Reflections in the Summer Essa Forest.

I just had the oddest realization. I am sitting here in one of my favorite spots in the forest.

 I am surrounded by poison Ivy, and vicious mosquitoes.

 Down by the river the mud is so thick A step sinks into the ground almost a foot deep. And yet..

I am so happy here.
So inspired.
So at peace.
So at home

It’s like the darkness.
I love the night.
It feels like a warm embrace.


Does this make me a sadistic creature?

Or could it be that we have demonized some things and that all things are colluding to make us feel what it is to be fully alive?

For me, the latter rings more life-giving and true.

And causes me to question what I idealize as a desired environment vs. a truly inspired environment. 

As in, my idealized versions are void of what I perceive as discomforts or the undesireable. But truly inspired environments require it. 

Maybe?

Because,

Sitting here I hear sounds from creatures I can’t identify.
Beings U can’t even imagine creeping, swooping, screeching in the hundreds of thousands.

I am totally surrounded by wildness.
By the seemingly foreign
I am enveloped by an untamed terrain I see yes,
but,
even more so a multiplicity of terrains and ecosystems I am completely unaware of, littered with dangers that are perfectly natural and life-given in their rooted ecology.

So "other" to my sanitized home, which I have convinced myself I need to function well.

So  "other " to my perfectly ordered world.

And here.

I can breathe.

Deeply.

Completely.

How crazy is that?

Reviewing old words.

Still waiting

This is my hundredth storm
Or so it seems..
Where is the calmness that supposed to pass?
I am still waiting for my still waters..

Still waiting to breathe
Still waiting to laugh
Still waiting to clear my head
Still waiting to know that its not all dead

Where is the calmness that’s supposed to pass?
I am still waiting for my still waters..

Still waiting
Still waiting to be still
Be still
Still
Still

I came on board full of dreams
With hopes of seeing things
Wanting to explore, to conquer, to learn,
 to understand..

But I keep getting tossed up on these waves
And even though I know my lessons are herein
I am still waiting for the still waters
To take it all in

But I gotta keep on moving,
Get up brush up and keep on moving
I got to keep keeping on
Keeping hoping on
Keep moving on

I know that my still waters will come
It might be after my hundredth n one storm
But my stillness, it will come
So I will wait and In the meantime
Be still…
Matter of fact I will be still in my storms
And my stillness, His stillness, will my waters calm.

Then I will have my stillness
Not after my storms..But right in the midst of em
I will have still waters in the midst of my storms.

Ahmeda, 2004.

A worth-while quote to share

"After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, love, and so on — have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear — what remains? Nature remains; to bring out from their torpid recesses, the affinities of a man or woman with the open air, the trees, fields, the changes of seasons — the sun by day and the stars of heaven by night." - Walt Whitman.

In these pandemic times and just before it, I have found these words to be so deeply true.

There is a comfort in that which remains when all the pursuits fade away or show up as having no consequence, either good or bad.

But Nature. She remains in its dynamism and insistence on being.

And I have yet to find anything as healing, or centering or calming than the natural world of our planet that is so sublimely effervescent with life, it gives us breath to take, and, takes our breath away.

Selah.

The lonely road in Academia

I never imagined that Life as a Doctoral student would be this lonely.

I am studying Liberation Theology in the practical theology program at the Toronto School of Theology. Perhaps it is because I am one of a literal handful of Black students or because I am a parent with little time to do the on campus social thing. Or maybe it is because I am THAT girl in class who calls the professor out on the paucity of diverse authors on their reading lists, or the student who sings the praises of #whitesaviorisms  that looks to enhance the capacity of African's, you know, so we can be eschew our identities and be more like #whiteness and you know, thrive.

SMDH. Major Side eye and kiss teeth.


Whatever the case may be, I literally have no friends in my program. Oh well. Go figure.

Thankfully, I have a supervisor that I consider a mentor and I can count on her being there to read, listen and come along side me as I reflect on the scads of information I am taking in and trying to make sense of. My one ally who doesnt seem to miss an opportunity to remind me the I am good as I am and that my potential has everything to do with who I am and nothing to do with how I do or do not fit in.

Thank you Nevin. You are my shero.

It took me a while to put my finger on this loneliness. I first I thought I just had to be more friendly. Well, I went to a few of the get-togethers and realized that I had very little in common with the folks there. Then i thought, what if I worked out of the grad study space? Nahhh, Black folks know better than to go into a space where white people leave their stuff lying around. Recipe for all kinds of allegations. I remember the one time i was studying in the hallway and some white dude called me a bitch because I my phone was beeping too loud with text messages. Le sigh. Another story for another post.

To be honest though the pain of the isolation is felt most deeply in the classrooms.  It makes sense because classrooms are my favorite places. However it is in the classrooms that I quickly recognized that the lenses I have, that insist on a decolonized narrative in order for diversity of thought, is so "out there", that I either piss off my classmates or miss them totally with my justice/liberation/decolonization worldview. 

Then there are the assigned readings that often have me shaking my head in awe at the narrowness of the perspective, the colonial hegemony vibrantly alive in the academic discourse to be had, especially if one went by the material selected for course content.

Outside of the classroom I feel no less welcome that I did when I am inside. I walk through the hallways and I avert my gaze from the potraits on the walls celebrating  whiteness and the patriarchal powers who most certainly would have a thing or two to say about this Black African woman taking up space and speaking out about their domination and colonizing of thought and history. Oh well.

Then there is the food on the so-called community days that alienates community members like myself. Not even the delicacy of a friend plantain is to be had! What a shame! Then there is the music in the chapel, a sure-fire wire to include but sadly an opportunity that goes unnoticed.

And so on and so forth.

Maybe it is me.
Maybe I ought to know by now that these institutions are not set up for the likes of me to feel "at home".
At best they (either saliently or overtly) engineer an environment that reinforces the poison of colonization that says I am not good enough to see myself reflected in these spaces.
The poison that says, my ways of knowing and the knowledge created therein are at best secondary in import.
The poison that forces me to spend my intellectual capital acquiring knowledge that does not serve the public health of my people.

Aww dang it. And to think I spent my life dying to be here. I couldn't wait to be considered good enough to walk these hallowed halls, to learn so that I could be equipped to serve.

And now they say Black Lives Matter.
They fill up our inboxes with emails on what they will be doing to show that Black Lives Matter.
We will listen they say.
We will put money into resources.
We will hold talks and center the black experience.

Okay.
Or, as we say in Ghana, Yoo, I've heard.

But miss me on the enthusiasm for change if I don't believe how all of this equals a commitment to re-imagining education as a whole. For I have come to understand that unless there is a vested interest in decolonizing ways of learning and learning spaces, the insidious cancer that is Anti-Blackness and in truth Anti-African, well that cancer will do what cancers do so well. Stiffle, Suck and Drain the life out of any effort to check it.

Cue Luciano's song..." Give me a one way ticket.." the Bob Marley's .. " Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery.."

Channeling Densu ?!?

I can sense my supa-powers
rekindling time-honored internal fires,
releasing barely-suppressed, spiritually-encoded desires
I am channeling... Densu.

Inspired by the healers, I make no more excuses.
with boldness and a humility that is yet to come,
I am unsure, but willing
exposed but hidden.

Nevertheless I carry on
finding courage cocooned in my knowledge
This decision was made b4 I stood.
If truth was one to be told
I re-member the story be-spoken from old
I am chaneling.. Densu.

retreating into the sound-box of my mind
I am led by the melodic timbre of his voice.
Ahhh! I clap my hands with unbridled delight
Light of foot and quickened by earnest
I joyfully journey into my eastern forest.
I am channeling.. Densu.

A captive pigeon, I am now captivated!
released by the shot of a wise inspirer,
freed by the choice of a healer-admirer
Yes!!! Once again I hear the melodic timbre of his voice.
A divine design I know this to be unfolding.
I am channeling.. Densu.

Embracing my journey as it unfolds
I finally conclusively shun my manipulators hold
An elusive understanding of self is manifesting..
Open minds, Open hearts,
a soul bared, a spirit shared
I am channeling... Densu.

With effortless grace I unfurl my wings.
Seeking unparalleled heights I begin to Soar
knowing and growing
A change has come
This beautiful one yet to be, is finally born
I am channeling... Densu.

If I had time..

I would talk about all the things taking up my time ;-) But since I don't, I will only say this: One day soon, when the time comes, I will be back here to take my time and chronicle my journey. Till them, Aluta Contynua!
A.

Steppin out 2 Step in, Stepping in 2 step out

I had to step out to step in
I had to loose breath, in order to breathe
My path is circular
or so it seems
One step in, two steps out
..and then back again

The differences are subtle in this two step dance I do
Step in and out, out and in
Oft times it seems I never move forward
Story in constant replay
But each time I re-see, re-say and re-be, I re-illuminate and re-discover

This is my circle
My Journey
Bursting with Vision
Sinking in none
Craving Action
Inspired to static motion

Thoughts random
Inertia ruling my days
Movements stealing my nights
Internal morphing
External faking

I had to step out to step back in
I had to put my pen down to write
To shut my mind up to think
To loathe so I could love
I am still on the continuum
Emotions still undetermined
Everything so elusive
Constantly feeling like I have been here b4
5 paces 4wd 10 skips backwards

Back here
Way back here
The view is different
Life altering experiences
Mind and Spirit existing in changed states
Unfamiliar territory.. to my flesh
But the spirit demands..
that i step out to step back in

Guide me thou Great Jehovah
I weak, You mighty
I blind, You seeing
I empty, You filling
Fill my Cup Lord
I life it up Lord
Stepping in so I can step out..