Our Black and Native American Indian Heritage- Trail of Tears

Earlier this year, I found my Great-Grandfather's death certificate naming our Great-Great Grandfather, Nathan Jarman, and our Great-Great Grandmother, identified by the sole name of Nayaree.  It wouldn't be unnatural to believe that Blacks and Native Indians have been sharing a common bond and culture since earlier than the 1800's.  I remember my Grandpa Jarman in the early 1970's with his smooth complexion, high cheek bones, straightened hair and missing three fingers. His free spirit, raw personality, love of chewing tobacco, and a daily breakfast of beef brains and eggs.  He showed so much delight and humor in telling us great grand-kids that out of sheer boldness, he lay those missing fingers on a railroad track as a nearby locomotive charged past just to see what it would feel like. Some of the photographs I possess of he and his brother in the 1900's are so unfamiliar and distant of life today, yet they lived, and survived it.

Courtesy of Michelle Epperson Family album

This unique photo of a lone, young Black Louis Jarman, before he was a patriarch, in a Horseless Carriage manufacturing plant, to the far left of seven white youths his age, probably barely acknowledging his presence there.  If I only would have known his memory and stories were essential to my connection with two such magnificent cultures, constantly stomped out throughout history.  I would have asked more questions...I would have written more of it down...I would have researched more before this day.
He was born in Mississippi in 1897, home of various tribes including the Choctaw Indians.  It wasn't uncommon in the days of the settler, to find stories of slaves, Indians even Whites finding themselves carefully torn and intermingling to make sense of all these new types of peoples being discovered and created.  The trivia of who is civilized and who is not.  Who to trust and who will tear families apart.  Human decency, was not bestowed on the 'uncivilized' man, if only but a myth, and if you found yourself in one of these groups or perhaps a mixture of peoples, it has been a wonder that all of our history has not been lost.  Although many tried to kill off, crumple in spirit, demoralize and weaken the minorities of the era, there is this mysterious question of how we are all connected.  Why was it so important to remove whole races from existence out of ignorance and greed?
Young Diane Fletcher is historically portrayed at the University of Oklahoma with a few bits and pieces of her life that I'm sure don't do her justice but this photograph lives on enough to give us ponder as to who she was and how this image of her has managed to live on.  The daughter of a runaway slave and Seminole mother lost to the infamous Trail of Tears, like many of our stories, it is our pain that makes our persistence and fight to survive even stronger. This atrocity in itself began in what is called the Jacksonian Era where no Native American was safe from Andrew Jackson's wrath.  And although in this time of the Indian Removal, the Cherokee Nation vs. Georgia took their plight to the U.S. Supreme court, it would be scoffed and ignored by the President.  The removal would happen at a devastating cost.
The map below shows the 1,200 mile path from Tennessee to Oklahoma, taking nearly a year in the brutal winter of 1839 for men, women, children and troops to trek.  Samuel Cloud, was only a small child when his Cherokee family were forced to give up their homes.  He remembers being pushed out at gunpoint, his parents broken hearts, and the many onlookers as they passed by, state after state.  Yet still he managed to pass down this stunning and vivid account that his Great-great grandson would share and that we all should take the time to read.

Taken from Trail of Tears web project www.univie.ac.at

With a loss of about a fifth, or 4,000 peoples, Oklahoma would position thousands of Native Americans to settle in the Mid-West, where the majority of my family lives for example, in 1941 my father Norvette Brown, would be born in Chickasa, OK.
Georgia's state flower, the Georgia Rose, is said to have grown wild along the path of this trail for every tear an Indian cried that touched the ground.  Five white pedals to represent the clans of Cherokee, a yellow center depicting the gold stolen from their lands, and a thorny bush that conquers all who try to destroy it.

Works Cited:
http://www.ushistory.org/us/24f.asp
http://www.semtribe.com/history/
http://www.angelfire.com/ny4/HOMEPAGE/writings/tearsmemory.html
http://www.womeninhistoryohio.com/diana-fletcher.html
http://www.univie.ac.at/Anglistik/webprojects/LiveMiss/TrailofTears/trailtext.htm
http://www.powersource.com/cocinc/articles/rose.htm

Yasuke - Black Samurai and Page to Lord Nobunaga, Japanese War Lord of 1581

Imagine it's the late 16th century and you are the notorious Lord Nobunaga.  You hear of an exotic, charcoal-colored, 6 foot 2 African, a slave from Mozambique in the company of Jesuit Missionary, Alessandro Valignano.  He speaks several languages with Japanese being one of them and for a brief moment in this country's guarded history is the story of Yasuke...

Early photo of a black page with his Master

 "We do not know this slave’s actual name but the Japanese called him Yasuke (彌介), the reason for this name is unknown as it does not have a clear meaning and that it is most likely a “Japanization” of his actual name. He was apparently 6ft 2in and would have towered over the Japanese of the day. Nobunaga first heard of Yasuke when the  news reached him in 1581 of the great crush that had occurred when Valignano had brought him to Kyoto where his skin colour and height attracted a huge crowd. Nobunaga ordered the Jesuit to bring Yasuke to his court so that he could see this sensation in the flesh. Upon seeing Yasuke Nobunaga allegedly ordered him stripped to the waist and scrubbed believing that his skin was painted. Japanese sources described Yasuke as “looking between the age of 24 or 25, black like an ox, healthy and good looking, and possessing the strength of 10 men."

"Nobunaga was further intrigued by the fact that Yasuke could speak Japanese (albeit not perfectly) and ordered Valignano to leave Yasuke in his care when the Jesuit prepared to leave again. Yasuke became a permanent fixture in Nobunaga’s retinue, his size and strength acting as a deterrent to assassination not to mention a flavour of exoticism to accompany the warlord’s other Western possessions. Apparently Nobunaga became so fond of Yasuke that rumours abounded that the slave was going to be made a Daimyo (a Japanese land-owning lord). These rumours were proven wrong, however, Yasuke was given the honour of being made a member of the samurai class, a rare honour among foreigners."

"However, a year after Yasuke’s arrival in Nobunaga’s court, disaster struck. In June 1582 Nobunaga was betrayed by one of his closest generals, Akechi Mitsuhide. Akechi’s betrayal is still the subject of debate but it is likely that he acted out of the fear that Nobunaga was going to give his (Akechi’s) lands to Mori Ranmaru, with whom Nobunaga was engaged in a ritual homosexual relationship (common among the samurai classes and part of a system of patronage). Nobunaga and his small retinue, including Yasuke, were besieged in Honno-Ji temple in Kyoto by Akechi’s army. Whilst the temple burned Nobunaga committed ritual suicide. Yasuke managed to fight his way out and fled to the nearby Azuchi castle with Nobunaga’s eldest son, Oda Nobutada. With Nobunaga out of the way Akechi attacked the castle and Yasuke is reported to have personally committed himself to the fighting. However, the defenders were soon overwhelmed. Yasuke survived the battle but, rather than commit suicide (the samurai tradition when facing defeat) he handed his sword to Akechi’s men (the Western tradition). Unsure of how to proceed the soldiers deferred to their lord. Akechi proved somewhat more bigoted than Nobunaga when he replied that Yasuke was merely a beast and not true samurai and, therefore, could not be expected to know the honour of seppuku (ritual suicide). Akechi handed Yasuke back to the Jesuits in Kyoto who were reportedly relieved to see him still in one piece."

Possible 19th century photo of Black fighter with his master

"It is unknown what became of Yasuke thereafter but in the space of a year this slave from far away Africa had been elevated to the Japanese warrior class, an almost unique occurrence in history, and had been involved in an event that changed the course of Japanese history. Despite this we know almost nothing about him although in Japan he has not gone totally unnoticed, he became the subject of a children’s historical fiction called Kuro-suke (くろ助)."

This story is extremely remarkable as African American's in Japanese history are mostly non-existent.  So much so, that there is no name for this slave except the given name Yasuke which apparently has no other definition than the name the Lord Nobunaga gave his men tee.  As the story explains, Japanese for the most part, do not bestow honors to foreigners.  And for a brief moment in time, Yasuke was quite the talk of the town.  But the most interesting part of this story is that his survival means there may have been heirs to his story.  A living testament of his survival.  After all, every black American has to thank a most courageous and persevering slave for not jumping ship and into shark infested waters.  

Works Cited:
http://www.thatswhatsgoodmedia.com/yasuke-African-samurai/
http://www.tbs.co.jp/f-hakken/bknm/20130608/p_1.html
http://thedailybeagle.net/2013/03/07/yasuke-the-african-samurai/
http://knowledgenuts.com/2014/06/09/the-only-black-samurai-in-feudal-japan/

The Wet Nurse [African American Slaves of the South]

About two weeks ago, I was watching the series 'Reign' about the Queen of Scotland.  Episode 10 named 'Sacrifice', mentioned a newborn babe who's mother had died in labor and Mary, Queen of Scots, sent her to stay with a wet nurse.  I had an idea what a wet nurse was but I had remembered another movie about a wealthy woman in South Africa's slave woman had to feed her White master's child first before her own.  I figured this would also be the case where many women in the South having slaves did not breastfeed their own children as well.
Considering the large amount of racism in that region and the time period, I could not fathom why a White mother would deem it appropriate to have a Negro mother breast feed her child with her own, but I was incorrect.  In some areas, many slaves designated as wet nurses could feed their own child on one breast and the other devoted to the White child.  This seemingly idealized the equivalent as having a drinking fountain that was only allowed for 'Whites Only'.  [Note the title of the photo to the left entitled 'Southern Hospitality' as to imply that the slave of the time dutifully made her self available to nourish the South's children.]

About a year ago, I purchased the book, 'Bullwhip Days - The Slaves remember' by James Mellon. These narratives are unique as they are written as the slaves actually spoke.  Surprisingly, I have managed to understand the slang quite well and immediately I'm saddened as to how the lifetime of a slave can be summed up in just pages.  The slave's life was devoted to his/her Master and in the case

of a wet nurse, and in some instances considered an honor to provide the service.  

The following is a narrative from Ellen Betts explaining her life as a wet nurse in St. Mary's Parish, LA [the photo to the right does not depict Ellen Betts].  "And I tell you dat Marse William was de greates' man what ever walk dis earth....Mis' Sidney was my marster's fust wife and he had six boys by her.  Den he marry de widder Cornelia and she give him four boys. With ten chillun springin' up quick lak dat  and all de cullud chillun comin' along fast as pig litters, I don't do nothin' all my days but nuss, nuss, nuss...I nuss so many chillun it done went and stunted my growth."

In the early 1800's, Robert Mallard of Georgia wrote 'Plantation Life Before Emancipation', explaining briefly the relationship between he and his wet nurse/foster mother as she ..."always held a peculiar place in my regards. A black nurse taught me, it is probable, my first steps and first words, and was as proud of both performances as the happy mother herself."  In contrast however, the same research document examines the lost lives of Negro children due to neglect and the affects of how slave wet nurses reacted by either detaching themselves or forming a bond towards the white children they cared for.  Imagine the confusion of your body in its most maternal nature and to not be allowed to feed the child intended as its mother.  The fact lies that slaves bearing children were not to build healthy families but to add stock to the plantation.  Forming maternal relationships with slave children was frowned upon and in the South, the only labor required of a White woman with slaves was to bear the child.  All other maternal work duties fell upon the wet nurse, foster mother or house servants.

Under the simple title of 'Negro Nurse', you will see the routine accounts of a slave in North Carolina's 'promotions' through the ranks of her work duties.  "I frequently work from fourteen to sixteen hours a day. I am compelled to by my contract, which is oral only, to sleep in the house. I am allowed to go home to my own children, the oldest of whom is a girl of 18 years, only once in two weeks, every other Sunday afternoon--even then I'm not permitted to stay all night. I not only have to nurse a little white child, now eleven months old, but I have to act as playmate, or "handy-andy," not to say governess, to three other children in the house, the oldest of whom is only nine years of age."

This brief study gives me a realization that centuries of African American peoples were subjected to an unbelievable and horrific torture of the mind.  To be told on one hand that you are property and stock but then on the other hand, positioned in holding together an institution of love and kindness outside and away from your own offspring.  I can't imagine the grief and sorrow of the times and although these scenes are many decades past, people of color need to educate themselves as to their part in history and how instrumental it has been even if an atrocity.  The service and commitment of the African American should be one that is well remembered and regarded but never to returned to.

Citations:
Bullwhip Days - The Slaves Remember, by James Mellon Pg 380-381
http://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/2901
http://docsouth.unc.edu/fpn/negnurse/negnurse.html

African Royalty - Kings and Queens of Color - Queen Ana Nzinga of West Africa Ndongo

Late in the 16th century, England and France were the leaders of the slave trade and Portuguese found itself looking to make its fortunes in the Congo and Southwest Africa.
Imagine the 1599 visit of Portuguese Governor Joao Correia into the kingdom of Ndongo.  On behalf of her brother Ngola Mbande at a peace meeting, a brilliant Nzinga was present to lead negotiations that were in dire straits of reversing a healthy economy and territorial control of their lands.  His instinct was to take the only chair in the room leaving this royal African figure to stand.  Expecting her to stand for the conference, she summoned a nearby female servant who kneeling before her creating a 'seat' for her to resume talks.
With the slave trade in full force and ensuing during the 16th century, the Portuguese were attempting to colonize modern day Angola to position themselves within Southwest Africa to seize captives for the slave trade in Luanda .  To avoid aggressive attacks including neighboring African tribes on all sides, Queen Nzinga tried to form an ally with the Portuguese, which in less than 2 years would prove false and send her into exile founding a new state called Matamba.  Runaway slaves and Portuguese trained soldiers in the region would be welcomed into sanctuary in Matamba where a militia known as a Quilombo was established, or a remote, inland settlement originally settled by fugitive slaves.
The Queen would later join alliance with the Dutch Netherlands to regain the Portuguese city but their combined forces didn't keep hold of Luanda for long (Today, Luanda is known as one of the most expensive cities to visit in Angola) and Nzinga made her return back to Matamba.  But well into her sixties, she was well known as personally leading her armies into battle.  As a political strategy,  she would convert to Christianity before her death at the age of 81 in the year 1663 (some sites show 1661).  Today you can find her statue in Angola at Kinaxixi Square.








Check out these sites below to get more accounts of this Queen's amazing bouts as a ruler:

http://www.amazingwomeninhistory.com/anna-nzinga-mbande-fearless-africa-queen/
http://rainqueensofafrica.com/2011/05/nzinga-of-ndongo-and-matamba/
http://black-earth.webs.com/apps/blog/entries/show/25430503-kongo-kingdom
http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/01/travel/day-and-a-night-luanda/
http://www.albany.edu/faculty/jhobson/middle_passages/queerafrica/project.html

African Royalty...Kings and Queens of Color - Mansa (King) Musa of Mali

A few weeks back, I found an article in the Atlantic Black Star dated last year that named 10notable African Kings and Queens and I was determined to make this the first research of my cultural study.  Where we all began is from Africa, and I would hate to think there was a total disconnect from that history granted I know nothing of my ancestors, my true name or tribe affiliation. 

Mansa Musa, a 14^th century emperor of Mali whose wealth in today’s dollars exceeds $400 billion.  While under the Mansa’s quarter of a century rule, peace and prosperity were at at an all-time high in Mali. 

The first of any West African ruler, Mansa Musa’s documented 4000 mile pilgrimage to the holy Muslim city of Mecca in 1324 introduced him to rulers and civilizations in the Middle East and Europe.  With 600,000 followers and servants and over 80 camels carrying vast amounts of gold, Musa delved out so much gold to charities and those in need that a brief decline in the market's value ensued only to recover in Cairo about 10 years later.

Upon his return, Arab scholars, government bureaucrats and architects brought a higher realm of Islamic education and cultural additions to the city. Libraries, universities and the

still existing Djinguereber Mosque [shown to the right], of Timbuktu were a few of the sights that brought inquisitive visitors to the city. 
This increased the economy of Mali by becoming a most sought after location and gathering place of poets, scholars and artisans.  For the times, Musa’s kingdom was regarded as the center of Islamic Sub-Saharan Africa. 

Unfortunately after his rule, the kingdom suffered eras of separation and eventual befalling of conquering the once connected lands beyond recovery.  This in turn removed the vast fortunes into other lands.

For a more detailed description of the history of Timbuktu and Mali, please
check out the video below from Muslim News Magazine TV. 
It’s about a forty minute document but considering the accomplishments
and slight knowledge of the area by most, it is worth the listen.

Here are some additional links of interest used to publish this article:

http://www.blackpast.org/gah/musa-mansa-1280-1337#sthash.DPuaFsRP.dpuf

http://www.blackpast.org/gah/musa-mansa-1280-1337

http://www.thatswhatsgoodmedia.com/mansa-musa-richest-human-world/

Black Culture and Oppression in 2015...Have things really changed?

By the urging of my son in Miami, I went and saw 'Selma' a week early taking advantage of the film being shown in LA and New York before January 9th, 2015.  There were so many elements in the film that haven't changed much in today's society. 

• Killing or maiming a person of color has little if any merit when 'warranted' by [Privileged] law enforcement.  
• The media is extremely influential in the process of getting the information out to the public.  Many times sparking involvement and change.
• In opposition, the media can also portray an incident of unrest and violence as deserving of retaliation.  Many times, part of the story is told and the public isn't privy to know the history of the oppression.
• Government involvement with activists of interest may turn out to be martyrs before their time.  Much of the time, an unexpected death by authorities can create a martyr even if those same authorities wanted to set an example. 
• When blacks attempt to tackle an injustice on their own, it is less effective without the inclusion of other cultures matching the 'majority' that is active in oppression.
• The U.S. has a history of pegging its citizens against each other.  Claims that someone else needs to go somewhere else or to where they belong, when the whole premise of America is the "United" States.
• Most embarrassing for me and probably other people of color where the education system was limited in cultural studies, seeing a film like this almost appears like a new experience.

Bottom line, I realized this past weekend that there is a lot to celebrate about my Black heritage.  Ava DuVernay is a Black director that helped Selma's message come to life on screen.  I was born in 1966 and although the events were a couple of years before my time, I feel cheated that I didn't know the specifics.  Living in the Mid-West in Denver, CO you would need the assistance of a civil rights background or at least active historical presence from elders that had the story straight.  My parents were from Oklahoma and Kansas and there were just some things you didn't talk about if it wasn't affecting you at the time. 
But if you have Black skin, there is a history and brave examples of people of color that need to be celebrated for their sacrifices.  For what our children today take for granted, we as survivors need to be the "Griots" of the day.  We need to make sure that we know the story as well.  The most important element is to not include a story of revenge and hate.  Our survival is because of our faith, adaptability and perseverance not for helping the cause by ridding our race of the strong and willing to make a better life for our children.
Keep in mind however, oppression in any race is an injustice.  In the weekend prior to seeing "Selma", I was honored to see the film "Unbroken", the biopic of Olympian and Italian-American POW Louis Zamperini.  It is a crime for any American family trying to live a better life, while being subjected to living in a separate, sanctioned, geographic area, with substandard conditions, rise to the top and their struggle still unacknowledged and overlooked.  Stories like these from every culture need to be told even if they aren't included in traditional American history.
If you are born and raised in the U.S., you find out early in life that to become an honorary member of the acceptable majority, as people of color, we refer to our dark members as more violent and less desirable, and lighter skinned people of color deserving a privilege for their mixed heritage.  By society's standard, living in an environment of poverty and violence affords you the title of 'deserving' to be harassed, killed and tormented instead of being proven guilty.  Being of color can mean the difference between my son being shot (even with unproven cause) and a white mother's son being taken in for questioning, being charged, released; my point is, going home alive.  And lastly, my loc's, may be perceived as a type of rebellion when in fact, I embrace natural hair because man-made straightening products are harmful to my health.    
In the upcoming weeks, I will be showcasing a black pioneer or group that I have never heard of and share their story.  Our culture is rich with royalty, doctors, leaders, activists, musicians, inventors and artists whose names and stories aren't offered in modern day history courses, even though their contributions changed our lives like other past Americans who have been recognized and positively noted.  It is long overdue that we as a people are only synonymous with what is dark and negative and not for our accomplishments and additions to this great country's history.
God bless,
Chelle

Seeing more clearly...

About a month ago, I started having some slight vision problems while reading, driving and prolonged hours of computer work.   I found I needed progressive glasses for the first time in my life.  Strangely enough, I took a liking to the fact that I have yet gone into another stage of growth and proposed the synopsis that I'm viewing things more clearly in these more mature years.
With this clarity, I have been testing my ability to envision the future, heal from the past and help others grasp the possibility of a more positive view on life in general.  These characteristics are also unveiling a need to connect with past pains, unsolved trials and blocked memories that I so conveniently have deleted; choosing not to see because I figure, 'what's past is forgotten' but is it really?  The funniest thing about it all is that it isn't just me.  Others around me are 'finding themselves' as well, and in their connection to me, I am morphed through inclusion and remembering too.  Is it fundamentally so hard to believe that we all "see" together?  And if we are collectively open, understanding and loving about the healing process, we'll never have to be alone in the search for understanding.
For example, my grandfather is over 50 years older than I yet in a much need conversation just yesterday, I found that this estranged member of our remaining elders has more in common with my expressions of kindness and paying forward mentality than I ever would have thought when I was growing up in Kansas.  He was a whole different person then with a whole different role.  His views were more dominating and he wasn't much of a conversationalist.  He was the provider, out of sight and my grandmother entertained the matriarch role.
In our conversation, he made mention that after my daughter passed in the early 80's, I would stay in my room and play the saddest songs on my flute.  Sadly enough, I don't even recollect his presence during the ordeal, playing my flute however on the contrary, I do remember that when I lost Kara, my desire for music art was buried with her.
It's surprising that every few years or so, as the environment changes,  as we mature or as the universe shifts as loved ones pass away, that all of our roles change.  Purpose and meaning takes on a less 'blurry' picture, the fine print is less argumentative and the simple definition of life is all that rings divine.
What I see as most important now is that we all have the capability to change our prescription for life's journey.  It's comforting to know that there is something for us all to slip over the fuzziness that will make things clearer.  Through God, your faith, family and loved ones you care for and about, you can see the resolve and take the necessary steps to move forward in healing and caring for the treasured gift of a fresh new awakening of clear sight.
God bless and take care...
Chelle

When nobody IS somebody

Around 7 years ago, I was in a mentally abusive relationship with a self-addictive individual who I had allowed to take an emotional toll on my sense of self and confidence as a loving, caring person.  I resorted to writing a poem in this time of grief (shown at the end of this post), gesturing to the Universe that I was in need of relief proclaiming I was ready to become proactive in the cure.

I think there is a time in all of our lives where we have allowed another to take our joy, causing us to forget who we are and that the God of our faith has a mate for us,  or a purpose that fills that void or possibly an activity that will challenge our spirit, bring love inside our total being and direct us onto the path we were designed for at birth.  "Another" is different for us all and can take the form of a relationship, social group, occupation or dependency.

Recognizing that nobody IS somebody creates a turning point where we begin to acknowledge that healing is imminent through choice and understanding that we ALL deserve to be loved by someone, give/share love or perform loving acts into the community and for society.  All these positive energies are converged into the soul and illuminated by fashioning our individual aura.  

Sharing is caring and if this message is meant for you, receive my blessings and know that you are worthy to take the next steps to shed nobody and create your somebody...

 

Just call me nobody…

An invisible icon on your desktop; only the user knows where the program is run.

Just call me nobody…the shut down in my system has just begun

I have always wondered why I am led into one-sided relationships

Just call me nobody…the ability for tolerance and oversight, I can no longer permit

No one that is close to you knows my name; everyone in my life has spoken to you or seen your face

Just call me nobody; in your photograph, no special person fills that accompanying space

The best way to release yourself from bondage is to set another free

Just call me nobody…I know that before I can feel happiness, with you I cannot be

So many fond memories, yet the future is uncertain

The end of another chapter, the last act closes the curtain

Just call me nobody, do you remember me? 

You’ll never see my emotions, there for your needs

Caught in the dark, afraid to confront the light

No reason to commit to me because, sarcastically, I have all the time in the world

“Nobody” tolerates all heartache and is the continuous caretaker

Forgiving, non-judgmental, with its own heartache unattended

Won’t place blame but knows who’s at fault

Disappointed once again, but that’s Ok, I can take it

And who takes care of nobody? 

Nobody...because no one even knows that nobody is suffering

In summary, a nobody must learn to take care of oneself…or forever live in sorrow

Believe in your strength, let go today, don’t wait for tomorrow

by Michelle J Epperson

August 5, 2003

Revel in all things positive...you always have a choice!

So, two years ago I was posting my third anniversary for my locks and it is pretty unbelievable that time passes so suddenly and my inspiration for keeping them has grown even more.  After five years, I can't imagine living without natural hair and so thankful the concept became a reality for sharing through a single blessed individual's idea.
I have analyzed that the longer we experience this existence called life, we can choose to participate or eliminate in learning and expanding our growth while building healthy memories to keep us moving forward. 
Positive energy is powerful especially when you envision the possibilities in your daily routine.  I have watched people around me take their dreams and turn them into reality [even for just a moment in time] by knowing and seeing themselves in that moment.  I am always looking for little miracles to happen to those I truly care about and when I see them, I have to remind them that we talked about that happening, that development, that manifestation, that warrants itself phenomenal.  When we forget to acknowledge these things, we place ourselves under the spell of vanity and forget that there is a power much higher and magical than our human hands could ever put together so perfectly. 
I praise all of the gifts that I have received and the network of loved ones that continue to support me even if they don't always agree with my choices.  It's all about free will and that's what makes being a creation of God so perfect.  We always have a choice.
It's also important to remember not get disheartened when those choices may lead us in a direction where we may have to experience solitude, changing our path and a different association and changed network of souls.  Sometimes, even our own family members can take us off course and embrace us only if we conform to relationships that are unhealthy and damaging.  I witness more and more accounts of children (mostly once entered into adulthood) who abandon their parents.  Then parents who gloat in their children's adulthood and cease teaching and caring for their welfare.  And most saddening, couples who believe that living a mediocre lifestyle of acceptance, toleration of entrapment and not believing in soul mates is the same as accepting God's will to live in matrimony.  But then there is the alternative and all scenarios take hard work, commitment and the ability to recognized the truth.  You don't have to live any other life except the one that the Universe delivers in harmony but you may have to turn your back on some damaging personalities that you may have mistaken as friends and loved ones.  An individual's position does not make them bound to you in that position if they are hurting you or making you question your love of self.  If it feels right, it is...if it is painful, you need to safely work your way out and remove yourself.
Life is simple...keep love and light in it, create your Earthly family that will bring joy in your experience and thank God for his graces and miracles, especially the ones you learn to manifest!
Peace to all and revel in all things positive,
Chelle E

Nearing the anniversary of my third Sisterlocks 'birthday'...

Anyone knowing me prior to the Fall of 2007 would not be surprised to see me in any number of multiple hues and lengths of hair pieces, weaves or shining wigs.  I loved the look but there was only one problem, it was just that...a look.  All the hairpieces, perms and extensions in my cache were covering up the most important element about myself.  That underneath it all, I didn't give my natural hair a chance, and after I thought about it for a while, I hadn't for a decade or so.
That summer, my sister was taking a big step in her artificial and damaging hair care woes herself leaving two choices-shave it all off or try something natural.  After some extensive research, she came up with something I had never heard of; Sisterlocks (http://www.Sisterlocks.com) and upon install, I knew she wouldn't be able to do this look alone, so I joined her. 
Sisterlocks was like a science project or my hair under cocoon status but for the first time in my life, I couldn't dictate the style.  My hair finally was able to breathe and obtain an

identity that would incorporate with its owner.  What I love telling everyone who is contemplating locks is to not think of Sisterlocks as a hairstyle...they are a frame of thought, an extension of self, and as life-changing as a commitment can be.  
For the next couple of months, I would captivatingly endure this commitment for a few reasons.  1) An in depth consultation explaining what Sisterlocks were, who designed the process and an educational and controversial new outlook on the history of black hair.  2) The initial investment to get started balanced out with the thousands of dollars I had spent over years in damaging processes in exchange for bi-monthly appointments for retightenings.  3) A future opportunity offered by Sisterlocks to start my own business passing on the education of keeping hair natural with provisions to maintain tress strength and styling options for Black women. 

My particular hair type, Afro-Indian in origin and full of variations from crown, to sides, the nape would prove quite a challenge in its attempts to revert and accept the locking process but I learned to love and baby my hair during this journey.  Definitely more attention than I had ever bothered to pay before or felt comfortable to embrace my naturalness by society's standards.  And where I used to receive admiration for my faux styles of the past, I was now getting puzzled looks as to why would I want to look unattractive and nappy.  That's when my eyes were opened to the invisible line and misconceptions in the hair world's hair dilemma.

 I was used to the light-skinned, dark-skinned debate, I was even used to the "good hair" malady but now there was another division between black women when in fact there should have been a celebration that yet there was another style of choice.  And where other nationalities had been able to emulate the Afro, cornrows and even 'dread' locks, Sisterlocks is exclusive to the curl patterns distinctive of coiled Afro indigenous hair.  Something else changed too...the response by men.  Men that may have found disapproval in 'fake' hair styles had a different outlook on women that chose natural hair, not limited to Sisterlocks. 

Vacationing in a Hawaii would be the true testament to the freedom of natural hair.  I had traveled previously to Mexico and the islands and never felt comfortable taking photographs because it was like a before and after take.  Off the plane, laying on the beach, all showed me with flowing weave but if I went out or wanted to jump in the pool without having to reconstruct a straightened style with frustration not to cause suspicion or take even 15 minutes out of my trip, were moments I hated to waste.  I wanted to have fun and be spontaneous like other travelers, it just didn't seem fair to afford the trip and still have the hassles of being at home endlessly turning kinky hair to straight.  But my natural hair promoting Sisterlocks changed that.  I would shower in the morning, pack my backpack for the day, walk along the beach, lay on the beach, drench myself in the ocean waters, get up, go find a place to eat and not have to return to the hotel room not one single time.  I thought I was in Heaven.  No hiding, no stress, spontaneity, and I could be ME the whole time.  I would never go back to straightening or hair pieces.  And when I got home, I worked out, swam, relaxed in the sauna without having to worry about my hair.

After that, I wanted to help others enjoy their experience as I was introduced only months before as a Sisterlocks trainee.  Performing the service of Sisterlocks is rewarding because you get to meet enlightened and newly converted women (and men) who are joining a network of support which transpires every time a new member becomes introduced.  Overall, the whole experience has been positive, educational and uplifting.  Gone are greasy products, thread, nets, glue, combs and brushes, cover-ups and hair that refuses length.  And although not a pre-requisite, knowing how to do my own hair is therapeutic as well.  There's a feeling of self-reliance of do-good in support of my natural locks not to mention I used to be quite efficient exerting my own weaves, extensions and relaxers.

I have had my share of battles however, yet no different than thinning hair or chemical burns.  Now I can make braids for waves or use "soft spikes" for curls.  The wind blowing through my hair, however is a feeling that many take advantage of and the list of discovery goes on with every new month...something more that I can write about, each new length, with the hopes that we all accept the hair choices we make.  My only wish is that with most things, become educated and do what is natural and healthy for your temple.  Nothing should make a person chose harming their body in the name of societal acceptance.
Peace and blessings to all!  Chelle

Hairstyle freedom of choice but research and analyze your options

http://www.essence.com/hair/commentary_1/commentary_hair_politics_natural_vs_permed.php has an interesting take on the politics of natural vs. everything else...

My viewpoint is that we all have a process that we go through when deciding whichever way to go and from my experience, it wasn't about me liking straight hair down my back, I was brainwashed that it was beautiful and that I really possessed it. I was covering up my nappy hair just as visibly as bleaching my skin (oh yes, I tried in my teens) and wondering why I wasn't being accepted after following all of society's 'directions'. The truth of the matter was that I hadn't accepted myself as being black or that God gave me what I had not to cover it, fill my scalp with poisons, choose weave over exercise and health or loss of identity every time I saw myself without a wig but to creatively access it and develop individuality, research my history and truly understand the origins of what I was putting my psyche through.

What I do agree with in this article is that choice is mandated in order to relish in the experience and appreciate the sensitivity of the issue at hand which to me, is black identity in itself. My problem is not that hair decides who is embracing blackness in the most attractive way but that we are not educated as to what we are addicting ourselves too. There is a mental stereo type that leads us to our decision to process, extend and cover our hair no matter how you dress it up. In that case, we should accept our people's history with drugs, crime, unhealthy diets, poverty, unequal education and welfare because it defines black people. We should celebrate just being proud of our blackness wherever the majority resides and either one is an acceptable definitive of being black.

Justifiably, it doesn't equate with enthusiasm and passion to choose either style without doing your research and that's where my position lies, placing the positive aspects over the negative ones. For example, if you're into a relaxer, fine? Just research what is going into that chemical, who sponsors it, are you putting monies back into your community or a black owned business, Asian, or European and what are the long term effects of these chemicals. This affair is not just about hair, this is about what is acceptable, normal and healthy in society and how to conform and survive within it.

The Statue of Liberty provides a lesson in Black History~a hoax

Just in case you receive this, it seems unbelievable that anyone would need to falsify information about our black culture but this happens quite often. Below is a detailed breakdown of this document...the author did go through a lot of work though to make this subject sound academically analysed...
http://www.snopes.com/history/american/liberty.asp


A Lesson in Black History

The Statue of Liberty

It is hard to believe that after my many years of schooling (secondary and
post) the following facts about the Statue of Liberty were never taught:

Hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people including myself have visited
the Statue of Liberty over the years but yet I'm unable to find one person who
knows the true history behind the Statue...amazing!

Yes, amazing that so much important Black history (such as this) is hidden from
us (Black and White). What makes this even worse is the fact that the current
twist on history perpetuates and promotes white supremacy at the expense of
Black Pride!

During my visit to France I saw the original Statue of Liberty. However, there
was a difference...the statue in France is BLACK!!!!!!

"Ya learn something new everyday!"

The Statue of Liberty was originally a Black woman. But, as memory serves, it
was because the model was Black. In a book called "The Journey of The Songhai
People," as Dr. Jim Haskins (a member of the National Education Advisory
Committee of the Liberty-Ellis Island Committee, professor of English at the University of
Florida, and prolific Black author, points out that is what stimulated the
original idea for that 151 foot statue in the harbor. He says that the idea for
the creation of the statue initially was to acknowledge the part that Black soldiers played in the
ending of Black African Bondage in the United States.

It was created in the mind of the French historian Edourd de Laboulaye, Chairman
of the French Anti-Slavery Society, who, together with sculptor Frederic Auguste
Bartholdi, proposed to the French government that the people of France present
to the people of the United States through the American Abolitionist Society, the gift of a
Statue of Liberty in recognition of the fact that Black soldiers won the Civil
War in the United States. It was widely known then that it was Black Soldiers
who played the pivotal role in winning the war, and this gift would be a
tribute to their prowess.

Suzanne Nakasian, director of the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island Foundations'
National Ethnic Campaign said that the Black Americans' direct connection to
Lady Liberty is unknown to the majority of Americans, BLACK or WHITE.

When the statue was presented to the US. Minister to France in 1884, it is said
that he remonstrated that the dominant view of the broken shackles would be
offensive to the U.S. South because the statue was a reminder of Blacks winning
their freedom. It was a reminder to a beaten South of the ones who caused their defeat, their
despised former captives.

Documents of Proof:

(1.) You may go and see the original model of the Statue of Liberty, with the
broken chains at her feet and in her left hand. Go to the Museum of the City of
NY, Fifth Avenue and 103rd Street (212) 534-1672 or call the same number and
dial ext. 208 and speak to Peter Simmons and he can send you some documentation.

(2.) Check with the N.Y. Times magazine, part II May 18, 1986.

(3.) The dark original face of the Statue of Liberty can be seen in the N.Y.
Post June 17, 1986, also the Post stated the reason for the broken chains at her
feet.

(4.) Finally, you may check with the French Mission or the French Embassy at the
U.N. or in Washington, D.C.and ask for some original French material on the
Statue of Liberty, including the Bartholdi original model. You can call (202) 944-6060 or 6400.

Please pass this information along! Be sure to send it to people with children!
Open a dialog and discuss it with your friends! Let this be the beginning of
your quest for the Truth about American History past and present!

Empower Yourself, Your Family and Your Community!

Gravitational Genealogy

While studying the solar system, I began to ponder the mystery of the human life cycle in relationship with the universe. It seems amazing to me that however one wishes to believe how the solar system was created, the Earth possesses an undeniable and miraculous ability to be the only planet which after billions of years has sustainable life. And not just any kind of life, a thinking, reasoning, spiritual and everlasting existence.
Space is inevitably without boundary, no matter how far man attempts to stretch technology with satellites and space missiles, he is unable to unlock the secrets of this galaxy in totality. Not to mention how many vast, newly forming galaxies are being developed as we live out our lives. So here's my revelation theory to the human life cycle.
Back in 1996, all I had ever known was the rarity of our five-generation family. There was my great grandmother, her daughter, my mother, me and at the time, my son. So let's suppose that back in 1899, my great grandmother's birth was the equivalent to the solar nebula of our family's genera. As our galaxy maintains a swirling, gravitational pull of the planets against the Sun, so our family increased with age. Each generation started a new planetary orbit around my great-grandmother and new births (children) were as moons around each planet where at the time of 1996, we had our Sun and four gravitational planets or life-cycles. So imagine the life of the planetary system if anything ever happened to our Sun? Every planet with a rotating axis of purpose and functionality no longer is held to the dominion of its galaxy. In order for the universe to survive, there would be a need for an immediate, appointed transfer of energy to a new, rejuvenated Sun to hold the gravitational pull for the next era.
When my great-grandmother passed of natural causes in 1996, my grandmother immediately passed two weeks later due to cancer. In a matter of weeks, my family had lost two separate energy sources or stars while my mother was in no condition to take over as position of the Sun, due to obvious grief, however each planetary equivalent and its satellites needed our orbits to be pulled back into synchronization for universal strength. For a period of some years, our family lost its gravitational pull.
Now of course every "gravitational genealogy" praxis appears unique in physical matter and mechanics, however universally, I think as humans, we act in a similar manner when we loose that member of the family that acts as the unit's "Sun". The survival instinct of the family unit ultimately depends on the posthaste preparation of replacing this necessary position. Without this center, most families lose touch with the other members (planets and moons) almost immediately. In many cases, if you lose a monumental Sun there may need to be an interchange or cohesion between dueling forces (siblings in most cases). Regardless of the energy source, without someone to pull it all together, the others go spinning out of orbit, losing touch with their galaxy (descendants) and planetary bodies (current relatives) creating the demise of the solar system (family).
Which leads to the next theory...does the "Sun" return to the universe (Heaven?) after passing...I'll leave that for another discussion but wouldn't that make the universe even more precious, everlasting and explain the beauty of Heavenly bodies?
In closing, losing a major member of your family is devastating. The survival of each of our separate galaxies depends on the resilience of surviving members to replace its power source. Weak systems fight with dwindling energies by struggling for control (life insurance, the estate and forgetting to carry on the dying star's ancestral memory). It is mandatory to keep order and peace, remembering that the survival of your universe is vital to continue each of our destined Sun's existence (memory) while here on Earth. Realistically, isn't the universe (life) chaotic on its own?
Consequently, feel free to banish aides of destruction (renegade comets) to your solar system into parabola as necessary...this includes pesky ex's and twice removed relatives. :-)

The joy of winning...

Mom loved her card games and gambling and although I don't know where she got the fever, I know it gave her joy. When computer software came with several versions of solitaire, you couldn't get her off of the computer. She loved bid whist, scratch tickets, the dog track, horse races and when Blackhawk and Central City opened up in the Colorado Hills, she could disappear for hours. She had so much fun winning, and when she won comps in restaurants, she would take us along and we could invite our friends. A couple of times, she let some people we didn't even know join us. She loved sharing the winning feeling and even though I wasn't a fan of gambling and what it represented, when she found out she was sick, she still tried with all her strength to make it to those hills. The day she had to physically let it go because her body lacked in energy, I think she began to lose her will because the thrill of the trip gave her life meaning and the anticipation of winning was exciting. The lights, the environment, the clinging of the coins, the other players, all represented the big pay back. But what if that is what life is? A series of games, experiences, challenges, where the object is to win some, lose some...we're all in this big world together hoping to get the shot at making it big and that is what keeps us going. Big doesn't have to be a cash prize, it could be whatever your heart desires and your willingness to lay your bid on the line to achieve the kitty.
I know the place where she exists in spirit is the big pay back...winnings beyond comprehension and a prize too large for one to hold. And after seven years, I know she's still watching over us all, guiding us towards our individual jackpots and hopefully, we'll learn to pay our blessings forward...to me, that is the true joy of winning on a day in the remembrance of a life that only exists in memory...R.I.P. Mom and thank you for showering us with protection, riches and blessings from above where no longer do we wonder how and why, we just say, 'thank you'.

Disturbing 'talent'...

Although this isn't really inspiring, I've had this series of experiences a couple of times and don't really know what to do with this energy so I figured it's something I'm supposed to write about.
On May 17th, I was returning a book from my classes for a refund and needed something to fill the box with so the book wouldn't shift around. I had these old Entertainment Weekly magazines that I'd never looked at so I decided what better way to recycle them? I started ripping pages, crumbling them and tossing them into the box until I got to this article. I notice a picture of Gary Coleman under the heading of deaths and I'm like, "Oh my God, Gary Coleman's dead and this is the best picture they could find?" However, the current day is in May, the article was from a January edition and if you look to the left, his topic is under 'Arrested'. For some reason, I finished tearing pages from this edition and kept it. While watching an episode on Boondocks 11 days later, a caption popped up in remembrance of his passing May 28th.
That same week, I was putting in a Netflix order online and had this haunting urge to rent 'Blue Velvet'. Now if you've ever seen this macabre movie, it's not the kind of movie you want to revisit unless you're in a seriously dark mood so I watched 'Requiem to a Dream' instead. (:-), I'm serious!) Sunday, May 30th, we received a delivered edition of 'The Sun' newspaper because Demetrius wanted to get the news in paper form and this was our first copy since he ordered it. Looking at the first page, I scrolled down to the very bottom and with a small picture and a few lines was the memorial of Dennis Hopper, who starred in the grim tell, where I had unknowingly heard that he passed away in Venice, CA as well.
However, my most frightening experience was last year. Although my son no longer has his Brotherlocks, I was working on retightening his hair for the last time in early Summer 2009. If anyone knows my son, they will know that ever since he could walk, he (with the help of my Mom~R.I.P.) was the most loyal fan that Michael Jackson could ever have. We were watching a VHS (yes, not DVD!) of Moonwalker and it was definitely seeing it's last days. I had asked Martell why didn't he just break down and buy the DVD and he said because it wasn't available; he'd tried the year before. So I told him to do a search again this year because if anything ever happened, "to that boy, you'll never get a copy". So we ordered it and he died 6 days later. Puzzling even more so, there was this killer rain storm the moment I heard it~it was a force like how he portrayed his videos~I could almost hear that 'scream' that he used to do with chaotic winds. I remember the rains flooding I-25 and Colorado BLVD in like minutes and then as quickly as it blew in, it left with a strange calm.
And finally (yes, this is all just within a few weeks), my sister calls me to tell me that African Story Teller Opalanga Pugh died on June 5 ( http://www.essence.com/news/hot_topics_4/opalanga_pugh_professional_storyteller_d.php ), and had I heard so I could relay the info to a friend of mine who went to college with her. After chatting for about 15 minutes, I hung up the phone to dial my friend and her name popped on caller I.D. So I was like, "Hi...and I guess you know that I know why you are calling me?" And she answered, "To tell you Opalanga passed away?" and I said, "That's right because of course my sister was worried that you didn't know so now that we've all tele-communicated...", and she ended with, "Alrighty then? That's basically all I had called you to inform you about." I finished with, "Ok, you take care then...and thanks for the connection."
As Forest Gump quoted, "And that's all I have to say about that..."
'Chelle

The Freedom of Locs!

For a period of around 7 or 8 years, I did my best to find ways to save up and travel and least once every other year. With each trip, be it a cruise to the islands, Cancun or the sunny beaches of Florida, they all had one thing in common...the existence of my wig or weave. So here I would go getting to my destination with my cute little sarongs, colorful bathing suits and various summer wear and as soon as I would approach the beach or swimming pool, I had to dress down like a tomboy because I was gettin' in that water! But that meant I either had to wear a bandanna and bob around to not wet my tracks or take off the wig and put on a cap or wrap of some kind. I was constantly in disguise.
When I was blessed with an opportunity to go to Hawaii however, I had just had my locs for a little over a year and man oh man, was my trip altogether different. I would wake up, put on my cute outfits, take to walking around and make my way to the beach and that was the real test. When I could lay on my towel, get up and run to the water and jump in? Wow! It was like, so this is VACATION?! No inhibitions, just like all the other happy tourists around me. I didn't have to protect my doo because it was what it was...natural.