Do you know the badass who eats squirrel meat ?

Squirrels, in my business, are pests.

They cause a lot of mischief in our garden, nibbling at this and the other, or digging up some beets, gnawing off some shoots, and frustrating our labor.
Further, and even more vexing, is their persistent nesting in OUR ROOF. We have an old house, and this roof has seen way better days. The squirrels find their way in every winter, and cause a frackass, running in the crawl spaces above the living room and kitchen, and occasionally, we have heard them between walls.
Abeg.
Baba Achieng set traps. Drowned a few in the Detroit River, then decided, we need not buy any more meat with the high population of members in our immediate vicinity.
Abeg.
Eyes rolled but he persisted, arguing that we needn't be pretentious about slaughtering them, yet we do the same to all the other animals we eat.
Sure enough, He spent almost a whole afternoon skinning that unlucky muther and the darn ass thing was plopped into a bowl, my bowl, and it was suggested that I was to continue.
"Here's a recipe," he passed his phone to me.
Ok.
Trust, it was from louisiana, where a few weeks prior, when I was in New Orleans, somebody driving by called at us asking us whether we knew the guy who sells possum. Lawd.
I just doused the squirrel in vinegar.
(To disinfect it)
Plenty of sea salt.
(To disinfect it further)
And Baba sprinkled Cayenne.
Two days of marinating in the fridge, I volunteered to throw it in the oven, before it went bad.
Clobbered off its tail and head.
I dont know why those were still attached to this day.
Flung open the oven door, and threw that carcass on a baking sheet.

Maybe 2 hours later,
After I was sure that it was falling off the bone,
And all vermin germsies gone,
Pulled it out,
Chopped off some meat and munched.

Aisay, It wasnt all that good, but more likely coz of the excessive vinegaration than the squirell's own doing.
I couldn't dig in good coz it was all just yucky thinking of squirrel...

The internet said squirrel meat is pretty tasty when i checked.
Tasted more like liver. Liver isn't bad, to me, but I wasn't going to kill no squirrel for such a lean carcass that tasted like liver.

Baba got cold feet too.

Ate some. Threw out most of the leftovers.

We agreed we will wait till summer, bbq season, when so much meat is on the grill, across the street at his mums, and maybe throw one in at the end, and see what everyone thinks.

There too many of them here anyway.

"no natural predators" baba says, "reducing their population (by any means necessary) is..." as lion in Tinga Tinga tales says, "nature's way"

Dear Lupita

With a little over $1000 mostly gifted, host families I either searched out on couchsurfing, facebook, or was connected to by friends, I took a month long journey down south, hoping that I would return surefooted about my next career move.

I was with my one and a half-year old baby, Achieng, and we bused down sometimes 20hours straight city to city, firstly to Chicago, then to Dallas, Houston, and NEW ORLEANS.

Among so many other things, I was done with Detroit winter, the crippling and xenophobic nature of US immigration processes, post-undergrad stress disorder, stay at home mother stress disorder and miss my mum in Kenya stress disorder. Because my student visa was expired, I couldn't go back to Nairobi, but I still had to get away.

I missed the brunt of Michigan Wintergeddon, feasted on sunshine, the warmth and love of strangers-turned friends, and the vibrance of New Orleans living.
I told people all the way down south, you know what, I want to be Oprah. Why you here? Trying to figure out how I'mma be the next Oprah Winfrey.
I want to make a living talking to people about everything. About life. About Pain. About Pleasures. Politricks. Transcendence....

I want to be Maya Angelou. Why you here? Trying to figure out how I'mma be the next Maya Angelou.
I want to be Tracy Chapman.
I want to be Nina Simone.
I want to be Thandiswa Mazwai.
I want to be Simphiwe Dana.
I want to be India Arie.
I want to be Bill Maher.
I want to be Sauti Sol and Just a Band.
I want to be Wangari Maathai.
I want to be Steve Biko.
I want to be Boniface Mwangi.
I want to be Benazir Bhutto.

I want to be human.

I want to dabble in the beautiful things in life. Music. Color. Fiery Activism. Love. Magic.

I digress.
I wasn't fixin to write that whole list, but hey.
It is painfully difficult and paralyzing.

Folks who live up north all their lives are out of their mind. I know that for sure though.

I watched your speech, at the Massachusetts Conference for Women, this morning.

I surrender.

I am tired of living in aspiration.

I am not "giving up", or shutting down my desires.

I have written them, shouted them, worried them, wondered them, cried them, shared them, prayed them, and now I am throwing them in the wind.

Maybe I am where I need to be right now.

Maybe the timeline in my imagination is wrong.

Maybe, I already am all of those things, those people, those aspirations.

Maybe, I am ok.

Maybe, I need to be present in now.

Maybe, the magic is here now.

Here with all these uncertainties.

Here on this page.

Here in my hands.

Here on the land we farm.

Here among our friends.

Here in Detroit.

Maybe because of this deathly cold even.

I wanted to give you a hug.
Listening to you.

I thank you.

I hope we will get to meet and vibe someday.
Some place simple and homely,
Maybe even here in our lil ol ruggedy farmhouse.

I will be sure to get it cleaned up first though.



See LUPITA SPEECH here: https://youtu.be/_LKpTHa2VoU

"I come as one, but I stand with thousands"

I will take this a step at a time, because there is so much to share, so many experiences and thoughts, that I have been overwhelmed, and found it incredibly difficult to write.

But I will take it a word at a time, and a day at a time.

One word at a time.

Thank you, first of all, my dearest Zo. For all the happiness and the pain I cause you, for all the happiness and pain that you cause me, For all that you do that I don't see, For all that you are, For all that you are supporting me to be. I pray to the earth, to the heavens, the hells, that I am a better person to you, a better partner, a better love, a person who constantly affirms your being, and the worthinesss of your being.

Baby and I, over the past couple of weeks of travel, came upon some wonderful people  who have been so generous, who welcomed us, hugged us, fed us, provided safety, warmth and a myriad of advice about everything.

Roxanne in New Orleans, Elisha Hall and Sona Smith and their children Aya, Ameen and Ajani in Chicago, Moses Durolawo and his wife Margaret in Dallas, and Betty and Moses Achapa in Houston. I give thanks for the tangible and the intangible.

One word at a time.

I struggle, because there is just so much- too much- to say. So much it is crippling.  I find other things to do: wash dishes, wash the sink, pile books back into the shelves-even though baby about to scatter them about again... I find other things to do. Anything. Because I am afraid.I feel like the words just get loaded and stuck at my finger tips.

Tips are bloated, engorged with words.

One word at a time.

I have been surrounded by magic, transcendent power, and people, who have been holding me up, during this time, when I could not hold myself. When i have little consciousness of myself, in the physical and the metaphysical domain.

Lorenzo has been holding me up. He is holding me up.

Ominira holding me up.

Every morning, when she wakes up and climbs all over me, and presses her warm, soft chubby cheeks against mine. Pulling on my hands, rolling over, under, waking me up. Rise ma. Wake up ma.

Ominira took great care of me all through the trip.
Felt like she protected me.
She gave me plenty room to be.
She allowed me to walk, to see, to feel, to breathe.

Ominira who are you?
Ominira who are you?

Where are you from my baby?


One word at a time.

Priestess came around. Priestess. Seer. Powerful, wonderful, warm black sister Phy. Priestess brought healing to my husband and warmth to my home. Brother Onyx Ashanti, powerful, creative, warrior man, brought shango down on us- called us to our own, affirmed that we are at the cusp and we just need to be, to do what we know to do. Powerful, restorative conversations a few nights after we arrived from New orleans.


I stand with thousands.

I am calling on these thousands.

I can not be alone.

I can not do alone.


I am calling you.
I am calling the dead and the living.
You, reading this.
You, whose music I play when writing this.
You who nurtured me when I had limited consciousness.
You who loved me when I couldnt/ wouldnt love you.
You standing next to me.
You human being, who I am a part of, as we are all a part of each other.
You trees, rivers, birds, worms,
You earth.
You without whom I would not exist.
You whom I interact with as I exist.

I am calling you.
I need you.
Hear me.
See me.
Embrace me.
Walk with me.
Allow me to be.
Just to be.

Ashei.

"I come as one, but i stand with thousands"- Mama Maya Angelou

I am grieving tonight

I am grieving tonight,
10 years later,
I am grieving tonight,
In this place,

for the dead,
for their loved ones,
for their friends,
for this city here,
I am grieving tonight,

New Orleans,

Katrina,

When the levees broke,

When our peoples died.
When our fathers died.
When our mothers died.
When our sisters died.
When our brothers died.
When our children died.

Left homeless,
Diseased,
Dispersed unwittingly across the nation,
Leaving behind all hard earned wealth and creation,
Lineage,
Memories of struggles and celebration,

Absolute devastation.
Pain.

Desperation.

Waiting on rooftops and attics,
3 days or more
with no food,
no water or medication,


Humiliation by the guardians of the nation,
Who took forever to send a worthy delegation,
To help remediate a critical situation.

I am grieving tonight.
Restless,
Heavy,
Can't sleep good tonight.

New Orleans,

Katrina,

When the levees broke.

Drowning in sorrow,
Drowning in tears,
Spirits whisper in my ears,
I hear loud and clear,

Wailing.

It has been 10 years.

Rest in peace my dears.

Do beers pour on Bourbon,
as offerings for the dead,
bodies lost,
do you hear them,
in your head,
talking,
walking down the quarter,
drunken and raving in the morning like mad,
can't you see why the Mississippi is sad?
weary,
writhing,
winding across the sand,
people wailing, waiting desperate for a hand,
swallowed by tragedy,
by poverty,
by prejudice,
and indifference,
all around,
how can you stand,
by on Bourbon and revel like a clown,
while this city watches with a frown,
as your pour your beers on down,
without reverence,
without rememberance,
of the restless spirits that here abound.

I missed him yesterday, and I will miss him tomorrow

He is such a delicious man.
I miss him already.
I missed him yesterday and I missed him Monday morning, when he walked out the door.

He is in Athens, Georgia for the week.
Work.
Gogo, our cat is at Greg's.
The house is cold and empty now.

Save for the mice and squirrels in the rafters.
Scratching occasionally at the drywall,
Nibbling,
Dropping something,
Hobbling between cramped dark spaces.

A generous application of mothballs didn't deter them. And we learned, after the fact, that they are carcinogenic. Oops!

I was thinking about him,
The way I used to think about him when we first met.
When things were uncertain,
But magical,
When time spent together felt like eternity.

Dancing late at night after work,
In his bedroom,
In that raggedy house on Kensington.
We danced almost every night.
We danced to Gregory Isaacs, Beres Hammond, Freddie McGregor, Marley,
And we would melt into each other,

Tug at each other's bodies,
Whirl each other across the room,

Laughter,
Silence,

Magic.

I remember.
Everything.
The first time.
The second.
The third.

Rocking.
Knocking on the bed and the walls.

He is such a delicious man.
I miss him already.
I missed him yesterday and I missed him Monday morning, when he walked out the door.
And I know I will miss him tomorrow.

Leo ni Leo, Msema Kesho Ni Mwongo

Leo ni leo, Msema Kesho ni Mwongo.
Today is the day. he who says tomorrow is a liar.


I am thrusting myself into the unknown.
There is nothing else left to do.

A college degree is nothing.
I bemoaned it the other day.
Buried it.

4 years and almost $200,000 and for what?
Where will doors open for saying I got a degree in Political philosophy and constitutional demagogy?
What does that even mean anyway?
I was so naive. So gullible.


Firstly, I know now, all degrees are not equal. Even though they are often (over-)priced the same, or almost the same.
I also know, that unless you are doing very technical courses, or you can piggy back your way through college on scholarships, college is only as useful as the relationships and experiences on and around campus.
You are paying $50,000 per year to commune with white folk, black folk, latino folk, chinese folk, and if lucky, pick up a few critical thinking skills.
I am opposed to industrial education's monopoly over education.
I would encourage any young fella, including my own proginy to think critically about the societal nudges towards industrial education, all the way from kindergarten and preparatory schools to higher-ed.
There is too much out here that we miss out on.
By the time we realise it, we are in too much debt, we have taken whatever white collar or blue collar was available, and are slaving away through the rest of our adult lives.

There are so many ways of learning, and so many alternative models of very credible educations.
I am learning about these every day, as I connect with worlds of people and professions that were alien to me.

Acirema has a lot of hidden gems.Perhaps this was the perfect place to build momentum for a lifestyle that is non-mainstream.

I am building a nest here, but I know I can't only nest here.
But I am here now.
Life is happening here now.The voyage begins tomorrow.
Chicago.Dallas.Houston.New Orleans.Detroit.
I have been preparing for this voyage for 2 months, and probably my whole life.
My intention is sunshine, rejuvenation, and rest. I am opening myself to new connections, places and possibilities, as i prepare to lunge into the work that I am passionate about (outside of mainstream employment).
I need to get out into the world.
I needed to crack my back.

Get out of the house and feel some sun on my face.
Purge this stuffy,stagnant energy threatening to cripple even my imagination.
To breathe.
To stretch my arms out and walk down streets.
A reason to dress up cute.
A reason to feel good.

Sometimes, you have to leave.
I have been needing to leave.
For a minute.

Chicago?
Chicago?

Give me energy Chicago.
Give me love Chicago.
Give me energy Chicago.
Give me love Chicago.

Acirema.
America.

Feels so alien to me.
Here I come.
Ashei.
Let it be.