There’s a story I know bout how the spaces between de diaspora en Mama Afrika are bridged all de time by hadithi.

The hadithi we tell ourselves and others, they’re all we know…….few hours to a year filled with changing faces (in ever mo) quickly evolving spaces (lakini bado pole pole ndio mwendo) en I share with you a hadithi that was given to me in neo-colonial Afrikan style, a story I shared with others for the first time at a vigil last year in Tdot.

Dis story blessed by the elders, pulled from the internet, (but true say transcribed from the mouths of great granmas en griots) and approved with words of caution & mystery still.

A Muganda will never betray the secret of his, hir or her friend.

reminds me of the beginning of that powerful poem by Mukoma wa Ngugi. Recipe: How to become an immigrant and an exile.

Listen. Do you hear ghosts? Connect them to the sound of a canoe
on Indian Ocean. Listen to that tape of familiar beats that has weathered
foreign seasons. Sukus found in Salsa. Fela Kuti meets Masekela
in Appalachia. Do not inhale the coal fumes. Hold a memory……

Remember that hadithi? Listen..

THE STORY OF THE FAIRY FOXES

Hapo zamani za kale there was a King of Uganda who wanted to make a Zoo, and he called all his chiefs together and told them to bring animals of every kind from the forests and jungles and swamps

Then he planted a beautiful garden and put cages into it, and people came from all over the country to see it. But the animals were very miserable; night and day they thought of their homes, and they hated having food brought to them instead of hunting for it themselves, and they hated having water brought to them in water-pots instead of drinking it from the deep forest pools, but no one was sorry for them except the King’s dwarf, and he had lived in the jungle and knew their language.

One day when the King was walking in his Zoo and the dwarf was with him, he said:

“Am I not a great King? No one has ever made a Zoo like this before, in which all the animals of the country are collected together.” But the dwarf said:

“All the animals are not here; there is one animal which lives in the Mukono Forest which no chief has brought, because, though it cries all night and everyone hears it, no man has ever seen it. Some people say it is a bat, and some say it is a sloth, and some say it is a fairy fox with wings made of the night mists.”

When the King heard this he said:

“I will not be beaten by any animal; I will go to Mukono and fetch this fairy animal myself.” So he sent for Sekibobo the chief and told him to build a big encampment near the forest, and the men worked night and day till it was finished. Then the King and his whole court went to Mukono.

For three months the King lived in the encampment, and every night he went into the forest, but though he heard the fairy foxes crying all round him he never saw one. Sometimes the sound came from above his head, but there was nothing there; and sometimes it came from the ground at his feet, but there was nothing there; and sometimes to the right hand and sometimes to the left, but nothing was there; and the people called them “enjoga,” which means “bullies,” because they teased the King every night.

At last the time came to return to the capital, and the King sat sadly in his house, and the dwarf sat near him and said:

“Why is the King so sad?” And the King answered:

“I am sorry I have no fairy fox for my Zoo, but there is another reason. I have learnt to love the beautiful forests and jungles and the deep glades and shady paths and water pools, and the moonlight nights are never so lovely in the capital as they are in the country, and I am sad that I must leave it all and return.”

Then the dwarf said: “If you are so sad at leaving the country after only three months, how much more sad must the animals be, for this is their home, and in your wonderful Zoo they are only prisoners.”

#To David with Love

When the King heard that he was thoughtful and silent for some time, and then he called Sekibobo and said: “Send a messenger quickly to the capital and tell the Katikiro that all the animals in the Zoo are to be sent home, everyone to his own forest or jungle or swamp.” “I will have no more prisoners,” he said.

And now there is a broad road which goes from Kampala to Jinja and passes quite near to the Mukono Forest, and if you go there you will hear the “enjoga “crying in the forest all night, but no one has ever seen them. Some people say they are bats, and some say they are sloths, and some say they are fairy foxes with wings made of the night mists.

reposted from http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/baskerville/king/king.html, via the healing orality of  Afrika.

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“If I had an hour to solve a problem and my life depended on the solution, I would spend the first 55 minutes determining the proper question to ask, for once I know the proper question, I could solve the problem in less than five minutes.”   —  ALBERT EINSTEIN

 …..Why Don’t We Ask Better Questions?

If asking good questions is so critical, why don’t most of us spend more of our time and energy on discovering and framing them? One reason may be that much of Western culture, and North American society in particular, focuses on having the “right answer” rather than discovering the “right question.” Dis educational system focuses more on memorization and rote answers than on the art of seeking new possibilities.

We are rarely asked to discover compelling questions, nor are we taught why we should ask such questions in the first place. Quizzes, examinations, and aptitude tests all reinforce the value of correct answers. Is it any wonder that most of us are uncomfortable with not knowing?

The aversion in Western culture to asking creative questions is linked to an emphasis on finding quick fixes and an attachment to black/white, either/or thinking. In addition, the rapid pace of our lives and work doesn’t often provide us with opportunities to participate in reflective conversations in which we can explore catalytic questions and innovative possibilities before reaching key decisions. These factors, coupled with a prevailing belief that “real work” consists primarily of detailed analysis, immediate decisions, and decisive action, contradict the perspective that effective “knowledge work” consists of asking profound questions and hosting wide-ranging strategic conversations on issues of substance.

The reward systems in our organizations further reinforce this dilemma. Leaders believe that they are being paid for fixing problems rather than for fostering breakthrough thinking. Between our deep attachment to the answer—any answer—and our anxiety about not knowing, we have inadvertently thwarted our collective capacity for deep creativity and fresh perspectives. Unfortunately, given the unprecedented challenges we face both in our own organizations and as a global community, we need these skills now more than ever. Are there organizations that do place a high value on questions? Consider the ones in y/our communities…..

 [revised excerpts from] THE ART OF POWERFUL QUESTIONS: Catalyzing Insight, Innovation, and Action    by Eric E.Vogt, Juanita Brown, and David Isaacs

[Also what are the stories in our cultures that place a high value on questions? Fafanua…]

HADITHI YA MARAFIKI WAWILI (the story of de two friends)

ONCE upon a time there was a potter and his wife who had one child, a little boy, and as he grew older they were grieved to see that he was different from all other children.

He never played with them, or laughed, or sang; he just sat alone by himself, he hardly ever spoke to his parents, and he never learnt the nice polite manners of the other children in the village. He sat and thought all day, and no one knew what he thought about, and his parents were very sad.

The other women tried to comfort the potter’s wife. They said: “Perhaps you will have another baby, and it will be like other children.” But she said:

“I don’t want another baby; I want this one to be nice.” And the men of the village tried to cheer the potter. “Queer boys often become great men,” they said. And one old man said: “Leave the boy alone; we shall see whether he is a wise man or a fool.”

The potter went home and told his wife what the men had said, and the boy heard him, and it seemed to wake him up, and he thought it over for a few days, and at last one morning at dawn he took his stick in his hand and went into the forest to think there.

All day he wandered about, and at last he came to a little clearing on the side of a hill from which he could look down over the country. The Sun was setting over the distant blue hills, and everything was touched with a pink and golden light, and deep shadows lay on the banana gardens and forests in the distance, but the boy saw none of these things; he was footsore and weary and miserable, and he sat down on a fallen log, tired out with his long day. Suddenly a lion came out on to the clearing.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he said severely.

“I am very miserable,” said the boy, “and I have come into the forest to think, for I do not know whether I am a wise man or a fool.”

“Is that all you think about?” said the lion.

“Yes,” answered the boy, “I think about it night and day.”

“Then you are a fool,” said the lion decidedly. “Wise men think about things that benefit the country.” And he walked away.

An antelope came bounding out on the clearing and stopped to stare at the boy.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I am very miserable,” answered the boy; “I don’t know whether I am a wise man or a fool.”

“Do you ever eat anything?” said the antelope.

“Yes,” said the boy, “my mother cooks twice a day, and I eat.”

“Do you ever thank her?” said the antelope.

“No, I have never thought of that,” answered the boy.

“Then you are a fool,” said the antelope. “Wise men are always grateful.” And he bounded off into the forest again.

Then a leopard came up and looked suspiciously at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked crossly.

“I am very miserable,” answered the boy; “I don’t know if I am a wise man or a fool.”

“Do they love you in your village?” asked the leopard.

“No, I don’t think they do,” said the boy. “I am not like other boys. I don’t know them very well.”  “Then you are a fool,” said the leopard. “All boys are nice; I often wish I were a boy; wise men mix with their fellows and earn their respect.” And he walked on sniffing.

Just then the big grey elephant came shuffling along the forest path,  “What are you doing here all alone in the jungle when the Sun is setting?” he asked. “You should be at home in your village.”swinging his tail as he walked, and picking a twig here and a leaf there as he passed under the trees.

“I am very miserable,” said the boy. “I don’t know if I am a wise man or a fool.”

“What work do you do?” asked the elephant.

“I don’t do any work,” said the boy.

“Then you are a fool,” said the elephant. “All wise men work.” And he swung away down the path which leads to the pool in the forest where the animals go to drink, and the boy put his head down in his hands and cried bitterly, as if his heart would break, for he did not know what to do.

After a little while he heard a gentle voice by his side: “My little brother, do not cry so; tell me your trouble.” The boy raised his tear-stained face and saw a little hare standing by his side.

“I am very miserable,” he said. “I am not like other people, and nobody loves me. I came into the forest to find out whether I am a wise man or a fool, and all the animals tell me I am a fool.” And he put his head in his hands again and cried more bitterly than ever.

The hare let him cry on for a little while, and then he said: “My little brother, do not cry any more. What the animals have told you is true; they have told you to think great thoughts, to be grateful and kind to others, and, above all, to work. All these things are great and wise. The animals are never idle, and they marvel to see how men, with all their gifts, waste their lives. Think how surprised they are to see a boy like you, well and strong, doing nothing all day, for they know that the world is yours if you will make it so.”

The Sun had set behind the distant hills and the soft darkness was falling quickly over the forest, and the hare said: “Soon it will be chilly here; you are tired and hungry, and far from your village; come and spend the night in my home and we will talk of all these things.”

So they went into the forest again, and the hare brought the boy water in a gourd and wonderful nuts to eat, and made him a soft bed of dry leaves.

And they talked of many things till the boy said: “My father is a potter, and I think I should like to be a potter too.” “If you are, you must never be content with poor work,” said the hare. “Your pottery must be the best in the country; never rest until you can make really beautiful things; no man has any right to send imperfect work out into the world.” “Nobody will believe in me when I go home; they will think I am mad,” said the boy. And the little hare answered: “wo/man’s life is like a river, which flows always on and on; what is past is gone for ever, but there is clear water behind; no man can say it is too late, and you are only a boy with your life before you.”

“They will laugh at me,” said the boy.

“Wise men don’t mind that,” said the hare; “only fools are discouraged by laughter; you must prove to them that you are not a fool. I will teach you a song to sing at your work; it will encourage you:

“When the shadows have melted in silver dawn,
Farewell to my dreams of play.
The forest is full of a waking throng,
And the tree-tops ring with the birds’ new song,
And the flowers awake from their slumber long,
And the world is mine to-day.

“My feet are sure and my hands are strong.
Let me labour and toil while I may.
When the Sun shall set in a sea of light,
And the shadows lengthen far into the night,
I shall take the rest which is mine by right,
For I’ll win the world to-day.”

In the early morning the hare went with the boy to the edge of the forest and they swore an oath of friendship, which is as sacred in the jungle as among men, and the hare said:

“Come back sometimes and see me, and we will spend a long day together in the forest. Come to this place and sing my song, and the birds will tell me you are there if I am too far away to hear.”

So the boy went back to his village, and he found his mother digging in the garden, and he knelt down and greeted her as all nice Baganda children do, and he saw how pleased she was. Then he went to his father, and said: “I want to be a potter; teach me your work and I will try to learn it.” And the potter was very much pleased to think that he would have a son to take on his trade after him, and all the people in the village heard and they rejoiced with the potter and his wife.

And the boy worked hard, and in after years he became a famous potter, and people came from all parts of the country to buy his pottery, for everyone knew that he never sold anything that was not beautiful and well made.

He made beautiful black pottery, and sometimes he put a design in white on it, and everything he made was good.

But sometimes the old black moods would return and he would feel sick of his work and all the people round him, and then he would go away at dawn to the edge of the forest and sing the hare’s song, and the little hare would come running down the forest path, and the two friends would spend a long day together, while the man would shake out his heart and all its sorrows to the hare, and he never failed to get love and comfort and encouragement in return, and went back to his work full of hope.

This all happened many years ago; nowadays men think they are much wiser than the animals, but sometimes you may see a strange look in the eyes of an animal, as if it would say: “That man thinks he is wise, but he is only a fool.” And the animals in the forests and jungles and in our houses watch everything we do, and they marvel when they see how some men waste their lives.

(reposted from http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/baskerville/king/king.html)

Hadithi? Hadithi? Hadithi njoo, ukweli njoo, Utamu kolea.

Giza ya? Sahani ya? Nipe mji?

Whether you’re a knight looking for a horse, a maiden looking for fiya, or a youth looking for a bride, in Russian folk tales you usually end up deep in the forest.

On your journey, you may stumble upon a house, walking, hopping, twirling or spinning on chicken legs. The door is made of human bones, the bolts of human fingers; the lock is a mouth of grinning death….This is not a place of rational logic.

The proprietor of this remarkable house is an ancient hag, Baba Yaga, who may swoop down on you in her mortar and pestle as you ride. A broom trails behind her, wiping out any traces of her comings and goings, for she cannot be pinned down.

With cackling laugh en eyes that become like points of fiya, she asks what you seek. You must stand up to her boldly and declare what it is that you want.

“the kingdom ten times ten”; “a knightly horse, Granma, to retrieve my lost bride”; “ the well with the wotas of life en death”; “i have come to ask for fiya”…..

Now these are no ordinary requests. One does not venture deep into the forest without good reason. One has already felt some loss, something missing, in the ordinary routines of life. One has began to search in the depths of the unconscious for what is essential to growth, to change, to wholeness.

Infact the hag, the witch, the wisdom energy of such Goddesses, do not appear in dreams until the traveler is strong enough to be vulnerable. The ego has to have surrendered some of its defensive control before it can tolerate confronting such energy. Then she appears, without ceremony, and, after determining whether your search is legitimate or not,she has one more question, “Do you come here of your own free will, or do you come by compulsion?” or “Have you come to do good deeds or to flee from deeds?

This is the test of how ready you are to proceed in your quest. If you say, “Ya prishla of my own free will”, your bones will become part of  her masquerade costume. If, on the other hand, you say, “I have come by compulsion,” your head will, likewise, go on the post awaiting it.

The test is simply this, “Have you become conscious enough to go beyond duality?”…..Baba Yaga challenges us to go beyond that stage of development [back] to our ancient both/and [of different] worlds……

This is the judgement of Maat. She does not assign any judgement or rewards for keeping rules or practices. She weighs the heart. If the heart is in balance, the process is complete; if it is not in balance the process will continue. On whichever side of her scale we are trapped, we must start again painfully from there. In the Old Testament, she is Wisdom. She is the supreme treasure.

I have directed my soul toward her

And in purity I have found her;

Having my heart fixed on her from the outset,

I shall neva be deserted

[ase]

[reinscribed in Ecclesiasticus 51:20]

[for mo' stories read Dancing in the Flames: The Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness]

Hapo mwezi ya kale……kulikuwa na notice from Chief Arvol Looking Horse

(of) A Great Urgency: To All World Religious and Spiritual Leaders

My Relatives,

Time has come to speak to the hearts of our Nations and their Leaders. I ask you this from the bottom of my heart, to come together from the Spirit of your Nations in prayer.

We, from the heart of Turtle Island, have a great message for the World; we are guided to speak from all the White Animals showing their sacred color, which have been signs for us to pray for the sacred life of all things. As I am sending this message to you, many Animal Nations are being threatened, those that swim, those that crawl, those that fly, and the plant Nations, eventually all will be affected from the oil disaster in the Gulf.

The dangers we are faced with at this time are not of spirit. The catastrophe that has happened with the oil spill which looks like the bleeding of Grandmother Earth, is made by human mistakes, mistakes that we cannot afford to continue to make.

I ask, as Spiritual Leaders, that we join together, united in prayer with the whole of our Global Communities. My concern is these serious issues will continue to worsen, as a domino effect that our Ancestors have warned us of in their Prophecies.

I know in my heart there are millions of people that feel our united prayers for the sake of our Grandmother Earth are long overdue. I believe we as Spiritual people must gather ourselves and focus our thoughts and prayers to allow the healing of the many wounds that have been inflicted on the Earth.

As we honor the Cycle of Life, let us call for Prayer circles globally to assist in healing Grandmother Earth (our Unc¹I Maka).

We ask for prayers that the oil spill, this bleeding, will stop. That the winds stay calm to assist in the work. Pray for the people to be guided in repairing this mistake, and that we may also seek to live in harmony, as we make the choice to change the destructive path we are on.

As we pray, we will fully understand that we are all connected. And that what we create can have lasting effects on all life.

So let us unite spiritually, All Nations, All Faiths, One Prayer. Along with this immediate effort, I also ask to please remember June 21st, World Peace and Prayer Day/Honoring Sacred Sites day. Whether it is a natural site, a temple, a church, a synagogue or just your own sacred space, let us make a prayer for all life, for good decision making by our Nations, for our children¹s future and well-being, and the generations to come.

Onipikte (that we shall live),

Chief Arvol Looking Horse

19th generation Keeper of the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Pipe

To learn more about Chief Arvol Looking Horse, go to http://www.wolakota.org

Dis’ werd on the ground: [is] doing the best we can to provide (revolutionary) pan-afrikan media coverage of the world cup.

So we celebrate Ghana’s Black stars victory not jus’ over Serbia, but in the struggle for afrikan liberation, manifest/ing in the past moons en years (en long ago), symbolised [most significantly for dis’ series on the q/t werd] in other historic events

[such as:- A.L (Afrikan Liberation) D-ay]

http://www.voiceofafricaradio.com/news/351-the-history-of-african-liberation-day.html

So, it’s only fitting that, in honour and memory of our great ancestors, we commemorate this post to the anniversary of the death of Walter Rodney,  a(nother Pan-Afrikan) King.

http://www.pambazuka.org/en/category/features/65084

I give thanks for yesterday, today, and tomorrow, for bredrin and dadas in solidarity, for all the love and resources shared amongst ourselves, and all people liberating not only themselves, but others.

I pray for my families, friends and their families…….Bless our brothas and dadas, cooks, healers, mamas, peacemakers, our children, the future generations and (gran) mama earth. Ase. Ase…….

The q[/t] werd on the ground is doing it true true world cup style….working for unity everywhere from from Ayiti to Zimbabwe,[like in this hadithi] where we give thanks for the fiya, earth, air en wota this time! Mo’ blessings to people (practising and) speaking truth to power!

Hinche, Haiti-

An estimated 10,000 peasants gathered for a massive march in Central Haiti on June 4, 2010, to protest what has been described as “the next earthquake for Haiti” – a donation of 475 tons of hybrid corn seeds and vegetable seeds by the US-based agribusiness giant Monsanto, in partnership with USAID. While this move comes at a time of dire need in Haiti, many feel it will undermine rather than bolster the country’s food security.

According to Chavannes Jean-Baptiste, leader of the Peasant Movement of Papaye (MPP) and spokesperson for the National Peasant Movement of the Congress of Papaye (MPNKP), the entry of Monsanto seeds into Haiti is “a very strong attack on small agriculture, on farmers, on biodiversity, on Creole seeds… and on what is left our environment in Haiti.”

While Monsanto is known for being among the world’s largest purveyors of genetically modified seeds, the corporation’s spokespeople have emphasized that this particular donation is of conventional hybrid seeds as opposed to GMO seeds. Yet for many of Haiti’s peasants, this distinction is of little comfort.

“The foundation for Haiti’s food sovereignty is the ability of peasants to save seeds from one growing season to the next. The hybrid crops that Monsanto is introducing do not produce seeds that can be saved for the next season, therefore peasants who use them would be forced to somehow buy more seeds each season,” explains Bazelais Jean-Baptiste, an agronomist from the MPP who is currently directing the “Seeds for Haiti” project in New York City.

“Furthermore, these seeds require expensive inputs of synthetic fertilizers and pesticides that Haiti’s farmers simply cannot afford. This creates a devastating level of dependency and is a complete departure from the reality of Haiti’s peasants. Haitian peasants already have locally adapted seeds that have been developed over generations. What we need is support for peasants to access the traditional seeds that are already available.”

Who is La Via Campesina?

We are the international movement of peasants, small- and medium-sized producers, landless, rural women, indigenous people, rural youth and agricultural workers.

We defend the values and the basic interests of our members. We are an autonomous, pluralist and multicultural movement, independent of any political, economic, or other type of affiliation. Our 148 members are from 69 countries from Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas.

My favourite things about today are yet to come, I love Thursdays for the simple reason that I know every night will be a ‘jood’ one. En I get one night closer to Saturday, another one of those (guaranteed) ‘jood’ time(s), the rest of my evenings are up for grabs by wind (dadas), moon, sun, rain, work en love

Tonight, I’mma break my ritual(s) and go for the (pre)screening of ‘red lips’ instead, in this space en (neo-colonial/post-modern) times, you gotta take stories about (queer/trans/pan) afrikans wherever they offer themselves.  It’s (not) often en (not) widespread, (depending on how/en/where you look at/read it)…

Even though I haven’t even ‘seen’ the (short) film yet, haven’t ‘read’ the reviews, seen the ads, or followed it on any social engine, I’ve marked off the premiere of the Legacy Video Project in my calendar. http://www.insideout.on.ca/20/program_details.php?id=31

It’s ‘special’ in so many ways, one of those (community) rituals that define (not only) my ‘Canadian’ (en Tdot) status (butof  a fragmented and intersecting group of ‘others’).

http://www.insideout.ca/20/schedule/index.php

For (almost) as long as I’ve lived in this country, I have attended the festival; I first volunteered in Tdot @ InsideOut; most of my ‘official’ film experience has been thanks to the queer youth digital video project &

….ndio, there’s a pattern, so, ofcourse I have a sweet spot for all things queer(trans) en (film&video)spice (many others do, en feel me on this too – uchandirayasi!) en it’s (notso) obvious that I have plenty access en privilege to re/define myself in queer & trans positive spaces.

These are one of the many reasons Tdot could ‘potentially’ be the ‘best’ city in the world, we’re a ‘nicer’ (version of) New York (or so I’ve heard, coz I ain’t crossed THAT  border yet, but from what I heard, it sounds like, from a pan-afrikan perspective, the only ting’ that New York has over Tdot is Brooklyn en the Bronx, Manhattan is just so gay), en if you’re an Afrikan in the diaspora, where better to experience the whole world (if you choose to) than in (dis) one city?

Where so many ‘others’ re/define one of the national landmark/s of turtle island? (you couldn’t experience such living in jo’burg, kampala, kigali, lagos, mogadishu, monrovia or nairobi, maybe with enough time en immigrants…..)

En yes, if you unpack these hadithi, you’d read I was telling you this, because it’s Very.Important.People.  I have (more than 31) personal (en political) reasons to be going to see ‘red lips’ tonight…the actions (are) layered, (en symbolic) as markers in the ‘Q’ werd.

Red lips, is the crux, is swagger, is nneke dumele, audrey mbugua & tomee sojourner, trey anthony, zanele muholi, wahu kaara & pouline kimani, bombastic kasha & victor mukasa, tajudeen abdul raheem & audre lorde, seven sisters & anitafrika dub theatre…(many) dadas en bredrin in solidarity, in film/theory but not nearly as many as we need in practice, in intersecting and separate spaces, for different purposes, all to rebuild en reclaim ourselves en our communities….

we gotta still continue from ‘here’, give thanks not only for who we’ve got, or where we’re coming from, but for what’s coming as we prepare…..

the big(ger) point is that we are not the only ones who’ve found (some of) what we’ve been looking for.  We  ARE  the ones we’ve been looking for, so now what?  the crux is working on OUR  unity (first), en manifesting our (re)visions, (or, jus’ what IS  the crux?)

Since time, everything that one does (re)defines oneself, and since ‘we’ walked, we’ve (re)defined ourselves in groups, labelled God/dess(es), en change/d….. in other words, this is a(nother) pan-afrikan postcard, another hadithi of dadas (en mamas) in solidarity

I’m going to see red lips tonight for (more than)a few reasons; I’ve read en heard the story, witnessed en shared in parts of its production, en I (am in) love (with) the performance of this hadithi. There’s something about any producer who delves into the significance of healing en self recovery for womyn through ritual en wota, en about the ‘actors’ who re/tell the story with their (own) body-memories,  something about taking time to see (beautiful/performance) art used for revolushunary change, it’s like (good) food for the soul en dadas.(practis)in(g).solidarity, which is quite simply, jood!

ofcourse i’m also jus more likely to be going coz, the womyn who produced the piece is not only (a) fine as may wine (dada who knows many other sweet as honey sistas) but one of the many afrikans  (or few, depending on how/where you look at/read it) who’ve shared their energy, love, teachings, en time with me…..one of the many that I been looking for, who’ve changed not only me, but others…

And now that it’s spring (or autumn depending on where your latitude is at) again, and (my) be/loved let me go, now that I’ve (quite literally) fallen through the hole en like ‘Alice in Wonderland’ (this is real when I say I volunteered at my first un-Anniversary last nite, so today of all days, I feel particularly qualified to speak on matters of peace & conflict, magic.of.symbolism, truth & reconciliation), today I feel particularly ‘entitled’ to getting some ‘honey’ , I wasn’t beheaded by the Queen, she eve/n ‘spoke’ to me, I ate good food en mostly tended a hookah with a surreal caterpillar, en all in all had quite a sweet (un-anniversary) time…something like when I went to see the ‘other’ queen, the week before that….(went to) fe(e)d the wota, en she gave me some priceless gifts in return…

 (but now that’s another hadithi)…

 the bigger point is that (those) red lips are one of the 31 hadithi of the ‘Q’ werd.

A mystic, organic, and (us) people driven caravan of (change en) pan-afrikan stories.

http://www.anitafrika.com/

Something like a series of auto-myth(o)-biographies en interviews with ordinary people en (super/s)heroes, retelling our true true stories for the sake of pikney. Because if we don’t tell them our true true stories, who will? En if we don’t practice peace, (en fight for our freedom by any means necessary) then where will ‘they’ learn (IT) from?

[a is for] a video diary of The ‘Q’ werd

betwixt en between: m is for molisa(n.)

on love,  truth, justice & reconciliation

coming out stories

I (not-so) secretly would like to be married to jus 2 (or 2 more) of all the kings en queens that have walked on this earth en that live today….children of oya, ogun, shango (en others…)

I am a(n. Afrikan)  wom(b)an (been) in love with 2 (wo)men, all met betwixt en between, in another place not here (my story is not new)….  I confess that if I had my wishes fulfilled, I would be married to at least 3 queens en a king, yes I am (unfortunately nowadays marginalised for being) non-monogamous, that’s my coming out story.

 I confess that even though I’m ‘mostly’ out of the closet, in deference to overwhelming majorities, en the likelihood that ‘the one(s)’ might be one-woman-shacking-up type o’ folks, I have proven time en again to be not only willing to settle with monogamy, but secretly hope that I might be enough for one person. coz I really don’t know how many ‘partners’ I can handle, the truth is I’ve never actually being in a committed ‘non-monogamous relationship, so it’s fair to suppose that I might NOT  be non-monogamous in the first place at all, it could jus be a subjective ideal, a case of wishes & horses, or it could be my memory en hints in the fluidity of relationships, it could just be that monogamy is not appealing or logical to me (or many others), I mean why marry just one, if you could build a revolushunary village with 10? why NOT  have whatever your heart desires, as long as it’s consensual? And, technically one could argue that ‘monogamy’ is un-African, (one of the myriad of imposed imperialist/western values)

it’s simple really….in the end, I’ll have whoever I want to be with for life that not only wants to be with me, but shares my dreams en hopes for better lives, to raise pikney en farm (for real!), (re)build communities of love, justice, (peace) en truth

Ukweli ni, I’d be satisfied with  ‘one’ coz I haven’t met any yet that have wanted to marry not jus’ me, but a few others, besides the bigger point of THIS hadithi is not who I want to share my life with, but how we’re re/connecting with the ones we’ve been looking for….

 [C is] the crux: we ’ve heard (more than) a few hadithi about eshu, obatala, ogun, Olokun, orunmile, osanyin, oshun, oya, shango, en Yemoja, but only a couple of versions of mumbi en nambi. It (almost) always goes that mumbi births 9+1 daughtas with (a)G….., en nambi, daughta of G, marries kintu, at least that’s (part of) the crux. The bigger point is most of it seems to be lost under centuries of whitewash(ing), and our freedom is hinged on going back for not only what we have forgotten, but that, which has been distorted & exploited, like the story of c(ee),

n is for nneke/d. Is for: parts of herstory

See stories will only get us started, the rest of what we (don’t) say are our actions. The work we do to make our dreams happen, this IS the Q werd, a journey that begins with the realities of (more than 9+1) dadas.in.solidarity.

The interviews are real, the events are not fictional, these are OUR pan-afrikan postcards, in the spirit of the biggest holiday this moon, African Liberation Day, and in honour of ‘an ordinary African doing his best to unite his people’ (Taju)

Kesho, on (Agwambo Odera, Frederick Odhiambo, Gacheke Gachihi, George Nyongesa, Hilary Mulialia,  Onyango Oloo, Sam Ojiayo, Willy Mutunga, Tajudeen Abdul Raheem) 9 + 1 ALD kings (in the Q werd)