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.

The post A Black Man Experiencing Feelings of Guilt After Voting for Obama first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.

The post Fearing Failure first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.

The post From the Theatre to the Living Room first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.

The post Africa is not a Country! first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.

The post Stolen Parking Space first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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

The post Audience Walks Out on Me! first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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 post Plucking Grey Hairs first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.

The post The Appearance of Youth first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.”

The post Exhausted but Happy first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.”

The post Is the Superbowl today? first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.”

The post To Be Needed first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

I just couldn’t resist the temptation, forgive me.

“Dooni dooni kononi be nyaga da.”

The post Why Barak Obama cannont be President first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.

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.”

The post Maintaining Connections first appeared on BABA THE STORYTELLER.