I've never been one of those dudes who felt like going back to Africa would solve all of my or my community's problems. For one, Africa is a continent of many countries. And as my own familial history is a bit splintered due to more than a few generations on this side of the planet, I don't have any solid evidence as to where to start. But there was that afternoon in high school when I sat in my friend Bilquis study and her father showed me a Yoruba statue from thousands of years before that looked exactly like me. I look a lot like my father. I've got some newfound cousins who share awfully similar features. So maybe I have a few clues.
Thus is was an honor and a privilege when Kat and Kim, Andrea, Carla and some other wonderful sistas asked me to give them a hand with the altars of Black Presidents Day, a tribute to both Obama and Fela that went down at DCs the Warehouse on Saturday Night. Between the Fela cover band, the ample house set and running into women from many different phases of my life (all in the same space) I found myself wondering what my life might be like had my ancestors never been brought here.
As a kid I used to dream about the idea of using a time machine to go back to the very beginnings of the slave trade with 20th century artillery and sinking every ships that came towards the coast of West Africa. But that was before I understood how destiny works.
But as the queens of the event strutted out onto the dance floor, their faces painted and adorned with beads in honor of Fela's wives, their outfits accentuating curves and colors that rest at the bottom of the American paradigm but at the top of the genetic well from which we were all born, I found myself standing at the Ogun river looking at my reflection in the rippling water, meditating on the beauty and power that will save my life. As I confessed my crushes to Bassey: the tall and curvy chocolate girl who would only dance by her self, the shorter, slimmer one with the hip control of a belly-dancing veteran, the backup singer with the painted face and legs legs longer than the Nile itself,and the evolving forms of sistas whose bodies and minds I have both craved and praised in many different ways since my boyhood, I was more proud of the African code in my blood than I have ever been. It helps me to understand the choices I've made in the almost infinite facets of this life of mine.
"Do you think you have a type?" Bassey asked me as we sat in chairs taking in the dancers.
My answer was no, as lining up my lovers, one could find as many similarities and differences among them. But they were all African (or at least I thought they were). When I was little my father would always tell me that I could find any feature, any physical trait that I wanted in a Black woman. Of course he had his own motives for this. And I had my own interpretation. These moments somehow correlate with those. They close a circle that both leaves me open for attack and makes me invincible all at once. It just depends on the day you ask me. Out.
P.S. Shoutout to Kim for letting to take shots with her SLR for a little while. Though I could barely work it, it felt good to have big shutter and lens in-hand again.
9 comments:
i had a good time, im upset i didn't get to say bye to you.
I wish I knew exactly who you were Ms. Gravity.
Beautiful and well written piece but………
I’ve never understood the fascination with the life of Fela outside of the amazing music he made. I refuse to celebrate a man who believed in marrying hundreds of women and scoffed at the concept of “Women’s liberation” as a “Western notion.” It’s amazing how African men get to cheery pick for us what is Western and what is “traditional” usually meaning whatever is in their favor. I guess black people need their KINGs (Fela) their HEroes (Obama) their Geniuses (Ray Charles) and their Fallen Sons (Tupac) just like white people. Notice how all of our Greats are usually men? I guess I would be more impressed with a group of women celebrating African women, not just the wives of so-called Great Men but that’s just me.
Ah the Miles Davis question. I love the music. I also loved his stage shows. As it wasn't my party I can't argue the planner's reasons. This is a much larger thing that I've been meaning to blog about. I'll get to it soon.
Maybe “impressed” was the wrong word. I meant refreshing. It would be refreshing to see a celebration of African women by African women. Or better yet a celebration of African women by African men for our roles as more than just wives, mothers and “dimes.” And oh, how did I forget Miles Davis! He’s a better example than Ray Charles. I’m sure you have Pearl Cleage’s book Mad At Miles: A Black Woman’s Guide to Truth? It’s a classic that never looses its relevance.
@ Jenn Jenn though I do agree with what you're saying at a base level, I think it's important to note that the idea of "women's liberation" IS a western concept. The ideals behind it and the intent of it is eastern as African women are celebrated in ways that western women have never been.
I think before you rush to judge the event and the amazing women behind it, you should probably find out why they chose to celebrate in this way. I can't answer that for you but if you knew the forces behind the party, I doubt you would think they subscribed to any shrinking violet, one of many faceless women philosophies.
not to say that you accused them of that but I think it's important to note.
I don't doudt these sistas were inspired by something positive to create this event. And I completely respect their right to celebrate whoever they choose. I just don't share or understand everyones reverence for the life of Fela Kuti, outside of his great music. Just like the "Cult of Tupac Shakur", I must respectfully dissent! lol
beautiful piece, kenji. and of course I love that my girl Bassey is all up in it.
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