I’m very glad that Lupita Nyong’o was voted World’s Most Beautiful Woman! So proud to see a Dark Skinned Sister Honored in this Fashion.
I read her Oscar Acceptance speech reprinted in Essence Magazine. It certainly resonated with me. Even though I’m 25 years older than her and was raised in New York City I can still hear the taunts of “Tar Baby”, monkey, Black African (Black was not Beautiful in the 1960s) from my school-mates on the playground. Watu Wasuri Use Afro Sheen came much later in late 1970s. Still light skin was in. There was a saying I heard many times growing up, “If you’re light, you’re alright. If you’re brown still around. If you’re black get back.” From straightening combs to weaves the Self-hatred becomes internalized.
Weaves looking like Davy Crockett hats perched atop uneasy heads marching LocKstep with conformity. Multi-hued raccoons skipping across Jungle Fever Brows missing nesting material in which to snuggle Eurocentric brainwashing.
Even when I went into the U.S. Army my always thick, kinky and Knappy was called a Brillo pad. I was always made to feel so ugly usually by my own Black people. I expected whites to call me the “N” Word after all this was the 1960s and my parents who knew Jim Crow by heart prepared me for rejection as a Black girl in a white dominated society. In a way I was very surprised to hear that in a Black dominated/ruled society/country such as Kenya young Lupita experienced similar taunts, jibes and insults.
Many times I would come home from school crying. I hated my skin color and my hair texture. My father tried to soothe my broken spirit and build my self confidence by telling me, “The Blacker the Berry the sweeter the juice. If the berry’s too light it has no use.” I did feel better for a while but it was not until I was well past age 40 that I began to really appreciate being dark-skinned with coarse thick hair. For one thing now that I’m well past 50 all this wonderful melanin truly means, “Black Don’t Crack”. As for my hair menopause has removed the thick & coarse texture but I’m proud to wear my hair natural since age 36. Over the years there were times when I battled a Eurocentric mindset but as I journey through middle-age and beyond I embrace and am one with my African heritage.
Yes Ladies, “Say it Loud! I’m Black and I’m Proud!”
Mature Grown Folks Relationship Observations for those 45+
I’ve had the opportunity to explore every wing of my museum. I especially look for depictions of women in various societies and time periods. There is nothing more beautiful than the female nude. In every culture, Africa, Greek & Roman, European: 13-18 centuries and in 19th Century Art nearly every beautiful woman painted or sculpted has a small belly, a roundness in the tummy area.
Rubenesque as defined by the Urban Dictionary: Applied to a woman who has similar proportions to those in paintings by the Flemish painter Peter Paul Ruben; attractively plump; a woman who is alluring or pretty but without the waif-like body or athletic build presently common in media.
Every magazine, every newspaper, TV, the movies and of course the Internet screams at women to have that perfect body at any age. No you must have that movie star body so all the men will fall at your feet, regardless of the fact that most TV and Film stars have more failed relationships than anyone else.Before the exercise craze of the 20th Century it was okay for a woman to have a slight belly bulge. In fact not only were curves a sign of beauty but a sign you were getting enough to eat! Now the competition is on about who can have the flattest stomach or that infamous 6-pack. When I was growing up in the 60s a six-pack was a beer. Sure if you drank too many of them you took the risk of looking like you were about to give birth to a Budweiser but most folks drank on weekends. However I digress.
So much for exercise helping the “Beautiful People” stay married! This fixation with bodily perfection also has fat, balding middle-aged men, who probably need Viagra to get the job done searching desperately for Victoria’s Secret models. Like most women my weight fluctuates. Now I’ll never be very big because my mother was a small woman, (Jada Pinkett in size not looks) but yes I do have that middle-age gut. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe having an expanding middle was or is an outcome of menopause. At first it really bothered me. I’m no exercise freak but I do my walking and sometimes I’ll do sit-ups but truthfully I hate sit-ups! I can honestly say I look pretty good for my age. I’m well preserved but I’m not a card-carrying member of the fitness craze. Went through all that while I was in the Army and since I no longer have a Drill Sgt breathing down my neck I no longer fear those 6 am 6 mile runs in full gear.
To paraphrase the Holy Bible, the grass withers and the flower fades but a Woman of God endures forever. Now I can cook and clean with the best of them but I’m never going to look the way I did in my 20s, 30s or 40s. So guys if you’re looking for a Proverbs 31:10-31 Woman I’m here. If you’re looking for Bay Watch babes, well keep looking and let me know how that works out for you. Peace.
Warning this post is not politically correct and may be offensive to some. However if you were a fan of Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Moms Mabley or LaWanda Page (Aunt Esther) read on for another WTF New York news story.
Sumatra Tiger
Yo Joe! Joe! Did you order take out? No then who’s this muthafucker in our cage? Where’s the babies, Ivette & Yvonne. RaeKwon get the hell away from there. What I tell you about messing around in that part of the den. This white muthfucka damn near fell on your head.
Shit! Who gives a damn! Come on y’all. Dinner is served. We gonna have white meat tonight. Might be a sight better than the regular Bronx Zoo crap we get every day! Hey he broke his fuckin’ leg in the fall! Easy pickin’s. Hold still ya dumb bastard! Gotta get that fool before the dumb ass Zoo Keepers rescue him!
CHOMP!!
I still can’t get over the fact that this idiot jumped off the damn monorail and into the Tiger’s den to commit suicide. There are easier, quicker and less painful ways to do away with yourself. Why not just swallow some sleeping pills, Xanax and top it off with a few cocktails. At least you’d just go to sleep and wake up somewhere else. No Jackass had to become one with the tiger. I guess the tiger Ms. Bachuta taught him a thing or to. Morale of the story: Don’t Fuck with Tigers from the Bronx or anywhere else!
Give this dumbass a Darwin Award! Sorry but most Black people don’t even swim much less get near dangerous wild animals. So far I only know of one brother who had a Wild Kingdom obsession. This Negro had a tiger (again!) and an alligator in his Harlem apartment. The policeman who came upon these creatures unexpectedly probably almost shit himself. Well maybe he did shit himself. I know I would have.
Black people despite being separated from Africa over 400 years have collective memories about wild animals. That’s why up until recently there were next to no Black swimmers in the Olympic competition and plenty in Track & Field. Why are Black folks so good at running? Because genetic memory throws us into “Haul Ass” mode, recalling running from tigers, lions, and various other predators with sharp teeth! To this day I betcha very few Africans jump in the old swimming hole next to the village. Why? Muthafuckin hippos & alligators! I don’t care if they are herbivores. Them muthafuckers got teeth and they bite. Get on their surf & turf and you will be lunch or dinner. Also keep in mind every last one of those nature show hosts have been white. Go ahead keep fuckin’ with those animals. Look what happened to Steve Irwin. Leave the fuckin’ crocodiles, alligators and tigers alone!
I could go into why white people also go investigate weird noises and/or sounds in horror movies but as the expression goes curiosity the cat or in this case the Caucasian. That saying is wrong because cats got nine lives and are very good at sensing danger. Well that’s for another post.
My Maternal Ancestry Tree: The bond and bridge that enable me to crossover from America to Africa
Maternal Ancestry Journey
Isaiah 54:1-3
New King James Version (NKJV)
A Perpetual Covenant of Peace
1 “Sing, O barren,
You who have not borne!
Break forth into singing, and cry aloud,
You who have not labored with child!
For more are the children of the desolate
Than the children of the married woman,” says the LORD. 2 “ Enlarge the place of your tent,
And let them stretch out the curtains of your dwellings;
Do not spare;
Lengthen your cords,
And strengthen your stakes. 3 For you shall expand to the right and to the left,
And your descendants will inherit the nations,
And make the desolate cities inhabited.
Mable Elizabeth Palmer
The eternal question, Who Am I? Many of us find the answer within our respective Family Trees. It was obvious to me that my ancestry began in Africa, but where in that great continent did my ancestors originate. But for me as an African American some of the branches were broken off and gone missing.
Thus began my quest to not only discover my maternal lineage but my genetic link to Mother Africa. Hidden within the larger search to trace my family history on my Mom’s side was the greater goal to honor my mother and complete myself as a branch of the family tree. DNA can now unlock the secrets and the past giving voice to generations of women, the collective matriarchy that ultimately formed me. Living in a society that often devalues, trivializes and cuts Black Women down, within my personal family history lay the opportunity to validate and reaffirm self.
Family Skeletons Revealed
Hattie Finney Banks was my grandmother. Hattie and Mattie Finney were twin sisters. Mattie Finney moved to Illinois and married a man named Harper. I always wondered what became of Mattie. My grandmother Hattie Banks never spoke of her twin sister Mattie. I always thought that was unusual but I did not ask any questions. Did not want to pry.
About two years ago my brother Stephen and I spent Thanksgiving with our New Jersey cousins. My Aunt told me a family story which might explain the split between the sisters and why they never again contacted each other.
My grandfather Hugh Banks, Hattie’s husband murdered Daniel R. Finney. So Hugh Banks killed his in-law, his wife’s close relative. Hugh Banks died in prison sometime around 1940. My Aunt went to the funeral. She does not know the reason why Hugh Banks murdered Daniel Finney. All this took place in the 1930s. After the funeral Hattie took my Mom, Mable, her sisters and moved to Dayton, Ohio. Hattie told everyone including my mother, her sisters and me that Hugh Banks had died in a coal mining accident.
I suppose she had to make up a false story and hide the truth because of embarrassment, shame or just wanting to forget. From what little my grandmother Hattie Banks told me Hugh Banks was a violent and abusive husband. I guess when she moved to Dayton to be with her brothers Clarence & Willie she just want to forget the past and start with a clean slate. I can’t prove it but somehow, some way this murder was probably behind Hattie and Mattie breakup.
23andme Ancestry
Good Ancestor News: Found out this week that through my maternal line my ancestors were from Mozambique. I belong to the maternal haplogroup L3e2b1a.
I also probably have some Nigerian ancestors. My maternal genetic makeup is 85% Africa, 12% Europe and 3% Asia.
Our ancestry and genealogy are traced through mitochondrial DNA which is only passed down from mother to child. This is fascinating information. By the way the study affiliated with Dr. Henry Louis Gates is free and they are targeting African Americans. I’ve wanted to have my DNA traced for several years and when I saw the ad in Ebony or was it Essence along with the word Free, I immediately signed up. I was so thrilled to find out this news. Now along with my African co-workers feel a more direct connection to the Motherland.
Naturally, I’ll never be connected to Mother Africa the way in which my co-workers from Nigeria, Ghana, Cameroon, Burkina Faso, Togo, and Mali are since they were born there and have a direction connection with the culture, language and respective tribes, I feel now more of a blood tie. Now I can plan for my pilgrimage to this country of my ancestors in the next five to ten years.
I’ve shared my findings with a select group of like-minded co-workers and when I return to work on Sunday will continue to do so.
As I previously stated, Hattie Finney Banks was my maternal grandmother. I’m in the process of writing a book honoring my mother, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Hattie’s eldest daughter. Right now I’m trying to locate the birth certificate of either Hattie or her twin sister Mattie Finney. I want and need to know who their mother, my great grandmother was. I need that piece of information for not only my research but for my literary work. I know plenty about my Dad’s family history but almost nothing about my Mom’s side. Also there is something in me which needs completion.
When I look in the mirror I see Mable Elizabeth Palmer. I see unknown people from my collective past begging me to tell their story. I must answer their cries to be heard. Before I travel to Mozambique, South Africa I’ll have to visit West Virginia and examine birth, death, prison and military/Armed Forces records that may be available.
Then in 2012 back to Ancestry.com for more research on my maternal family tree. My maternal ancestors from Mother Africa call me and I willingly answer the call. Our patriarchal society bows down to the greater stronger Matriarchy for only females carry the mitochondrial DNA that enable all of us to trace our roots and find our origins. The Journey continues!!
National Geographic also offers a similar test but it costs $99.95. That will have to wait until I receive my Federal income tax check next year. I want to see if genetic lineage test comes up with the same result as 23andme. I would think that for $100 the testing would be more wide-ranging and comprehensive. My goal is to find out more about my maternal lineage. My ultimate goal is to deepen my connection to my mother, grandmother and of course Mother Africa.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 