(scene from Spike Lee's famous School Daze) A few weeks ago, my sorority held its national convention on New Orleans. Coincidently, another fraternity was also holding their national convention in New Orleans. Naturally, the jokes, mostly in jest, played upon the fact that these two groups, full of single, attractive and smart folks would be "on the prowl" and looking to "hook up" in the city known for its strong drinks, Southern heat, and hospitality. It was all jokes until nastiness decided to rear its ugly head. You had men in the other fraternity sexually harassing and being obscene to my sorority sisters who just wanted to have fun and handle the business of the sorority (and network.. and yes.. meet men in a somewhat safe space). There were stories of men groping women. Men saying disgusting things and then being like "Well fuck you then" if women rejected them. You would HOPE and think that college-educated men wouldn't act this w...
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When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I didn't want to know the gender. I was adamant. So was my husband. We wanted to be surprised. For us, it was simple: I didn't want to pigeonhole my kid into a gender specific way of being from birth. Baby R would be a baby. Period. Knowing the sex isn't what concerned us most. Because my pregnancy was so difficult, all I cared about was if the kid was going to be healthy. But we had no idea how folks were so obsessed with finding out. They didn't understand why we didn't care. They wanted to know what names we picked out even though we told them we had names for both boys and girls (aka unisex names). Why wasn't the room going to be pink or blue? Why did I not want pink at all?(for the record, I hate pink!) They didn't wanna buy us gifts (even though we had a comprehensive registry that was gender neutral and full of good basic items) unless they knew the gender. It was frustrating. Look, a baby is a baby. Onsies ...
My friend from grad school asked a simple question: "Seriously... How the hell did our mamas do it all?" I sat and pondered the question. I thought about it. As I typed, I thought of my own mother. I wrote back: Sis.. I don't know. My mama has been gone from this earth 7 months. Even in her last days she sat in her wheelchair and cooked, baked cakes and such. When I was younger, she worked 3 jobs despite having lupus. The short answer: black women are superhuman and extraordinary. And here I am.. Working, a newlywed, trying to get a Phd and feel like I'm going to fall apart. I don't feel like I'm made from the same stuff My mama was. But somehow we get through it... We have to. We are deep down made from the same stuff. Just have to channel it... Conjure it. Even after I wrote that response, I had to sit with it for a while. Conjure it? Can I conjure it? Do I even believe what I wrote? Months after my response... I am still waiti...
Black people need to get free. If you based your judgment on rap music, porn, television, movies and covers of King magazine, you would think black folks are the most liberal, sexually free group of folks in the world. They show our bare, tribal breasts in the pages of National Geographic. We twerk on stage with big butts in front of millions. We make Instagram posts grabbing massive sized penises while singing slow jams. We are half naked at Carnival. We can talk about taking the dick and sucking the clit.... But we can't talk about the beauty of sex? Just the animalistic nature of it. The Primal. The Base.... And we are bold faced liars. And they wanna keep us that way. Black people are so closed minded about sex/sexuality because the oppressor stripped that beautiful thing out of you, replacing it with shame. They browbeat us with religion, making us ashamed of our bodies. Calling all own black skins a curse. How on earth were we to be healthy and happ...