A place for Huey

Folks, I have an important task/ teaching job for the next two months which will demand all of my time and mental fortitude. For this reason, I am deactivating/severing all of my social media accounts, including posts on blogger. I am truly grateful that some of what I have written have been of interest to you all. I am excited to say that by virtue of interacting with you all via this platform, I have come to realize that I want to dedicate a greater chunk of my work to writing - whether it is social commentary, poetry, or short fiction. I am truly grateful for the support and encouragement I have received from you all. Honestly, just seeing one pageview is encouraging. I have never felt as powerful as I do now. Looking ahead, here are some of the things I will be doing during my social media hiatus and when I have time away from my job: 1. Read, read, read, read. While I read indiscriminately and broadly on the web, I miss holding a book between my fingers and dedicating more

My mom says the Akan word anigyebrusu ⊃ to me often. I am sure I have misspelled the word but the literal translation of the word I am thinking of is happiness over the top , or an overabundance of happiness. To put the word in context, my mom says it to me when I speak of wanting to see and experience everything the world has to offer. Having been thinking about that word recently, I have been considering the idea of whether one can ever be too happy, or more accurately, search too desperately or fixate too intensely on the pursuit of happiness. I have also been thinking about Kid Cudi's interview in Complex Magazine which I read earlier this week. In it, he talks about coping with depression after a bad breakup, quitting his weed habit, getting back to his craft, being present and at peace, among other things. It is possibly one of the better interviews I have read in a while; the interviewer asks really thoughtful questions to which Cudi gives honest, thought provoking resp

A good friend of mine tagged me to a poem titled I miss on facebook this past Saturday. I immediately wrote to her about sharing the poem on my blog and she has approved! While the poem is very specific to her experience when we both studied in Ghana a little over a year ago, Zane's poem brings to memory so many of my own. I miss was especially welcoming yet surprising to read because I have been trying to creatively express missing my grandmother and Ghana more recently than I have in some time. I wrote about it in Unending Goodbyes . Zane also shares a poem she says "is synced to or inspired I miss" . It is called Nothing like it . I look forward to featuring more of Zane's work on this blog. I miss  Oooh. Ghana. yy.... I just wonder if I'm the only one who thinks of Ghana, of Accra, like 34/7... It never lets up.  Somehow, I think a lot about me traveling within Ghana, and those experiences.  Interacting with people on and off campus. The spir

I was inspired by this awfully hilarious yet sad story about a 419er made weary to write an "African revenge-thriller". I also used some of the ideas and details in this article about a Nigerian man sentenced to 14years for ID theft in America in this story. When Ajei was young, every story he read went as follows: once upon a time, a long long time ago, there lived a trickster by the name of Kwaku Ananse . Ananse had eight long skinny legs, an awful small head, and a protruding abdomen . Ananse, as they say, fooled some of the people some of the time but not all of the people all of the time. Even in the case where he fooled all of man, he was outsmarted by his own nature. In the end, while Kwaku Ananse faced the repercussions of his malfeasance, there was always another Ananse story to be told. Ajei is like Ananse. Here is his story. In 2005, Ajei had received his greencard in a white nondescript envelope. After ten years of living in Atlanta and using an unknown ki

"I am getting a couple of people to write letters to their older selves. I recently read Gabrielle Union's letter to her younger self in Essence and thought that there might be value in writing something to our older selves. While we learn a lot with age, some things get lost as well - ie. spontaneity, love, empathy, persistence, etc (from what I've seen... :)). So perhaps you can add your writing to this - something you cherish now that you don't want to lose sight of as you get older or something you had/knew when you were younger and want to incorporate back into your life." December 22, 2012 Dear Ruth, Writing a letter to your former/future self is really cheesy. You hate reading this already. You’re racking your memory trying to remember what compelled you to do this. So while you’re figuring out exactly how embarrassed you should be for finding a letter like this, let me remind you of the person you once were, or rather, the person I am n

Excellent overview/analysis of the developing situation in Mali and an argument in favor of France's intervention. It is written by Gregory Mann, historian of francophone West Africa. He is a Professor of History at Columbia University. http://africasacountry.com/2013/01/14/france-in-mali-the-end-of-the-fairytale/

The question of who has or should have the responsibility to protect Africa preoccupies my studies on contemporary issues on the continent and is especially relevant to recent developments in Guinea-Bissau, Mali, Congo, and the Central African Republic. I often refer to an essay titled Who is protecting Africa: Sovereignty, Validation, and Africa’s International Relations on this blog because the assignment for the essay helped me to identify African political theory and "war/peace studies" as areas in the larger African development discourse of particular interest to me.   In the essay, I assert that because the sovereignty of African states, both internal (relation betw een states and its citizens) and external (inter-state relations), is at the very least contested, at the extreme, viewed as nonexistent, and largely believed to be fragile and/or weak, the question of who protects African lives, livelihoods, and the environment continues to be pertinent to developments

First, for my grandma. Then, everyone I think about often in this experience called immigration. A poem to be performed for my grandma. Grandma, I am still looking From above, I see greenlush somewhere Soon beneath me, the sea Atop, the blue-black midnight sky Below is blue pain, water the depth of this immeasurable distance Someone asks, "sweetheart, what do you want to eat?" My stomach turns, flight food I am churning memories I have ingested but time, time swallows I can't necessarily recollect and condense, like cumulus clouds, our togetherness Scattered perceptions of watching you sell tomatoes to someone. A thief. Church. A running crab. A mango tree; the sweet taboo of too ripe brown mangoes Lizards. Listening to uncle listen to Marley and Dube. Sharing one bed. I long for the comfort of being cramped in one room with everyone I know Empty space is loneliness, I despise a room of my own If I had ever known sleep, it was only my rest underneath

  I excitedly shared the video above with some friends a few days ago because it rang reminiscent of my first story, A friend for the end of the world . In sum, the video is the second episode in a series about relationships and women and its unique twist is that the footage is taken from the video-recorder of one guy, THAT Guy. My first reaction to the episode was that not only was it a good story but it very much reflected the narratives I hear and see everyday. As I wrote to my friend, I saw many parallels between the beginning of my story and this episode (although the intent of my story was to explore the circumstantial/trifling way people meet and the dark yet beautiful way they end up being perfect for each other); that is, being tricked to a person's house for Chinese food and a movie and having that evolve into something deeper, not good or bad, but deeper. Part of the conversation with my friends became about agency: are you ever “tricked” into such a cir

"I am getting a couple of people to write letters to their older selves. I recently read Gabrielle Union's letter to her younger self in Essence and thought that there might be value in writing something to our older selves. While we learn a lot with age, some things get lost as well - ie. spontaneity, love, empathy, persistence, etc (from what I've seen... :)). So perhaps you can add your writing to this - something you cherish now that you don't want to lose sight of as you get older or something you had/knew when you were younger and want to incorporate back into your life." Letter to my older self   May this song reach your heart May your ears love the sweet melody Every note, every chord I've arranged them for you and for me At the time of your reading this, I hope that you are many things – successful* with work, family, love, spirituality. I’ve learned not to plan too intently on the future because those plans are never mine alone.

A story about why smart black girls end up with dumb thugs, drugs, guns, and murder.  Today, he visits you in a thin whisper, the voice of chilled faith, matter of factly, sourness in his speech. You can almost taste him in the closeness in which he speaks, the lingering smell of clean cotton in your half-open mouth where he rests your head. For scents which have a face, it is bleak cologne. You know, many gentlemen wear watches, you like watches. A man who wears a watch is obedient, he knows the tick of this world, the rage of time. But Que is a wanderer, he knows not urgency. You often held his 9mm glock. They would not stop you and frisk you. You are coffee but you are not a man. Love is a mask for the things we hold in secret for one another. The other day, you also saw him. This time, in a white mask. He looked like a dancer. He is not permanence. You turn on your cold bunk, you wonder what he is reading now. Maybe his favorite book, The Art of War . "Has he been e

A couple of ideas/ readings/thoughts driving this poem: 1. I often reflect on Gabrielle Union's letter to herself in the October Issue (2012) of Essence Magazine in which she writes to her younger self/ other women about loving her "deep Mahogany skin" and generally, colorism in the Black community and in Hollywood. Everytime I post A Letter from the Young, I think of it. 2. I just read this article on BBC about colorism in Africa: Africa: Where black is not really beautiful . My problem with the general debate on colorism in Africa, which I have heard many others echo, is with this notion that women and men who bleach their skins are more insecure, less conscious, have more self esteem issues, and/or are more susceptible to subscribing to the "white supremacist mentality" than the rest of us. In some circles, they are even vilified. I truly believe that this is unfair. Firstly, saying that African women/men who bleach their skin do not love being Black or

"I am getting a couple of people to write letters to their older selves. I recently read Gabrielle Union's letter to her younger self in Essence and thought that there might be value in writing something to our older selves. While we learn a lot with age, some things get lost as well - ie. spontaneity, love, empathy, persistence, etc (from what I've seen... :)). So perhaps you can add your writing to this - something you cherish now that you don't want to lose sight of as you get older or something you had/knew when you were younger and want to incorporate back into your life." Dear Lorencio, I presume that’s what we prefer to go by now. I mean, Life being everything I envisioned at this point and everything. I want to start this Letter by saying THANK YOU. Thank You for staying the course and continuing to believe in ALL our Dreams & Aspirations to their Fruition. Thank You for Taking Care of Mom and not only Raising the standard of Li