Nerea

My dani, my dad's mama was called Nerea.

She was buried when I was about 5 years old. In a grave next to which most of her children now lay. In Ingotse village, Kakamega.

I have a picture of her on our altar , in our home in Detroit. It is a picture that has her, my kwaru, my baba, my mama, Sammy and Jesse. I was not yet born. I had carried what I could carry of my family when I came.

Most of my family is very far away.

My only real memory of her, Nerea, was when she and kwaru saw me licking Milo out the palm of my hands, from a can in the cupboard somewhere. We lived in Upperhill, Nairobi back then. Milo is like drinking chocolate, but has crunchier and bigger grains, that i loved to roll in my mouth as I slowly beckoned them to dissolve into me.

It must have looked delicious, because within minutes they had beckoned and I was swiftly scooping ample amounts of milo into their palms for them to lick too.

Save from the occasional live chickens sent from dala, from grandma, and possibly gunias of sweet potatoes, or peanuts, I can't remember anything else substantial about her.

But then this:





I can't stop playing it.

The song, unbeknownst to them, is named after my dani, and it talks about every child's potential to be anything, and everything, and urges Nerea, not to have an abortion, because, the baby daddy will take care of the baby.

Firstly,
Feminists,
Sit down.

I know.
And I agree.
Complexities lacking and inadequacies abound.
And i agree,
Not all plates are full. There is entrenched poverty and systematic repression of so many classes and ethnicities among the masses.

But for a minute,
Empathise,

With all the women who never get to have a baby daddy willing to support their babies.

Empathise,

With the women who are so distraught when they find out they are pregnant, they aren't in the best psychological space to make the best decision for them/their baby/their family....
The women who never have the capacity to see the possibilities within their future children, because their heavy burdened with the material challenges associated with pregnancy and child rearing.

I have a bias against abortions.
But it happens.
I would like for women to have the opportunity then, to really have as many options layed out for them in terms of pregnancy care and child support ...before we default to abortions.
Pro choice movements don't often really engage the choices that the various women have. Sometimes, abortion is a resort, not because a woman is definitively disinterested or unwilling to carry a baby to term, but because of very unfavorable and indequate accommodations in society for the mother-woman.

A beg,
They also had me with their wonderful video, harmonies and falsettos.
They also name dropped so many of my heroes, lupita, bambam, Maathai, Mboya, Nyerere, Makeba...

You know I also just love Sauti Sol. ( Amos and Josh were a perfect addition to this jam- can you hear Amos sang!!!!)

They are the dream.

Brothers going hard after their dreams, and then pumping so much of that Afrocentricity, motherland loving....mmmh!


Nerea,

As a mother, it is wonderful to be reminded, about Ominira's  unlimited possibilities for self actualization and success.



As a daughter, it is wonderful to be reminded too, that I am significant, and I am capable, of being someone of great value to my community. I can. Even when it feels like I am going nowhere. I can. I am. Wanted. Wantable. Loved. Loveable. Significant.

Isn't it wonderful, to hear your dad or your mum say, I will take care of you. I want you?

Isn't it wonderful to know you are wanted?

Mmmh.
But what of Dani then?

I don't know....
Maybe this is a mystical message from her...ay, there aren't too many Nereas out there....and that name choice was quite errr...specific..

Got me thinking of Dani though. Got me remembering that I have peoples who love on me somewhere back home, and I should not forget that.

Mother of mothers,

Did dani imagine, she would have a grandbaby like me? Growing alot apoth , alot boo, ododo and chickens in Detroit? Did she imagine that I would be galavanting majuu with a black American moran, digging earth and building village, hustling and bustling towards dreams and desires?

Thank you Sauti Sol, Amos and Josh.
erokamano Dani.

Massage my sole

I struggle to find the right kind of music to massage my sole. Right now, i can feel the tingling, at the root of my toes in my right foot, running down the heart of my foot, circling the ball, and then up through to the tip of my toes.
I need something soft, concordant, perferably rich with minor keys. I need something that will usher peace, tranquility and transcendence. I need to travel back in time, emotionally and psychologically, to the various places where i have found comfort, strength and most importantly purpose.
Things seem to come together and then they don't.
Proverbial carrot stick in front of an ass.
I see it.
But I am getting tired.
I wish I had more of the time to do what I would love to invest myself in. The stuff that's really really about me. Not just sustenance. I am talking talent, passion, communion.
John legend.
From the Album Evolver.
Massage my sole.
Massage my soul.

I need, I don't just want

I need to make music.
I need to partake in the process.
To bathe in discordant chords..
To get lost.

I listen to music.
And I am like,
I need to do that.
I need  to be in that work.

I don't want.

I need.

Music is so powerful.
So intense.

Texture.
Depth.

I can feel it in the soles of my feet.
And in the nape of my neck.

The vibrations.
The sensations.

I can feel everything.
In that moment.

I am enlightened.

Unburdened.

I need.I don't just want.

show me who you are, we are alone now...

This is my America

I am about to make a film.
A big ol badass revolutionary film.

But I am not a filmmaker.

I am a person who loves, lives for, spaces where people are vibing hard. Great conversations. Talking about hawt n spicy stuff. Spaces where ideologies are flipped on their heads. Where people break into sweat. Where teeth are ground and bared.

I am here to create such spaces.
I been here for that.

Detroit.

Building from the bottom in Detroit.

This is my America.

Where everyone around me is grappling with one of the most brutal evils of our time: the systematic disenfranchisement of working class folk by the institutions and means of capitalism.

This is my America.

Where I quiver to be walking down the streets of Grosse Pointe after dark with my husband, because  I now understand, and I can feel that we are not wanted there.

This is my America.

Where I am angry, disappointed and untrusting of the guild of whiteness. Where I am no longer shielded by the appeal of Africanah exoticism, and I am no longer inclined to wave my Kenyan passport, or smile at white auntys' fascination of my eloquence and civilized dimeanor.

This is my America.

Where poverty is masked by credit debt, big houses, big cars, endless work days and deep dissatisfaction.

life here ain’t no crystal stair.
It has tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.


This is my America.

Spirits bawl in these broke down homes,

Death.

Agony.

Why aren't we wailing?

Have you walked around these sides?

Detroit?

Stripping down

all that love made in our homes,

all that love-

great conversations caught in walls,

stories,

journeys.

cousins thrown out in the streets,

because of them financial piranhas and thieves,

because of a game we can never win.

because of chasing this here American Dream.


No glitz and glam hereabouts.

Not in this my America.


Ahh.

Aaaahhhhh.

He saw my name and greeted me,

Ba wo ni,  Àlàáfíà ni
And no kidding,

I heard
Atieno, Idhi nade
Uber driver, yesterday.
He had spoken to me in Yoruba, and I heard him speak in Dholuo.

What?

Picking me and Ominira from Grosse Pointe too.

What is this?

Abeg,

America.

Sé dáadáa ni.

I am packing for just one night

Below is a segment of transcript from a CBC radio show I was listening to yesterday [ my 25th Bday]:

 In 2006, the Heat wasn't supposed to get into the finals. Even though they had Shaquille O'Neal, they were overshadowed by many more powerful teams. But under Riley's insightful coaching, they made it to the championship.
The Heat were playing the Dallas Mavericks for the NBA title, and were ahead three games to two, and only had to win one more. But the last two games were scheduled to be played in Dallas, the Mavericks' home court.
Statistically, the team with home-court advantage wins three out of every four series in the playoffs.
And the Heat's handicap would be most intense in the seventh game. If they lost the sixth, winning the seventh game in an enemy stadium would be almost impossible.
But Riley felt certain his team could beat the Mavericks as long as they were convinced they could. He had to make his players believe they could win the championship in game six.
Because he didn't want them having to play that dangerous seventh game in the Maverick's house.
So... how did he motivate his players to win game six?
He simply told the team the whole story of their upcoming victory in a single line:
He told everyone to pack for just one night.
Not two. Just one small overnight bag.
That simple line telegraphed Riley's intention that there was not going to be a seventh game.
That his team wouldn't need a second change of clothes because they were coming home the night of the sixth game as NBA World Champions.
He told it. They felt it.And they did it.

I am packing for just one night too.
That is my resolution.
I have been working towards this resolution for a while now.

25 years old.
There has been a lot of life lived.
So much and yet at this instant, it feels like nothing.
All that is tangible is the here and now.
Bittersweet.

If I hit the jackpot, well and good.
If I don't, die trying.

No more room for can't.
Not when I am alive.

One bag.

This is it.

Am bringing you with me,
If you will.

Ashei.

Farming my way back home

It feels like I was bucked by a horse.
My thighs are sore and I have this terrible wobble.
I was farming into the night yesterday: tearing up clods of earth with my jembe, creating borders, mounds and pits to plant our seedlings.
I was frustrated that we are buying greens, when we can put these seeds into the earth and have our own. I went hard. A bit too hard maybe.

I was thinking,
Funny, my primary occupation,is farmer, just like my grandfather in Kakamega.
I am in America, and i work the soil, love the soil, pray pon the soil, like my grandfather is doing now, thousands of miles away.
And wow!
So much for that $50,000 a year college Degree...(you can take the woman out the land, but you can't take that land out the ...)
I was thinking about how therapeutic plowing earth, pinching soil, tugging at weeds, and designing this paradise is.
How natural it feels.
How it teleports me back home.
How I am suddenly in conversation with my mum, her mum, her mum's mum and the dynasty of women whose blood, love, memory and energy runs through my veins.
Ashei.

I don't know much about where I am going (professionally), but I know that farming is fundamental. {growing food is ) as essential as drinking water. It should be as common a practice.

At the moment, we have spinach, lettuce, collards, kales, cabbages in already. Theres tonnes of other seedlings germinating in the greenhouse, just waiting to be grounded.The workload is mounting, but the weather will not give!!!

It snowed today. Too cold for a grind. I was all ready to get the work in but, by now you know I don't play with Michigan cold. Hellurrrr!

I started farming proper, 3 years ago, at lilac community gardens, a parcel of land donated by Michigan State University to the city's food bank. I started because Baba Chiengbeng signed up for a plot of land, while we were still in college, but before he could get into it, had to go to Florida for a summer Yoruba program. I was initially reluctant about the whole idea, especially since the plot was a significantly long walk from our apartment, but somebody needed to water the crops.

He was an Agribusiness major so the farming came naturally. It took a minute for me, but you know, once you start tending to the garden you can't stop. You stumble into loving before you know it, and I was there every evening, after my work shifts, hauling water in jugs and buckets from rainwater barrels and sometimes even a borehole several meters away from the garden.

Only pitch darkness sent me home...

Farming (in America) was always, for me, an opportunity to grow the kinds of foods my mum would cook, that I couldn't purchase in the store, or most certainly not expect to find in the college cafeteria.  I grew as many heritage crops as I could find with a vengeance. I grew a forest of black eyed peas at lilac, together with tomatoes, some other greens and pumpkins (malenge). Black eyed peas leaves are a delicacy in Western Kenya. Nyummmmz. Pumpkin leaves are delicious too, as are sweet potato leaves, African Spider Plant aka Saga, Huckleberry leaf aka Managu, nettle, and a few others I discovered and planted in Detroit.

Food is so important.

It is so powerful and healing.

Especially when you are far from 'home' and far from family and loved ones.

And then when you get into the soil, and start growing...you can't stop. It's exciting. It's intensive work- but its great work. It's not oppressive-work. It's loving work.

Today, as I am feeling my way through life, I am glad, excited, and affirming of the fact that I am continuing the work of many of my parents and ancestors. I am glad that I am touching the earth and swinging my jembe, and kneeling on this hallowed ground.

I am connecting dots.

I am understanding many things and accepting many things.

I am not alone.

I am not powerless.

I walk with thousands, and thousands, and thousands....

When I bend down and pray upon the earth, I call so many who have done so before me.

And when I lay that seed in that earth I lay it with love and say thank you. Grow well. And I lay it gracefully, make sure that it is comfortable, warm, cozy, and has access to all it needs, all that I can give, and all that I can not.

I praise the sun.
I praise the darkness.

I praise those that teach that we are all one, human and animal and plant and earth.
I praise those who teach that time is bending, is fluid, is malleable.
I praise those who liberate minds and spirits.

I pray for consciousness.
I pray for peace.
I pray for harmony
I pray for an end to the bullshit and the madness.
Whether it call itself capitalism, nationalism, tribalism, racism, sexism, colorism, religion, fiat money, corporatism, white-savior complex, white supremacy, (name that evil), (name that evil)

I pray for all of this and fling my hoe back onto the earth and keep on working.

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.

Lawd, I met a brother!

This is a great metaphor for the relationship I have had/continue to have with Lorenzo. Right off the bat, the relationship was intense, fiery and naked.

Keyword: naked*
giggles!

Lawd, I met a brother!

Children can drive you nuts!

Just saying,

Sometimes the whining is unbearable.

Sometimes the neediness is unbearable.

They just take take take from you.

I need a break too lil mama.

I need my body back too lil mama,

I need my own time too lil mama,

But she doesn't understand,

That she almost drives me nuts!

Sometimes!

And I get so frustrated,
Because it only makes me want my mummy.
But she is '000s of miles away.
Over a great evil sea and continent away.

I don't think I want to do this again.
Having children,
Coz children can drive you nuts!

Detroit is sticky

I don't want to get stuck.

Detroit is nice, most times, but not now, I need to get out.

I will go crazy if I don't.

Cooped up inside all day, because we too broke to pay, to prove to the state,

That I deserve to stay,

Green card process stalled indefinitely because we live below US poverty.

I am not allowed to work here. I am not allowed to make a dime.
 I cannot contribute, so how can we multiply ?

Income... meet requirements, and legalize my presence?

Its all about cash money here.

There is no love for the poor here.

But are we really poor here?

When we have homestead, grow food, and birds, and abundance of love here?

When we have framily all over the city and all over this nation supporting us here?

I don't know what to do, though, beyond what I have done, to seek out a suitable and willing sponsor. Its tricky when extended family is poor too. When the state requires us to  demonstrate an annual income of $30,000 as a family in order for me to be able to live in the light, but still won't give me a job, makes it impossible for me to work. Paradox.

Where are human rights in America?
Where are immigrants' rights in America?

Racists. Classists. Xenophobes!

But we are here.

But I am here.

I am here because of love and circumstance.

And if I am here, I deserve the right to live right.


It is my right to seek out employment or to make money through my own.

It is my right to move freely,

It is my right to belong.

But I cant.

Not legally yet.

Anyway.

Chicago, here I am

I have been to Chicago about 3 times before.

Downtown Chicago is wonderful. I am a big city girl. I thrive in the presence of people. I want to walk down streets filled with people...all sorts of people, that hustle. That Nairobi-like hustle.

If I can't have New York, I will take Chicago, gladly.

Down-town Detroit is good too. But not as good. Not as accessible on foot. Not bustling enough. Not too many colored folks running the show down there either.  Plus there is just too much bad press about Detroit, that holds people back from being in open space. People don't seem to just walk around downtown to walk. Everyone is going somewhere.

I enjoyed taking matatus downtown in Nairobi. No. 48 took only 20 minutes from our back door to the stage at Odeon, in the heart of the city,  except of course for rush hour. Two different matatu kanges' (ka-ngey-z, meaning psv conductors) were infatuated with me, and so they would wait on me when they saw me approach, clear out the best seats, and make sure I never paid my fare. I never thought I would be that girl getting favors from matatu kanges. I neither beckoned nor encouraged it, but I wasn't one to be rude or cold to conversation prompts with wananchi on the ride to town or back home...Besides, the brothers were young like me, and one was really cute.

I certainly hoped that I would never get on a mat chaperoned by any of my crushes while with my mum. Kanges' have the worst rep, only second to Mpigs (dishonorable members of parliament) back home...and I had been the head prefect of Alliance girls...goddess forbid I be known to be dating a kange. I did not need any more drama.

There is nothing that compares with matatus here. Nothing with that level of chaos, culture and convenience all at the same time. Public service vehicles, in East Lansing, Lansing, Chicago and New York are closely regulated and run on tight predefined schedules. Matatus and buses at home, in Nairobi are the complete opposite, but they have their perks too, since they are able to take liberties with their routes and pick up or drop off sometimes as close as your front door- instead of a designated stage.There must be abundant literature out there about how matatus have been central in the creation and the modulation of much of Nairobi's culture: the good, the bad and the ugly. Of particular interest to me is the appraisal of local hip hop and pop music, which I have come to appreciate so much more during my time in America and, on a darker note, the misogyny, violence and masochism, expected of an informal industry dominated by young, under-educated, under-employed men with a lot of pent-up sexual frustration, and perverse moral conditioning.

I would dare to compare matatus with public transport in Detroit, if only for a minute, but almost argue that Nairobi has it even better. Detroit's transit system is inadequate for the size of the city, is hopelessly unreliable in most lowerclass neighborhoods, and features some of the rudest black folk working you will ever meet this side of the Atlantic. So unfortunate for the city that delivered the automobile to the world to be one of the worst places to own ( highest auto-insurance costs in the nation) and use one.

Chicago though.

Chicago meant Oprah for the longest, and then Obama, and then...

I am not sure what Chicago has to offer me.

But Chicago feels good.

It feels very good.

I have connected with a number of sisters and brothers whom I will either live with or meet during my stay, who are invested in "healing" work and the work of rebuilding communities around collective spaces, sustainable urban agriculture, art and transcendence.

I connected with Elisha today, for instance, a brother whom I now know through my wonderful friend Crystal, a badass capoeira/marshall arts/yogi/ healer in Detroit. He has three children, the youngest being 13 months, only a few behind Omi, and is working on a housing collective project in Chi town, that will do some of the things we have been doing at our own homestead in Detroit- hosting and accommodating peoples interested in all aspects of earthship, social justice, communing and transcendence.

Jessi from Freedom Freedom Gardens had also generously opened up her own space to me, where she lives when she is teaching- apparently she is a professor- a couple times a week in Chicago, then she comes back to Detroit to build, to farm, and to commune just a couple of streets, a few blocks up the road from us.

So many friends and friends of friends reached out to accommodate me, I had to choose, and determined this by proximity of their homes to downtown Chicago. I don't drive yet, and would not want to be cooped up because of hefty transit costs.

I am going to Chicago.

I am going to absorb and to interact with the energies of the masses of people flowing by.

I am going to say, Chicago, here I am.

I am present.

I am going to look at Harpo towers and say, Oprah, I been seen you all these years on TV, and Now, here I am. I don't need to write you long distance letters. I am touching this space. I am worthy of this space.

I am going to take Omi to see Obama's house and tell her, nyathi, here it is, here you are, just like him. There is nothing to hold you back.

There is nothing to hold us back.

We are present.

We are ready.

From common cold to breast cancer

I was reading an article this afternoon, about how the stigma about women's menstruation, periods, is a cause of serious gynecological problems that many women experience further along in their life, in America.

As I was reading it, I remembered two things, the first being that I just had a dream last night, in which I was having my period, as I am now, ( I have a fullmoon cycle), and I jumped into a swimming pool at an evening party, and spread clots of blood in it. No one noticed, of course, until much later, when there was light. And no one could determine who had caused it, since it had been night time, but I knew, and I was ashamed, and disgusted, as I looked on at the streaks of blood running through the pool, shallow end to deep end.

I usually have very lucid dreams. In fact, Lorenzo really thinks I should try magic mushrooms, as a result, and tap into what could well be a natural gift- the ability to have tremendously vivid experiences in this alternate dimension we offhandedly call dreams.

The second thought crossed my mind, at precisely the moment i read the passage below, which talks about the significance of including men, and fathers into the conversation on menstruation.

"Malinski, who has also tried, with less success, to get men to sign up for a puberty workshop with their daughters, says that involving fathers in the conversation on menstruation is a key to erasing that unease. “Men being able to talk to their daughters about that would be incredibly empowering and normalizing.” -Lisa De Bode

I had told my dad that I had a persistent cold and needed to see a doctor. He obliged and soon we were at the Aga Khan hospital checking in, and I was in this pervy middle-aged man's office alone, while dad waited outside. The truth is I was not there because of a cold. I was there because of my excruciating menstrual cramps, and suspiciously long periods, and I needed to seek some professional assistance. Panadol couldn't do it any more.

The most absurd thing, besides the fact that I had to lie to my dad, about a very natural thing- periods- was that I left the doctors office with a diagnosis of breast lumps and urgent instructions to undergo further examinations and eventually even had surgery. Now....here i was, telling dad, I am going into the doc's for some sore throat/cold watchumacall-it...and I come out and have to tell him,
"Ok, eh, dad, so they found breast lumps and I might need surgery".

Dad didn't say anything, fortunately, but it was all on his face...how did things turn up from cold to possible breast cancer in minutes?????

Ahh...its all about that shame. That shame surrounding menstruation, periods, rolling, auntie flo, florider, and all the other names we have conjured to obscure the experience as much as possible from the rest of the XY population.

Now, as if matters couldn't have been worse, I was also feeling absolutely VIOLATED by that pervy doctor, who had a list of the lewdest questions to ask me when I told him that I was having irregular and painful periods, (digging incessantly into a sexual history that I didn't even have, and going only short of charging that I was lying). He was not content with me telling him that I was a virgin, and had some issues with my menstrual cycle. He was also trying to prod for some type of STI history....if I can recall correctly, and then out of the blue, he said, he needed to check me for breast lumps. I was reluctant, but he said it was protocol, and I was powerless.

Checking for breast lumps meant pressing and pinching fingers liberally over , under, into my breasts for what seemed ages.

I hated it.

I hated him.

He then said that he needed to do some type of swab in my vagina for God Knows What ...but for that procedure he would call a female nurse to be present.

It was still horrible.

This was my first really invasive medical procedure, and the doc had already acted suspiciously enough, and I only thought his old ass was being a pervert!

I just remember having to spread my legs further and further apart, and being urged to relax. Relax? How on earth could I relax?

Meanwhile, through all this, I had no agency, and no parental assist.

Dearest dad was outside in the waiting area, thinking all I had was a cold.

Mothers Need Help: Depressive episodes during child bearing and nurturing

This is to all my mothers out there, and the communities of people that go out of their way to help us, even when we are too shy/proud/worn out/ to ask for help. It is also a call to us, to be sensitive to mothers, and to be aware that they are very vulnerable, and need all the help that they can get. Birthing and raising a human being is supernatural work. It takes so much out of us, our bodies, and our energies, and we are sometimes left with too little energy/love/time/ for ourselves.

Say something...

I needed to say something.
To you.
It has been a minute.

There has been a lot going on, and I have been dying to talk to you, but I couldn't. Sometimes, I would just talk to you in my mind. I want to. But sometimes, it is too much of a hustle, or I am tired, or I have a house to clean and a baby clinging onto my hip.

I don't know how good my writing is anymore. I am certain that my writing could be better, worthier, cleaner, etc, but I am in a different place right now. I can't dwell on that right now. I am in transition.

Like, when I was pregnant, and sick, and I couldn't do shit. I had stopped doing those things that I love: writing, playing/performing music, poetry, and of course radical (socio-political) activisms. When I had the baby, I wanted to talk to you. To tell you everything. Every day. But I couldn't. I tried, once in a while I was able to sneak in some video logs, but not nearly as much as I would have loved.

Right now, I am coming out the other end of that tunnel. Baby is a lot less determined to dominate my attention all through the day, and I can get her distracted by putting on either Beyonce, Elani, Ubongo Kids or Tinga Tinga. I am keeping up a lot more, with showers, for example, and the dishes, and the
general housekeeping. I am at 60% efficiency I can say. Much of this I will credit to Kai and Akashi who helped me clean up and rearrange the kitchen and living room and get into a good habit of clean as you go, keep the visible areas clean and you won't get overwhelmed with the chores

...I really needed to say something...

I wanted to talk.
I needed to talk.

I wanted to tell you, that there is some great news! Through Baba Malik Yakini of DBCFSN, I have connected with a sister in New Orleans who is willing to host us for the full week, at her mom's mini apartment, for a nominal cost of $100. Give thanks!! New Orleans was the goliath! I could hardly find any African connections there, and the accommodation costs on cheaper websites like airbnb were about to cost me about $400.

New Orleans.
May my spirit be elevated in that place. May I find the nourishment, inspiration and affirmation to define and work as a lover of beautiful things, maker of beautiful colorful things, clothing, spaces, food, relationships and so much more.

New Orleans,
Rekindle my love for music, poetry, and self expression. Empower me to be me, and to be present in my voice, and my words. Empower me to be these wonderful things that I want to be. Empower me to do these wonderful things that I want to do.

Ashei.Ashei.Ashei.

I also was welcomed by a Kenyan family in Houston Texas- wait- multiple Kenyan families, and mostly women (how fantastic is that- hello feminism), following my sharing my story about my voyage on a Kenyans in Houston facebook group that I came upon.
The team in Houston is amazing. So much energy and generosity was out-poured following my request, and I was both awed and overwhelmed. I am looking forward to visiting. I think I would  love to live in Houston, seeing as there are so many Kenyans there that seem to be so close-knit and open to communing.

Can I hear an Ashei?
Ashei.

Just tonight, I was on couchsurfing.com, for the umpteenth time, looking for prospects in Dallas, when I came upon a Nigerian family that opens their homes to wanderers/travellers and quickly wrote them. In a few hours, BOOM! Positive response, and I was so excited, I am so excited, because I will be staying with a family, and families are generally safer, and more comfortable and familiar with the hustle of a young baby and her aspirational moms.

Conversation with Moses and Margaret, Hosts in Dallas

Ashei-o!

I have sent tonnes of messages on couch-surfing and through African associations in Chicago, for the past couple of weeks, looking for a place to stay too. I am very hopeful. I know something good will turn up.

Matter of fact, a Luo lady from Chicago already contacted me and offered me a place, but advised that she lives deep in the surburbs, and transportation to the heart of the city would be hectic. She is open to accommodate us, but I am keeping my options open because access to the heart of the city is essential for me, since I am not trying to be cooped up in a house, or spent out on public transit vehicles.

Well, there,

That is the good news.

Bad news is that we had a huge disagreement with our landlords, who haven't paid $3,500 taxes on our home, which is now, as a result, scheduled for foreclosure in March. Yes, this March 2015!|

They are also trying to sell the house to us for $10,000, in spite of the fact that they just bought it about 5 years ago, for $4000 via a tax auction.


The house is old, and was in disrepair just before we moved in. Among other structural issues that have been addressed or are in process, its roof is almost in shambles, and our water isn't even legally
turned on. For a long time after we moved in, deep into the winter, we did not even have a working furnace for heat. Most of the financing for renovations have been footed by my husband, Lorenzo.

We have lived here for abut 19 months.

The most unfortunate thing about this is that the landlords are my in laws.
Family drama galore.

There is a whole load of bullshit that I had enough of.
I was absolutely incensed and I went at it with Lorenzo's dad earlier this evening.

It is ridiculous to talk about securing family dynasty and running game on your own kids.
We have refused to pay any more rent until they pay their long overdue taxes, or work out an arrangement to do so, before WE are foreclosed on and evicted by the city of Detroit.

We have been meaning to buy the house from them for a long time now, and have had numerous discussions on it, which stalled because of unreasonable price quotes, once which was $20,000.
The most recent was $10,000 cash upfront.

The inlaws own at least 6, maybe more other properties, different from the one in which they currently reside in. Most of these were purchased dirt cheap, and are also in disrepair.

Several are also at risk of foreclosure, this March.

Drama dot com.

I am trying to find the good in this mess.

Well, this is all I can say for now.
I might have about 10 minutes more to myself before baby wakes up to 'nyo'.

"Nyoooooo"

"Onyoooo"

I never thought about breastfeeding when I was baby-feverish.
Its like a fulltime job.
And she can turn up like nobody biznas if you try deny her.

Goodnight.
Yo!

To my sisters I call this

I want to be naked to you
Open, honest and available to you
Pure in intention
No skeletons with you
New born love child, I want to be
Innocent with you, purity
Sinless with you
No layers, just me, just you
No judgement
Just wisdom, just truth
The luxury of reliving my youth
Day one
Can I be reborn with you.
Before the fabrication
Before the stories, before the lies
I want to be with you, who I was in the skies.
-Kai Sa'Rah

I never thought I would connect meaningfully with African American sisters.

Kai Sa'Rah

Much of the beef between Africans and African Americans, in my circle of friends involves African American women. Sisters were hardly accessible to me, even though I never ever had any conflicts with them.
I had tried repeatedly, to connect with them during the early days of my freshman year at Michigan State. I would join their tables, in Case Hall cafe: "excuse me, is there anyone sitting here?" and plonk down as soon as anyone of them signaled in the affirmative, perhaps more so to keep in line with anti-discrimination rules rather than preference.

It hardly ever was worth the trouble. After reluctant salutations, the conversation at the table would continue as if I wasn't even there. I can't imagine what's worse.

Brothers saw me though. Brothers saw my body. I wasn't invisible to them, at least.

I d.e.f.i.n.i.t.e.l.y saw brothers.

Case Hall, my hall, was the hall that accommodated the Spartan football team. Lord have mercy.
Matter of fact, there was this one footballer,a delicious brother, half African American, half Belizean, with whom I had got quite chatty. Chatty enough that he was in my room one time with his shirt off showing me his tattoos.

Lord have mercy.

Haaaaaa!

Sisters that I could call sisters, have been few and far between...until Detroit.

Sheheriana

Tonight, for instance, I just had an absolutely amazing time, at an impromptu cook-out and dinner with Akashi, Kai ( both of whom are sisters, and have been visiting with us for a couple of weeks) and some new friends, Kemet and Sheheriana.

Kemet

It was the intensity of the energy, the sincerity and sisterhood, this evening, as we bared ourselves to each other, that compelled me to reflect on black sisterhood in America, and the latent conflict that exists between sisters from murikah, and those fresh off the boat.

I don't even know if I have the energy to do justice to the evening that was.

Between the vegan/raw-food chef Akashi's sensually massaged, delicious red cabbage salad, the nori and fresh collard leaf rolls, sauteed onions, mushrooms, broccoli and zucchini we had a feast!

We were in the kitchen prophesying great futures, liberated futures, and rebuking deferred dreams.





Sheheriana explained that her intention was to create space for communion and engagement: in kitchens, in homes, through interpersonal contact and exchanges and through other artistic and literary mediums.


 Startled, I shared that I had just updated my online profile, reflecting my own intention or mission, and it read just about the same!

My beloved sister, Akashi Journi

Kemet also happens to be planning her own get-away, a get-away from Detroit for her own transition and rejuvenation, incentives which have been at the core of my intended journey South to Texas and Nawlins.

We are on such similar journeys, and we were all ready. We are all ready. Ready to claim our right to live our dreams. We are doing it already, Kemet pointed out, that my kitchen, and home had become that space, where we were converging energy, love and sisterhood.

I met Akashi one night on a bus from East Lansing to Detroit, as I came back home from a hectic day of my senior capstone classes and, of course, expressing breast milk on a tight clock for my baby boony Ominira.


Madamest was adorned in beautiful ankara, lavish Africana jewellery and had lay a selection of crystals and herbs on the stowaway tray, which we would share.

I had to say hello.

"Who are you?"

It has been wonderful to have know Akashi and to have had the opportunity to host her and her (our) dear friend Kai.


They leave for Atlanta next Wednesday, and head on to Jamaica, for much of the same thing, really. Winter is drab. The sun brings abundance, healing and revitalization.

Head south if you can!


So many stories to share.
So little time.
But kidogo kidogo hujaza kibaba.

Ashei.

POVERTY IN AMERICA

When you think about stratification by class, America is like an hourglass. A bloated wealthy class, and a bloated class in poverty. The middle class, contrary to political rhetoric, is marginal, and shrinking. My professor, C.Stokes, at MSU would always talk about how so many Americans, too many, think they are middle class, when all reasonable statistical indicators showed they lived in poverty. But then, how could they be poor, when they had homes, and multiple cars, good clothes and time for leisure? I answer this using my observations and experiences of poverty in Detroit.

Because the black struggle is an African struggle

Que Selma soundtrack GLORY ft John Legend and Common

I want to be black with you,
brother,
I want to walk this Amerika with you,
brother,
East-side Detroit down Jefferson all day with you,
brother,
I want to talk about everything with you,
brother,
From Stokely and X, to Biggie and Wayne with you,
brother,

I want to be black with you,
brother,
I want to be black when the doors shut on you,
brother,
I want to be black when they cursin you out,
brother,
I want to be defiant with you,
brother,

To organize with you,
To march with you,
To set up blockades,
To abdicate,
To pick up arms with you,
brother,

So when they come at you,
I will fight for you,
I will die for you,
Brother.

        I want to be black with you,
        brother

If my right to partake in the black struggle was not granted solely by the fact that I am a black African, then the fact that my baby and my husband are black should suffice.

The black struggle in America is an African struggle. It is a global struggle too.It is a relentless struggle against colorism, racism, capitalism and poverty. A struggle that I engaged in firstly during my post-highschool educational experience at the African Leadership Academy in Johannesburg,

where I was spurred into Pan-Africanism by the powerful comradery that existed among our inaugural class.


It is the black struggle that led me to then question the pedagogy that underpins the curricula and management of the aforementioned institute, that I had once so sincerely exalted and appraised. Give thanks to the ALA for teaching us, above all, to be critical and inquisitive. For were it not for their liberating me to use my mind, and to have the confidence to question authorities, I would not have even been able to reflect on my own experience at the institute, much less raise the alarm on issues that I think starkly compromise the Afro renaissance agenda.

With the Activist, Filmmaker and Writer M.K. Asante Jr,
At the Annual Black Power Rally 2011

It is the black struggle that led me to seek communion between the African Students Union and the Black Students groups at Michigan State University, to meet and connect with my P.I.J partner in justice , to move to Detroit, to build, to farm, to re-imagine my identity, my place, and my value in this world.

It is the black struggle that has allowed me to move freely and safely in the US.
It is the black struggle that has allowed me to even consider pursuing my dreams in this place, and to work to materialize them.

It is the black struggle that gives me energy to live and to confidently embody my black form, to love it and to share it globally.It is the black struggle that has embraced me, here, as I am, has healed me, inspired me, and transformed me into a more conscious advocate for love and justice.



It is day to day here in Detroit,
the black struggle is,
resilient.
the black struggle has,
come a long long long way,
and yet still has a long ways ahead.

More power and gratitude.
All power to all people.

At the memorial ceremony for Mama Charity Mahouna Hicks, activist and farmer from Detroit 

Ashei.

*excerpt above was written by Atieno Nyarkasagam. For more of my poetry, click to visit ATYENO

There is no death

I have learned to use the language of 'energy' when I think about and talk about our existence, and our way of engaging with our circumstances, with other humans and other beings of the cosmos.

According to most scientific definitions, energy is the ability to do work.
Energy is power, strength and vitality.

The law of conservation of energy states that energy can not be created, and neither can it be destroyed. It can only change form. Further, the total amount of energy in the universe is constant.

We cannot create new energy that is not already present in the universe.

Now, let's substitute "energy" above with "the ability to do work"
Meanwhile, work is basically the ability to effect material change.
Let's also substitute "work" with "the ability to effect material change".

The law of conservation of energy, therefore, states that the ability to effect material change can not be created, and neither can it be destroyed. It can only change form. Further, the total amount of the ability to do work in the universe is constant.

We cannot create new ability to effect material change  that is not already present in the universe.

Ok.
Enter my hypotheses on spiritualism.

1. Reincarnation exists.

 Whatever energy anyone, such as a new born, brings into the world, has existed before. Their [enter synonyms of energy here : vitality, vibrations, chakras, air, presence, spirit etc] has existed before, somewhere in the universe, in some form or another.
According to the laws of conservation of energy, the total energy in the system of the universe, is constant, so there is nothing new evolved in a new birth of a child, for example, other than form.
Perhaps then, we can also suggest, that we too, are old souls in new skins. We have all been in this space of the universe before, in some type of shape or form, doing some kind of work or another.

2. There is no death

We just change form.  Our energy/vitality/ability to cause material changes never ceases, even when we die.

3. There is power in calling on those who have transitioned beyond the human form.

As above, the energy of the deceased never ceases, and neither does their ability to cause material changes. So why not reach out?

4. We shouldn't obsess about the human form

The form of the body is fleeting, so why get too attached? Make good use of it, nurture and enjoy it while you have it, but remain conscious that what is enduring is only energy, and that could manifest

in so many different forms.
Think about how we receive others too, check on our prejudices associated with bodies.

5. Commune with and nurture the different forms of matter on the earth/in the cosmos

Hey, who knows, that roach that you are just about to fumigate with some RAID or DOOM might be your great, great, great grand uncle Opiyo.
Perhaps, that patch of grass over there, or that bush of bougainvillea or that crop of cow peas are new forms of your own ancestors or friends.

Perhaps we ought to relate with the soil, the flora, fauna in our environment a lot more intentionally, and lovingly! Have you tried talking to your garden? Giving thanks before you slaughter or eat anothers' meat?

6.Harness energy from different tangible and intangible beings, to boost our own human energy

I am very big on aesthetics, and can speak from experience that the set up, decor, orderliness or cleanliness of a space that I'm in significantly influences my energy, and my performance.

I also intentionally work to boost up my energy by designing/decorating spaces that I live in or work in usually using artifacts, rich colors or textures that are meaningful to me. Music is also a very powerful energizing tool, and I have a range of songs, as most of us do, that I play on different occasions depending on whether I want to turn up or to chill out and relax. The same is often said of experiences at hair salons, spas and barbershops.

Food is another critically important source of energy, we can all agree, but we might not be sensitive to the impact that the quality of food, process of preparation and presentation my have in the food's overall energy value. Imagine a plate of delicious super-ripe deep fried plantains plated gently on a milky, white ceramic saucer and laid on a lavish and colorful ankara mat for a picnic outdoors.

Fried plantain

Now, imagine the same plate of delicious plantains scooped and plopped onto the same saucer, and shoved harshly onto your chest, "shika!" "Take!". The former experience uplifts you/your energy a lot more, because of the warmth and love that was used in the entire process of delivering the food to you.

Even though the nutritional gains are the same, in the hypothetical case above, the energy gains are different. And if we think that our inner person/soul/spirit/energy is more significant than our body, we ought to rethink EVERYTHING: how we relate with each other and with the earth, in order to truly uplift each other's energies and empower each other to effect greater material changes in this space.

Perhaps, we should also consider reaching out to intangible beings, such as people who are no longer present in the human form, to energize us...Perhaps we need to remember the deceased differently, not as past, but as present, but in different forms, working in different spaces, but still full of energy, and still connected to us meaningfully.

This makes sense to me. Even though I identify as an atheist, for purposes of differentiating me with the more dominant, popular and powerful religions of our time, I remain very open, inquisitive,  and willing to explore possibilities of alternative ways of being, living and navigating the earth in the human form.

Hmm...

My American experience has been central in my coming to birth. Plug. Majorie Oludhe Macgoye. Besides the existence of an arguably liberal culture, at least among communities of scholars at University, the opportunity to bump ideas with so many dissenters (against status quo: heterosexuality, patriarchy, religiosity racism, misogyny etc) allowed me to break with a lot of the dominant religious ideals and protocols that defined my life in Kenya, to question everything, and to freely re-imagine my 'spiritual' identity.

By the time of my graduation, though, I preferred not to indulge notions of spirituality, even those that came from communities of people that, like me, had unsubscribed to the language, philosophy and culture of Abrahamic faiths. I kept it simple. I had had it with anything too dogmatic, and anything that organized spiritual expression or monopolized it. I tried to keep it very scientific. I knew what I

knew, and what I didn't I didn't. Science can neither affirm nor deny the presence of 'spirits' or 'souls' for example, but can confirm the existence of energy. Scientific process allows us to hypothesize about the unknown, but we cant can't confirm something to be true or false without rigorous and repeated testing.

At this point in my life, however, I am open and leaning into this world of energy work and transcendence. I am still questioning, and wary, but willing to indulge this new world of thought, for a minute.

I need some help ..

Aiii Yai Yai!
Planning our trip to Chicago, Dallas, Houston and New Orleans has me at my wits end!
Surely, [the ability to live one's dream] can't be dependent on access to money.
It can't be about the money!


Because of a combination of early booking and providence, I bought my megabus tickets for the first leg of the trip for a total of $5.50.
I am not even kidding! That is a deal of a lifetime in itself, and a trip of this distance, by bus, should cost about $200.

How could I resist?

I bought a flight back home, on Spirit airlines for a $100 because I expect that baby Ominira will be tired of long bus journeys by then, and I will probably be tired of her too.

I chase my shot of radicalism with a sip of prudence.

I don't have much money.
I have $1000 available in my coffers, and I am selling as much of the household furniture, clothing and jewellery, I can do without, online on craigslist and etsy.

3 weeks, is a long time. An expensive time too, it turns out...as I work out the logistics of the trip.
Bombaclut!

On average, if I am unable to get a host family/home, I must expect to spend $40 per night in the cheapest motel or airbnb (a popular program that enables home owners all around the world to lease rooms for short periods online, cheaply). Not to mention travel expenses within the city, and groceries.

This is my budget for the trip so far:

Chicago: Feb 17th to 22nd
Airbnb for 6 nights: $40*6= $240
Cost of food for 1 week= $100
Cost of transport 1 week = $50
Grand total: ~$400

5 days in Dallas: Feb 24th to Feb 28th
Airbnb for 4 nights: $40*4= $ 160
Cost of food for 5 days= $75
Cost of transport = $50
Grand total = ~300

4 days in Houston: Feb 28th to March 3rd

Airbnb for 3 nights: $40*3= $ 120
Cost of food for 4 days= $50
Cost of transport = $30
Grand total = ~200

8 Days in New Orleans: March 3rd to March 10th

Airbnb for 7 nights: $40*7= $ 280
Cost of food for 7 days= $150
Cost of transport = $50
Grand total = ~480

Grand total estimate for the trip : 400+300+200+480
                                                    =1380
                                                    =~1400 to be safe.

Once I am done with my craigslist sales, I ought to have at least 1400, but I would like to limit my expenses for the trip as much as possible, by finding host families through my friends and networks, in those cities.
I am willing to buy and travel with my own air mattress, and sleep in the living room without a problem. I would just like a warm home, with trust worthy hosts, a kitchen, and good travel options so that baby can experience as much of the cities as possible.
I would appreciate the opportunity to visit with fellow Africans in the diaspora, more than anyone else, though. In Dallas and Houston, where there are tonnes of Kenyans, for example, I would be grateful to connect with women, or families who would be comfortable with accommodating us, and happy to throw in some money for their trouble.

I would love to have a very rooted, local experience in New Orleans too, and have both baby and I experience the potent intersection of creole, African and Black culture, through connecting with black sisters, brothers and families during our stay. I am reaching out. There aren't many brethren leasing space on airbnb or couchsurfing.com and I am working on calling hair salons, africanah restaurants, organizations and even churches if all else fails.

I mostly need assistance with accommodation.
If I could have that taken care of, I would not be pinching my pennies, and more comfortable in case of any emergency.

In this same breathe, I thought it wise to reach out to you, my friends and supporters, to contribute in whatever way you can to my journey, and my literary/flim project de facto.

This is my  list of needs:
1. Host families in Chicago, Dallas TX, Houston TX, and New Orleans. Also, any financial contribution to the expense of leasing housing space will also be welcomed and highly appreciated.

2. A Tablet device with a good camera.
Costs between $200 and $300 depending on the brand (I had a Nexus 7 but baby cracked mine, and it was perfect for taking videos of myself, by myself!!!)

3. A cheap but functional laptop.

My problematic laptop

 My laptop's entire keypad is out of order, and I usually plug in a PC keyboard to type. My battery is also no longer functional and I have to keep the machine plugged in to work. Any bumps on the bus can turn it off. This was the laptop I had since freshman year of college. Not good for a budding professional writer at all.

4. Double AA batteries.
 I will need tonnes. I am recording audio podcasts throughout the journey and will be interviewing Africans I meet about their 'pursuit of the American dream' or 'the pursuit of their own dreams in america'.  My journalist friend, Zak Rosen, who previously worked for Detroit's public radio WDET has been a very strong supporter of my work, and purchased an amazing recording device for me to use, and to interview conveniently.

My voice recorder

4. Any suggestions about people and places that I should visit in the said cities. I am particularly interested in people who are self employed, doing what they love, and/or living off-the-grid. I would be happy to visit with urban farmers, crafty artists, activists and organizers.

5. Any contributions towards travel expenses will also be appreciated. I would like to purchase abundant dried nuts, preserved fruit, and healthy snacks for myself and baby for the road.

Mixed bag of nuts, raisins, currants and cranberries.

If you are willing and able to make any financial contribution, you can do so directly to my paypal account through the email: imbuchiw@msu.edu
If you are not familiar with paypal or would like to contribute in another way, you can use Western Union or Moneygram.

You can contact me further at :
winnie.imbuchi@gmail.com
1-313-739-0989

I am a stay at home mother, with no legal authority to work in the USA, and have not been able to commercialize any of the work I do, to contribute to our family income. My Green Card application is in process as we speak, and it takes upto 3 months after they receive all documents, to grant me a new immigrant status, as well as a work permit.
As it is, Lorenzo, my husband is the sole breadwinner, and I am looking for all ways possible to ease the financial pressure of this trip, hopeful that the work I will be able to do, on myself and on my writing, will facilitate my entry into the work force, into a field that I love.

I put my need and my desire into the universe.
With lots of gratitude in advance.

Ashei.