missed a person, as much as I miss Malcolm. Yeah, that’s crazy because I was born many years after he was assassinated. But his impact on my identity, my ideology, on my being is unmatched.

I think I’m going to go to his grave site on Sunday. Lay some flowers, burn some Frankincense and Myrrh and just talk to him. That feels like what I need right now.

Marielle Franco: Black, Lesbian, Human Rights Activist and murdered at 38.

Franco, was unapologetic in her quest to create a just and equitable world for Black people, poor people, marginalized people.
I’m sure she was afraid.
It would be impossible for her not to be.
I’m sure her loved ones, feared for her safety.
In a place where, the police are the real terrorists, how could they not fear for her?
I’m sure she knew her time would soon come to an end.
How could anyone who was dedicated to ending anti black racism not be prepared for their death…their murder.

La Guarachera de Cuba: Celia Cruz

Cruz recast’s Gloria Gaynor’s famous “you’re not welcome anymore,” heartbreak anthem as a song about resilience and joy in the face of trials. The struggle for freedom, the tears for the friends we leave behind, the perseverance and the love for our people that carries us forward. The ancient song, hands on drums and feet dancing, the blood of our villages that we carry across all borders and barriers, into spaces that do not always love us but where we must love in order to survive.

To My Not-so-little Black Girl…You Are Magic

So this post is dedicated to my first-born and one of my pride and joys, Kaori Nijere Moye. Kaori will be celebrating her 18th birthday in less than a month and we definitely have a lot to celebrate. I’m going to save the schools that she got accepted into until the end but as a proud Black woman, I cannot continue to praise other Black women and leave my successful daughter out of the festivities. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night- I mean, I would… but not well.

January 1st, 1804: That’s our New Year!

So, I swallowed those tears before returning to the sun shine. But what I could never swallow was my new nickname that followed me for the rest of my time living on that block, every time we walked to the train and every time I got on the cheese bus I heard the kids singing, African or  Haitian Booty Scratcher.

Which had me fucked up.
Because, again, I was Antiguan.

Nat Turner: ‘Dispear’

I say, “if you plot to revolt against your master, you gotta know dying is a possibility.”

The student says, “I don’t know. I might just wait. I mean that’s why there weren’t too many slave revolts in the first place.”