A place for Huey

If I fell in love today, I would give it all up. We would go into the wild. I know that you are supposed to go on those kinds of journeys alone, to have those revelations by yourself, but I want to go with someone. I want someone to share and keep those memories with. Nothing else matters. The only one thing I'm sure about is love. Intimate love. Because I felt it once a long time ago and everything was alright; the emotional pull of things did not compare in gravity to that feeling and that experience. But apart from love, I'm truly ambivalent about everything. Everything. I have contradictory and conflicting feelings about almost everything else. I am writing this because I know I have quite a voice; at least in writing, I sound convicted about most things. So people call me a feminist, womanist, marxist, socialist, intellectual, etc. I don't care about those labels. Call it whatever. More so than any other motivation, I want this blog to be a space where people who l

For too long in the history of Africa, Africa has spoken through the voice of others who are microscopic. Africa, like other continents, is always in transition cum transmogrification. Its map, fortunes and history have changed overtime. It must be noted that African history reveals both continuity and change. Many traditions and institutions have always been carried forward, but changes and new ideas are constant. Africa is the second largest continent, is the most central with most of its land mass in the tropics. Today, it is divided into more than fifty countries with a population of over 660 million. Environment influenced the people's modus vivendi as they struggled to adapt. The survival of the communities and individuals were tied to the apron string of the land, as the majority of the population worked as farmers and herders. The fauna coexisted with humans. Where there was a need for space, food and other animal product, people encroached upon the fauna.

As Blu sings, we should have done the first things first Spoken gently and caressed those healing wounds pried open swiftly by the hopeful bliss of new love, first We should have taken walks at dusk, learning carefully to discern the wrought of lust from the determination of love Do instead those things which will sustain commitments first  Asked the important questions first How do you like your hands to be held? Do you hold fingers, playing a melody switching from one to the other? Or do you join palms as if in prayer? Do you like to kiss? Would you kiss your loved one for people the number of stars in the sky to see? Do you hold grudges? Would you laugh with me if I laughed at you? Do you... First. Second We started from the ending and tried to downstream up We engaged quickly in physical pleasantries We reveled the depths of excited novelty Letting morphing larvae within us betray us Making me incapable of letting it go Those times were fun It was the thrill. Th

A call from many a women to their mothers To healing, to forgiveness; how to not be a “tragedy of your experiences”; how to get it back I am here tomorrow, gone today I am equal, yet still not free I left in search of more though much is here I am in a garden of spirits In need of the art your work makes, as is my fate Last I remember my soul was being hauled into a grand hall A dilemma not to be shared, I revealed without much thought Months later, as though you knew, I would fall So much is here but I have left in search of more My heart yearns for that one missed call Mother I write only what I recall When he beat you, slapped you, cursed your ways, your taste, and the food you make, you got on your knees and crawled He would sleep with other women, use your money, drink his tail ends off, and you surprisingly kept true to yours I watched, they watched, and as he got more possessive, with time you fought Eventually after many near attempts of

I Like Women Quirky, One with Her Own Point of View Most Men never look Far Enough to Acknowledge I Suffocate in Soft Hands Clench Too Tight I am a Creature of Sensuality & Lust I Tend to Her Selflessly She is Selfish Her Drive, Propels my Apex She Notes the Admirers and Stares She is Insecure, She Fears an Open Heart She Does Not Yet Know Her Worth, Fabricated Voices of Mind Continue to Lie Our Fantasies and Natures Contradict… Inspired by Warsan Shire - Excuses For Why We Failed at Love & Bridget Boakye- Reasons it hasn't worked (Po ems for 72 Days, Day 1 2 - Guest Post - written by B rando n Connor)

I like men who impress me Lots of women like them I am sacrificial in what I want Forthright in what I need I like only him He is egotistical He has power by way of his intelligence or pursuit Lots of women like him He likes lots of women He does not know how to be a man and be with me. Poems for 72 Days, Poem 11 Inspired by Warsan Shire - Excuses For Why We Failed at Love

For a friend I lost  I once read that, "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there." I wanted to meet you there. But you will realize  Albeit too soon upon my final farewell That whether you chose wrongly or never deliberately chose The tumult of never knowing if you will stay When you will leave, if you will remain, Made our union treacherous against my wish for persistence My heart clenching to the novelties of thought made striking in our night's laughter Though morning left with a cold emptiness, nothing to behold.  I never knew that soon after I told you that you are such a poet, Pleading that you should stay here with me, You would leave. I hope that one day you will read this and wonder as I do Why we never made it that far To the field. Always repeating lessons God wanted us to learn once Why we never made it beyond worship. Poems for 72 Days, Poem 10

I'm the first to admit that I love conscious, deep music, especially rap. But sometimes J.Cole, Kendrick Lamar, Lupe, Jay Z, Biggie, Lil Brother, Drake, Nas, et cetera take me for a whirlwind and I often end up emotionally drained and in the pitfalls of unpleasant thoughts. So I go to my pick me ups. I am currently going through my playlists on Youtube and thought to share some of my favorites to counterbalance all of the depressing music I share on here. 1. The Roots. Especially my The Roots Pandora station. This song, Star, takes me so high. 2. J. Dilla, Common. * Words can't do justice to Dilla's work*       3. Camp Lo, Pharaclyde ,   Slum Village (Dilla), A Tribe Called Quest, Visioneers, 90s Rap I guess. The instrumentals, the beats, just the Vibe! 4. MMG.  Specially, Wale and Meek Millz's hood anthems. I have never sold drugs nor do I have aspirations for a career in rap but I can relate to being broke and chasing a drea

Ever since I decided to give my poetry some serious consideration as a craft, an art, I have unconsciously (till yesterday) been reading a lot of poetry. And I see it everywhere. I hear it in peoples everyday conversations. I notice it in my own. Music now seems even more poetic for me than it did before. My sleep is constantly interrupted by thoughts I want to write down but I am defiant and I lie in bed awake in silence or I grab my ipod. Occasionally, like this morning, I oblige and wake up mid sleep to write things down. This is the writer's affliction and anguish: when the impulse arises or you feel an inkling that a thought is taking shaping in words and something creative is about to form, you obey. It's like having to purge, you feel sick until you do so. My point is that I've been reading a lot of poetry and I am going to share a lot of it on this blog though not as a part of my Poems for 72 Days series. Although I intend to share some of my closest friends poetr

My cousin asked me not too long ago about my perspective on Africa's development. His exact words were, "it's an exciting time to be in Ghana. The country is teeming with possibility. We are on the move - Africa is on the move. It's like the dawn of independence all over again, except this time we'll get it right. Do you share my optimism, or do you think it's misplaced?" Although I had a reflex response to the question at the time, I wanted to give the question more consideration and told him that I have to do more research on the topic. This is in essence my response to his question after some thought and reading. The question of Africa's development trajectory is hard to answer because firstly, I am not yet in an expert capacity to give a credible, technical answer (so feel free to contribute). Secondly and primarily, the question presents for me many conflicting opinions, perspectives, and a contradictory narrative whose nuances I am not sure

I want to be the kind of girl with whom you admit vehemently to your friends that you are in love That you lock hands with in broad daylight unfettered by pleas and demands which you must clasp Who makes you placid amidst the tumult of this world  For whom you make a world of sense Through whom you lie unclad, baring the depths of your fears and desires I want you to be the man with whom I simply feel understood A companion Not with whom I am equal but with whom I can truly be free... But loss witters at my heart And the pain of past experiences and broken trust leaves me weary Slanted against an upright world Or upright against a tilted one So that after 22 kisses and everything in between, There may be nothing left upon your arrival Love might lose its meaning in the tempest of these experiential storms And when you arrive, you won't stay Inspired by Valerie - The Weeknd Poems for 72 Days, Poem 9

Be my morning, Let me wake up in you, Be my link between temporary death and temporary life, Let me see you rise as I rise in you, Be my 5:26 sun in that early August, Let me see you but not feel you until that 7:46 hits, Be my only cool air on my 16 hour day, Let me savor the flavor of your air on my tongue, Be my morning It seems the best moments are the waking ones So Be my best waking moments And Help me develop as you Envelop the bulk of what stands as the catalyst to What could be good But isn't yet Baby, Be my morning There’s only one time my brightest star rises And That’s how it’ll stay Until I can’t see it rise Because I don’t know anything else And I don’t want to know anything else Because That’s what keeps me Bounded by reality After I was unable to see it for Too long. Be my morning I hear that some air is fresh And that it’s best to breathe it But that air isn't always there during the times that I seek it So It has to b

  So this video above of the prodigy Kelvin Doe has been circulating on the web. The video speaks for itself. My fascination is with his host/mentor David. I think that from what we can surmise from the video, he embodies this idea that Toni Morison speaks of: “I tell my students, 'When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. If you have some power, then your job is to empower somebody else. This is not just a grab-bag candy game.” A lot of us can't be Kelvin. I can't be Kelvin and that is okay, maybe even great. But I want to be David. I think a lot more of us can be David.

I write I write to indulge in the multiplicity of ways I can share this sentiment To say distressing alluding to the sight of a mother leaving her son in daycare on his first day To depict comfort as deep as a lover's warmth on a cold winter's night To spin in verse and stanza That the creativity that God has given me will not be in vain So that deep down when I listen to music, I feel my craft speaking and soothing me Common among Jay’s, I muse I write I write to shatter Old ideologies and misconceptions I propose A father's womb Brilliant, blinding darkness A self-loving revolution Quest for greater consciousness Stillness that is alright Tears that are not deceiving Vulnerability that is embraced Words cutting across boundaries, stereotypes, and meanings Simply to capture this incision I write I write to speak To dote into reality realms of meaning and understanding To not worry about speech itself That my tongue may twist and

Remember how excited you felt when the nerds actually found love in Ashton Kutcher's show Beauty and the Geek, when they finally get the girl? Or anytime Michael Cera's character in a movie gets to see a girl's boobs. Maybe I am the only one. I am always cheering. I love it when nerds/ awkward people win. There is something really endearing about the nerd coming into his/her sense of self and and as a consequence of being him/herself and not through any malice, just sh*ts over on all the people who tried to play him/her/etc. Cue my love for Youth in Revolt and Social Network. I feel like I just got the girl; I am finally at the place where I am embracing and celebrating my way of thinking about things - my nerdyness/"intellectualness"/inbetweenness. Here is the story of how I got to the place of uncertainty and doubt in the first place. I wish it was funny or awkward but it is actually quite sad. Surprisingly, it began at my liberal arts uber progressive colle

A question of African immigrant political incorporation in America Having left my predominantly liberal/progressive college campus, following the U.S. electoral campaign at home with my conservative Republican father was surprisingly exciting, informative, and challenging. A bit more knowledgeable and reflective today than I was four years ago, I was more informed, engaged, and truly interested in the process and not solely the outcome of this year's elections. In addition to fostering a healthy tolerance for Fox news and a deeper understanding of American history and politics, being back in my home city of the Bronx and living at home during the electoral period highlighted an issue I had not considered before: the question of how Ghanaian immigrants in America, and by extension African immigrants in general, relate to the political process and politics in this country. Or more broadly, immigrant political incorporation in America. This is some of what I have been thinking