A Black Man Experiencing Feelings of Guilt After Voting for Obama
November 3, 2008
A day before the presidential election and my mind, no… my spirit is plagued with feelings of guilt and shame. As James Baldwin explained to many of us decades ago, “Color is not a human reality, it is a political reality.” If permitted, I would add to Baldwin’s summation that this illusion we call race is also a forced social, as well as economic reality. I identify myself as a Black Man in this society out of a necessity to be able to function effectively within its confines; to maintain some semblance of life balance and, often, to be able to make sense of the senseless. Awareness, or lack of this awareness, can often mean the difference between life or death in circumstances that might appear benign to the uninitiated. There is no fear associated with these words, only a type of knowing earned through centuries of a peculiar social gestation. The mountain top visited by Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King jr. some decades ago is not some far off place of the imagination, it is a common land visited often by those whom Ralph Ellison identified as the “Invisible.” Knowing can be a curse. My awareness makes me ashamed of having voted for Senator Barack Obama.
I voted early, and with great trepidation. I am no seer or soothsayer and I cringe at the thought that someone might apply any degree of mysticism to my words. I simply realize the truth in the old adage that “time is a tutor.” From my forbearers, in this land, I’ve been bequeathed a psyche conditioned by brutal servitude compounded with the mind and spirit that would settle for nothing less than unencumbered freedom. From the mountain top view, I fear nothing for the man Barack Obama. We men make our choices in this life and dare not call ourselves men if we back down from the difficult terrain ahead of us; this I understand. My shame at having cast my vote for Barack Obama has to do with the guilt I possess in knowing that I am taking away a husband and a father from a family unprepared for the eventualities of their lives. My shame is in knowing that I, for selfish reasons, for wanting to see this nation live up to its’ ideals and pronouncements, have relegated this family a suffering that should not have to be endured by any soul. A man makes his choices and it is often his family that must pay the price. This has been, and continues to be our history in this nation, a history of Black Men.
Foremost, I am under no illusion that this man, Obama, or any other human being for that matter, is capable of redirecting this nation’s misdirected foreign/domestic policies or altering its path of implosive, self-destructive behavior. No human being is capable of such Herculean feats. The humor in all of this, if we’re permitted such moments of levity, is that while everyone is looking to this man as an “agent” of change, he staring back at each of us hoping that we realize that we are the “true” agents of change. There is an African proverb that says, “The ruin of a nation begins in the homes of its’ people.” My vote for Obama was a very selfish act on my part due to the fact that I know the outcomes in advance. Many of those who call out his name in joyful tones today will, in tomorrow, possess less than admirable views of him. The psychic pathology rooted in this nation’s soil will have a new enemy within to identify itself against (it cannot survive without an enemy). That pathology will unify itself around the twisted roots of what we euphemistically refer to as racism, which in fact, if truth is to prevail, should be unveiled and known for what it truly is: “evil.” The responsibility for previous administration’s mismanagement of domestic and foreign affairs will disappear in a mist of a selective juxtaposition of fact and fantasy. Many will not understand the compromises he will have to make to push forward on many of the promises he has made. The list of inevitables is endless and I don’t want to appear the pessimist in a time of extreme hope and optimism but I must state things as I am and have been witness to them.
This day, today, the day before the election, there is no doubt in my mind that Senator Barack Obama will be this nation’s next president. No… I am not a pundit, nor an election analyst, just a man who has been tutored by time. The conditions we currently find ourselves suffering under warrant Wednesday morning’s results. It may make little sense to many of you now, but, first and foremost, I must offer my apologies to Mrs. Michelle Obama. I am aware that you are an exceptionally intelligent woman and I believe I know the measure of contemplation that occurred before proceeding down this path but, I am also aware that there is nothing that can prepare us for the type of life journey that you and your family are about to begin. You truly deserve more than what this nation is prepared to offer you and your children. To Malia and Sasha, my apologies to you feel almost empty. There are no words to articulate the remorse I possess in taking from you the right of every young woman to grow in the security and comfort of the shadow of her father until she reaches his height. If I had had your best interest at heart I would have voted against Barack Obama and given your family back your mother’s husband, your father. May God watch over you all in what are sure to be difficult days ahead.
Fearing Failure
November 11, 2007
Yesterday I had a performance at a festival held by the City of La Palma here in Southern California. It was well organized. I had received a packet containing parking passes, maps, schedules, etc. This was a really good sign.
When I arrived at the park where the festival was held, I parked and headed to the performance area. As I was walking, there were the unmistakable sounds of a Heavy Metal Band performing on stage. The closer I got, the louder the guitars, drums and vocals got. The small amphitheatre had an intimate; close to the audience look to it. The group of about six kids in this band was performing their lungs and hearts out.
I have to admit, I’ve never been one to kick back and listen to Heavy Metal in my earphones or around the house while cleaning. The band’s audience was sparse. There were maybe four or five people seated a few feet from the stage. This didn’t matter; they performed as if there were thousands before them. I liked that.
The only thing that was a bit disturbing to me was that I was the act that had to follow these kids. That was a bit unsettling. There has never been a time in my career as a storyteller that I had to follow a Heavy Metal Band. This was a first.
I retreated to a tent they had set up as a dressing room and started trying to figure out a strategy for following this act. Somewhere between panic and serenity, it hit me. What was it that I was stressing about? It hit me that I was sitting here creating stress for myself for no reason. I do what I do and I do it well, I told myself. Instead of focusing on what I might need to do in this situation, I gave myself permission to celebrate my accomplishments and the fact that someone had the confidence and wherewithal to invite me to this festival. This shift in focus had a profound effect the way I was felling.
I won’t go into all of the detail but I will say the show was a great success. There were, literally, about 150 or so people who made their way to the amphitheatre while I was performing and sat close to the stage. In the back areas I saw children sit down in the big blown up jumping houses and castles and listen to my music and stories. Talk about euphoric. I was filled with a great feeling that I can’t really describe (yeah, I know, me a storyteller at a loss for words).
To look out into the crowd and see everyone smiling, laughing was incredible. To see the elderly seated next to children and their parents, to watch teens, voluntarily, come and sit close to the stage and enjoy the music and stories was simply awesome!
This was one of those crossroad moments for me that I won’t soon forget. I didn’t sell a single CD, but I think I got a greater value and lesson out of it just the same.
Dooni, dooni kononi bé nyaga da.
From the Theatre to the Living Room
November 8, 2007
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the changes I’ve undergone as an artist. I can remember, just like it was yesterday, being in my mid 20’s and early 30’s and craving the huge stage performances. I’ve performed before audiences ranging in size from a few thousand to a handful (ok, half a handful). For some reason, at the age that I’m at now, I’m finding a great deal of satisfaction performing for, what I like to call “living room” gatherings. These are small, intimate gatherings where a group of people hire me to come in, play a little music, tell a few stories and facilitate conversation. There’s something really fulfilling about this. Don’t get me wrong, I still love the stage stuff, there’s a natural high you get off of that which can’t be compared to anything.
I wonder if any of the mega-star performers ever go through issues like this as they age? I’ve never been a piece of the machine so I can’t imagine the thoughts that plague the mega-star crowd.
Well, anyway, it’s not much of a rant but it is where I find my mind wandering to at this moment, at this time. I love my work!
Dooni, dooni kononi be nyaga da.
Africa is not a Country!
October 20, 2007
Here it is 2007 and after many decades I am still repeating the mantra: “Africa is not a country, it is a continent.” It seems I’ve been saying this for so long that my brain just clicks into automatic whenever I’m in situations where I have to say it. You would think that I would spend most of my time chanting this phrase to children but this isn’t the case. I encounter more adults than you could possibly imagine who approach me and ask questions such as; Can you tell me how to say such and such in African?
Amazingly, I haven’t become frustrated at the daunting responsibility of carrying the “Africa is not a Country” banner with me wherever I travel but I’ve got to tell you; it sure is getting heavy after a few decades of holding it.
Dooni, dooni kononi be nyaga da.
Age of Lost Innocence
June 21, 2007
We are definitely living in an age of “lost innocence.” I was with a group of 3rd graders, 8 and 9 years olds, during a classroom session earlier today. I was telling a tale which equated the building of muscle with the building of a powerful mind. I usually exaggerate the size of the muscles of my story’s protaganist in order to illustrate my point of building the power of one’s mind.
As I always include the children in the telling of the tale, through question/answer and discussion, I punctuated this moment with a question, asking if they understand what it took to get such huge muscles?
Each child had his/her own take on the issue: working out, eating vegetables, running on the treadmill, etc.
One young man, very eager to answer, stood up from his seat and shouted: “Steroids! No one gets that big unless they’re taking steroids!”
I love being a storyteller. Welcome to my world.
“Dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da.”
Stolen Parking Space
June 16, 2007
I was sitting in a parking lot earlier today waiting for a space three car lengths in front of me . My blinkers were on, windows down and a gentle breeze entered from outside, circulating through the car. As I was sitting there, the car I was waiting for began backing out of its’ space. As soon as it vacated the parking space some nut in a mini-suv zoomed around my left side and screeched to a halt in the space I had so patiently been waiting for.
Ok, I’m a gentle soul but I also know that this is the kind of thing that even Mother Teresa going after this person. I sat in my car, didn’t budge an inch, waiting for the person to come out of their car. As I heard their door open, I couldn’t see because there was a huge van in the stall next to them blocking my view. As I heard their door open and close I began getting out of my car. I definitely wasn’t thinking.
From around the corner, walking away from the car around the van came the sweetest looking old woman you could have ever layed your eyes on. I was stunned for a second. This woman was definitely old enough to be my grandmother. I didn’t know how to handle this. I couldn’t jump in her face and yell at her. I couldn’t collar her or berate her with endless barage of expletives. She was too old and too sweet looking for that. My rage had been disarmed by a cultural paradigm for a respect for age that had been drummed into me during my youth.
As she walked past me she simply shrugged her shoulders and gave me a rather sheepish grin.
I got back into my car. As I had decided to calm myself and just roam the lot for another spot, I noticed her bumper sticker.
It read, and I couldn’t make this stuff up, it actually read: “This vehicle is guided by Jesus.”
Can you believe it? I couldn’t! I burst out laughing just sitting there.
So, that’s who really cut me off huh?
Is anyone else’s life like this? It can’t be just my life that has these endless streams of unbelievable, yet entertaining, incidents in it.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you one more thing. My daughter just reminded me. A little later in the day I also locked my keys in the car and she had to come and open it up for me. She’s walking away laughing.
Yeah, this is my life.
Audience Walks Out on Me!
June 5, 2007
I was doing a showcase today. One of those 10 minute performances where people and come and get a taste for what you do to see if it fits in their programming.There was a school of about 150 2nd graders taking up the first 8 to 10 rows closest to the stage. The rest of the audience were mostly adults. I made sure to check the children’s temperatures by listening and watching how they interacted with the performers before me.
Since I was the closing act of the showcase, I figured I would do something a little special for the children. The announcer began introducing me and, just as I began to step from the wings of the stage, the entire section of 150 2nd graders stood up on the command of their teacher and begin exiting the auditorium.
I had 10 minutes to do my thing and this kinda threw me for a little loop. I regrouped, tried to ignore the grand exit and jumped right into my harp playing and singing. Fortunately for me, the exit was rather quick but they left a big hole in the audience.
I have had elders and mentors over the years tell me that you ignore this type of situations and keep on moving with your performance. I kept on going. As I was getting into the rhythm of my performance, a young girl of about 4 to 6 years old slowly descended from the seats in the upper area of the auditorium. She was all alone. I imagine her parents brought her. She came and sat right there at the edge of the stage as I was singing. I focused my attention on her and she was more than delighted to receive it. I went into a tale, just for her.
We had a really good time as she helped my in building the tale. When I finished my 10 minute slot I made sure to thank her for her inspiration.
I could choose to focus my thoughts and energies on the large group of children that were escorted out or I could choose to view the gift of the young girl’s presence at the edge of the stage.
Which would you choose.
Dooni, dooni kononi be nyaga da
Plucking Grey Hairs
March 8, 2007
This conversation started me thinking about a time, approximately a year ago, when I noticed the first single strand of grey hair prominently displaying itself in my beard.
Now, I have always been the type of guy who laughed at, and poked fun at those guys who rush out to the grocery store for a hair coloring kit to make them appear younger than they actually are. I used to consider these vain, lacking in self-awareness; that is, of course, until I saw my first grey hair. Things definitely seem to change with age.
Well… my vanity overtook me and I found myself standing in front of our bathroom mirror with a set of tweezers, ready to go to work on that infamous single grey hair. I quickly plucked it, looked at myself in the mirror and smiled, “the youngster was back.”
I wish I had been warned, no one told me this but, a few weeks later, there were 10 grey strands that appeared to replace the 1 I had plucked.
I resolutely, at that moment, surrendered to the inevitable. I figured that I had earned those grey hairs and so I might as well make piece with them and let it grow where they see fit.
“Dooni, dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
The Appearance of Youth
February 21, 2007
I did a performance at a school yesterday, it was an elementary school. After the performance one of the veteran teachers came over to buy my cd and she said, “you did really good, but I was worried at first.”
I asked her why and she said, “well when you walked in I asked myself, who is this kid they’ve sent us to do storytelling.”
I smiled.
She went on to explain how storytelling usually requires someone with a little age and years behind them.
I asked her how old she thought I was. This veteran of education peered over her bifocals, looked me up and down intensely and said, “somewhere in your mid to late 20’s.”
I couldn’t help myself, I grabbed her spontaneously, hugged her and planted a little kiss on her cheek.
I said, “Thank you, I really needed that.”
She asked me how old I was.
It turned out that she and I are about the same age.
I love being a storyteller.
Exhausted but Happy
February 8, 2007
If anyone is thinking of starting their own business because you think it will give you more free time, then don’t do it. I think the fallacy that being your own boss allows you to enjoy endless hours of relaxation is, possibly, on e of the greatest myths of our entrepenurial era.
African Heritage Month has got the be the busiest time of the year for me ever. I feel thoroughly exhausted and it’s only the 8th but I have to say there is an unexplainable feeling of contentment which I wish I could articulate more effectively.
If free time is your primary motivation for owning your own business then you should definitely rethink and redefine your concepts of owning your own business. Not only will you have to wear many hats (manager, editor, cook, janitor, etc.) you will also have to learn how to make the hats, design them and fit them to the sizes of heads of unimaginable size (clients and customers).
Well, this is just quick personal rant that I needed to get off of my chest, having risen from sleep at 4:00 this morning to start work. Got to get back to work now! See you later!
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Is the Superbowl today?
February 4, 2007
Ok, I can’t be the only guy in North America who didn’t know that the Superbowl was being played today. Am I?
I guess I’m so preoccupied with other things going on in the world that it simply slipped my mind (if it was ever in there). My wife and one of my students were laughing at me this morning when they discovered this. I’m not totally devoid of an appreciation for sports, I used to participate in many when I was a youth. I guess the years have redirected my focus away from the things I enjoyed as a boy.
Am I the only guy in North America who didn’t know that the Superbowl was being played today?
“Dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da.”
To Be Needed
February 4, 2007
One of the young women I am teaching to play the Kora left a message for me last night on my phone. Sounding a little distraught, she explained that she had attempted to tune her Kora, which is an art in and of itself, and altered it to the point where she couldn’t get the proper sounds back.
I returned her call this morning and let her know that it would be alright for her to come back by and I would tune the Kora for her.
When she arrived, she was very apologetic. Although I tried to reassure her that it was absolutely fine, she still remained somewhat apologetic.
We talked while I tuned the Kora. After I finished, she seemed pleased and headed off to work.
After she left, I reflected on my feeling of contentment. I realize that what I was feeling was the joy of having been needed for something. The joy of being able to provide a service to another person. Another aspect, I believe, has to do with being a parent. I don’t think that once you’ve taken to nurturing others that that aspect of your soul just disappears once your children are grown. I think there is a part of most of us that desire “to be needed.”
For me, the tuning of her Kora having gone out of whack was a small but fulfilling blessing.
Just more thoughts, rants and ravings from your friendly neighborhood storyteller.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Why Barak Obama cannont be President
February 2, 2007
“He’s over qualified.”
I just couldn’t resist the temptation, forgive me.
“Dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da.”
Death and Dining
February 1, 2007
Yesterday I delivered a series of workshops at a school in Northern California. After about the third workshop it was lunch time. One young man stayed behind after all the other children had departed. He approached me and trepidlly requested if he could eat lunch with me. I don’t know about you, but it is next to impossible for me to turn down the request of children, especially when those request are sincere. Without hesitation, I agreed that we should eat lunch together.
We were seated at a table in the library (that’s where I was hosting the workshops) and we began to talk. He actually started the conversation by firing off a dozen questions in succession. I was more than happy to answer. The conversation shifted a little to his desire to let me know of a few of the tragedies that had befallen him recently. His grandfather had just died last year, his father and mother divorced last year, his grandmother had suffered a major injury last year and there were a few other things.
I looked him in his eyes and simply said, “Man, you took a beating last year didn’t you?”
He smiled really wide and had that look of, “yeah, finally somebody who understands.”
We talked and talked all throughout the lunch session. He told me his passion is to become a chef someday. He is already collecting recipes and books about cooking. He has taken a few classes. I told him that he is well on his way to becoming a masterchef but everything worth having or doing takes time.
Before the we ended our lunch, he was absolutely beaming, his smile pushing both of his ears further back on his head. I was feeling really good myself. I didn’t feel like I had done much except share a few grapes and nuts with another person but it felt good, I mean really good.
As I was cleaning up the mess I made. I have to admit my side of the table was a lot messier than his. As I was cleaning up, he said to me, “there is one thing I forgot to tell you when I was telling you about my horrible year last year.”
I asked him, “What was that?”
“Well,” he said, “on top of all that stuff that happended last year, I forgot to tell you that my grandpas dog died too.”
I stood there silently for about three seconds when all of a sudden, simultaneously, we both busted out into a fit of laughter.
When I left the library, he asked me if I would be coming back to his school. I told him that I would make ever effort possible to return.
After he left, I just thought about the few minutes it takes to make a difference in someone’s life, for example, mine and his. I thought about the power that we adults possess that goes untapped, the power of giving our time over to those who need it the most, “our children.” When I say “our children” I’m not talking about those you have given birth to or adopted I’m talking being an actual community. After all, isn’t a society that dosen’t value and protect its’ own simply a population occupying the same time/space?
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
Maintaining Connections
January 26, 2007
I just got off of the phone with one of my brothers (in spirit not blood) and I’m feeling really good! His name is Badialy, but more people know him as Boujou. His mother and I call him Boujoubadji.
He left Los Angeles about 3 years ago or so and is living is New York. We don’t talk often, but when we do, it’s almost as if neither one of us wants to hang up the phone.
Badialy was one of my first Kora teachers way back in the day. It is his family that I live with when I am in Senegal. His father Bouba, is one of my elders in the tradition. I’ve kept Bouba up many a night talking and playing Kora until he would finally tell me, it is time to sleep.
The importance of maintaining connections, both spiritual and physical, can not be overemphasized. After sharing some words and music over the phone I’m feeling really refreshed.
I’m looking forward to the rest of this day.
“Dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da.”
