Discovery Channel

January 20, 2012 at 11:38 pm (Life)
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“We are people with no culture”. This is what an African American said to me. “You are not a true African”. This is what an African said to me. I can’t remember what my response was, I only remember how I felt. Many things ran through me, but what actually fizzed alongside the bottle was ignorant unblooded related family. I was born in America, but I derive from her. One hundred percent or ten, I’m still African.

Africa is how I will refer to her. She expressed that those of us extending from the Africans brought to America, that mixed with other races are polluted, which makes us not African. Which makes us unaccepted by original Africans. There is a part in Alex Haley’s “Queen” when a Caucasian woman was speaking to the mother of a mixed child warning her, “One drop of nigger blood is still too much.” Basically, she explained it still makes that child African and people will not acknowledge that she is 50% of her Caucasian father. Africa, your words make you no better than that portion of prejudice back then, not recognizing who people were. Africa, she’s the same as them. To her one drop of diluted African blood makes me a disqualified African and a mutt. Blogmen, do you know what hurts the most? It’s the fact that she feels so superior that she is incapable of healing “little Africa in America” who feels she has no culture, because she was born of a people who were taken from their place of origin. She is incapable of telling her that she is more than just a product of slavery. Maybe Africa herself is unable to help anyone heal, because she herself is broken. So, blogmen I’ll tell her this….

Do you know what’s so beautiful about America? This land of the free is inhabited by Mexicans, Indians, Chinese, Koreans and more. Many are born from them and they are freely taught their natural language and traditions right here in the states. They know that being born here doesn’t make them any less Mexican, Indian, Chinese or Korean than the people born in the root place of their ethnicity. Little Africa in America I’m not certain of my tribe, and there are many African languages and dialects, but it doesn’t mean you can’t learn some. It doesn’t mean you can’t learn the customs, what they eat and how they dress north, south, east and west. I figure we have the advantage if we’re knowable of all tribes and not just one, despite the lack of pen point.

One of these days, when I can afford to, I plan on learning as much as I can about my ancestry. Until then I’m becoming more familiar with my history and scarily anticipating trying pickled fish, fotu gari and eba.

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Purebred

January 11, 2012 at 5:45 am (Life)
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I was planning on doing a piece about the evolution of Christmas; its true meaning and overshadowing of Christ’s holy days (Passover, Feast of Unleavened Bread, Pentecost, Feast of Trumpets, Day of Atonement, Feast of Tabernacles, Eighth Day) that people often forget about. Or, some people are just simply unaware of them. In order to start writing the piece I asked a friend whether or not to drop the tree, Santa and so forth since I discovered it extends from a pagan holiday. The friends answer was why drop these traditions which now hold different meanings than the foundation it was formed on. Why drop these traditions when Gods guidelines from the bible have been tampered with and is no longer pure Christian guideline, because certain books were not added into the bible. I agree with the part about Christmas not being the same as its origin. It has been made a day to honor Jesus. However, the part about Gods guidelines for Christians not being pure is what stuck to me the most, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My concern is that people might believe that because of such tampering, they are unable to honor the bible and what it means to be a Christian.. I know there are many things we don’t understand right now, I know that the bible might not be in its original form; there are many interpretations of it. I know that religions in the same way, are just branches of the three originals. They’ve been crafted to suit people’s needs, or to accommodate the things in the bible they are willing to follow and toss out anything they deem intolerable. But, I know that when I look at the television and all it beholds, then read my bible, I’m seeing with my own eyes prophesies come to pass exactly how it was written. Since what I’ve seen are no fabrications, and with my own eyes, I will believe the consistency of the bible. I could begin listing discoveries in different states, countries and continents. I could list scriptures coinciding with these discoveries, but that’s too easy. Its easy like honoring a trimmed religion, instead of honoring and following the whole of a thing. So, you look up the whole of this thing and tell me what you believe. We have a foundation whether its purebred or not and there is still enough truth there to guide us. We are mostly made up of a people who doesn’t believe anything until they can see it happening. Well, look and see it happening.

Respectfully,

Jersey 


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Scatters

December 28, 2011 at 3:17 am (Life)
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Have you ever looked at an abandoned building and wondered how it became so deserted, what kind of people lived there, whether they were happy or sad, and what their story was, regardless if it was a piece that the NY times would never pick up? The happenings in each hotel room, the moment you pass them on the road? If the people that’s been missing for years on the posters are really okay somewhere and just had to escape someone or something to be okay? If some of the fugitives are really like Harrison Ford? They’ve been set up, unable to prove it and without a moments rest to grieve for their loved ones, because they’re always on the run. Remember the part when he rests for a fraction of a moment and finally begins to reflect, miss and grieve for his wife that he was accused of murdering? And, before he could complete his thought he was discovered and hunted again?

Ever watch and wonder why the guy at Martin’s takes his break and sit on the hill near the highway, staring into something you can’t see? What the coded poems and pictures mean? What people are really thinking while they speak? Are the people searching for another version of themselves in someone else going to be okay? Is everyone really okay? Why we think about these things? Are we desperate for a deeper meaning that familiarity lacks? Is reality too much of a massacre to face? Whatever the case, hope should not be displaced. Tears are okay, they mean you’re still able to feel, strong enough to handle what’s real and what tomorrow might bring.

Snow Whites and knights, they don’t realize they were meant to be your equals. The mirror should have been poisoned, an attempt shouldn’t have been made towards you, but reprobated minds can’t always be reached. They don’t care to pull their insides out, then ask the mirror what it sees. Despite the brigade of faces on the one body we see, they may give an entertaining show, but when their curtain closes they don’t tear, they bleed. You only need one and this is the reason why they bleed. You are what you appear to be. Not what you pretend to be.


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Under The Influence

October 6, 2011 at 5:34 am (Life)
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Have I ever told you that I was offered a ciggy in the 5th grade?.. I was dared to use profanity because everyone knew my mom was an evangelist as well as a volunteer in the school? Kids became obsessed with trying to get me to fit into their world. At a point I wanted to be there, but with my morals. I wanted to know what was so fascinating about making me fit in, versus us just being who we were and having fun. So, I said no to the prior and thought I’d show them cool by just being mischievous me. My mom was a prankster and the strawberry didn’t fall too far from the vine. I would draw the teacher looking silly on the chalk board, hid the chalk, and move his guides before class started. They had a good laugh at the teachers expense, but it wasn’t good enough to fit in. Instead, I got another dare. This time I took it, but not the way they anticipated. I looked at them and said “SH*T. Did it change anything?”They looked at me like I was the crazy one and I walked away. I wanted nothing else to do with them, but to just be left alone.

I was never the type to fall under the influence of others, because what my mom taught me wasn’t something that I was forced to believe. I watched her; how she cared for children the same way she cared for her own, broke up fights, counseled them and they called her mom. Even the parents loved her. Some thought she should mind her own business, called her a Jesus freak and made her cry at times. But, no matter how a selected few thought of her, she was unchanging in what she believed and showed it. I wondered where this heart and kindness came from and wanted to reap the same results. She made me an individual, with a need to please no one but myself.

I shared this provoke with someone in mind that I’m a friend to. He began explaining something to me before he left my company, used profanity in a sentence, but apologized. He immediately explained that his friend is in town and uses a lot of profane language, which causes him to do so as well. My state of confusion didn’t leave me much time to respond before he left. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, because I thought being under the influence is something that one most often only experiences in school. I thought it was something childish, that a child goes through. They cave or climb and it follows them to their adulthood.

This guy is someone that prides himself on doing good deeds, helping people, standing for right and being an example. He’s someone that I consider a wonderful person, but also someone I didn’t expect to cave into another persons bottle. I’ve watched him adapt to his surroundings. He seems to use it often around people that uses profanity a lot, then becomes ashamed around myself and other company. Because of his reaction around me, part of me believes that he is influenced by others and feels using profanity is necessary when in their company. Another part of me believes that maybe he doesn’t really care about using it because he believes humans are imperfect, so it’s no big deal? If a person cares not to do a thing, they don’t do it right? So, because he still uses it, it makes me believe he doesn’t care. It makes me wonder why so many people feel the same way. They feel like being imperfect is an excuse to sin or practice deeds that are not good. You know like, I cheated on my spouse because I’m imperfect, I cursed someone out because I’m imperfect, or I can’t be a good parent because I’m imperfect…When are people going to become strong and decide to choose to be good or bad, to have morals or not, to behave in a manner we would want our children to?

Whatever the case, maybe he’ll read this and realize that people with different beliefs can interact while standing firm in what they believe in. Whoever finds it difficult to accept, can be left in the playground like those kids I went to school with. Maybe he’ll realize people can be a positive influence without force. They can just live sort of the way my mom did and maybe people will see, began to understand and admire the way that I did.

To all with beliefs in contrast to my own… we can agree to disagree, but please don’t ask me to not share my beliefs to listening ears. My name is not Bloody Mary or Hitler and my goal is not theirs. My name is Shafaira Washington. I’m someone who believes in sharing my beliefs that produces positivity with anyone willing to listen.

My heart to yours,

Jersey


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The Curse That Wouldn’t Die…

September 18, 2011 at 6:36 am (Life)
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The Curse That Wouldn’t Die…

Permanence is her name, I say her because a woman can be exquisitely detrimental when slain. Trying to get rid of her seems almost in vain. Oxford made an attempt when closing the book on her, in the Century of one and eight. She turned & gave him face. “Vengeance, on all the likes of you I say! Permanence will grow and spread from land to land. Don’t you know there are others like me from Britain, England, Scotland and Germany. We can’t be made dead, but will live on instead. I curse you, Shitten, ficken, fokken!” 

Now, your people will Americanize my friends & me, by making more use for them and me. In those closed books eventually we will lay and people everywhere will know our names. You will even diminish the root from which some good came. They will be no more, change their meanings and give them new names. We are the expletives, take note our calumny…

BBC says the origin of the F word meaning sexual intercourse is unclear. However, there is a legend that the old name for the crime of rape was ‘Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge’, and part of the punishment was that an abbreviation of the crime would be branded on the perpetrators head. A similar story is that during the time of the plague when it was necessary to increase the population a royal injunction was issued telling the common folk to ‘Fornicate Under Command of the King.’ An etymologist even suggested that the old German ‘ficken’ or ‘fucken’ which meant strike or penetrate was related to the F word. As well as fokken used by the Dutch. Their usage meant to breed and was applied to cattle.

What’s interesting is the connection of the F word’s legend, to the highly possible origin of the word Mother Fucker. I’ve read that it is almost exclusively American. The word was apparently coined by African slaves to describe the slave owners who had raped the slave’s mothers.

The origin of shit is an Anglo Saxon word meaning excrete. It’s past participle was Shitten. Shite is an alternative form of the word, particularly used in Scotland, Ireland and Northern England. The derivative Bull Shit is an Americanism, used to mean ‘rubbish’ or ‘nonsense’.

Bastard appears to have been inspired by William the Conqueror’s parents who were not married. Before 1066 he was known as ‘William the Bastard’. After 1066, the Anglo Saxons he conquered would probably still have called him ‘William the Bastard’ for quite different reasons. One theory of the etymology of this insult says that it comes from the French word ‘bast’ as in ‘fils de bast’ meaning son of the packsaddle, which compares with the British English usage of someone being “born on the wrong side of the blanket. Also, while bitch refers to a female dog, the word was often used as a female form of bastard.

The word Ass meaning buttocks or anus, evolved from the British word Arse. Before WW1, people in southern English would pronounce the word “Ass”, meaning donkey, with a long ‘a’, making it indistinguishable from ‘Arse’ in spoken English.

These words have root-age from blistering situations and evolved into unpleasant and harsh usage towards others & in situations. While other words with an intended consequential meaning have likewise became harsh in it’s structure. The Oxford Dictionary that once banned the word refers to profanity as = blasphemous or detestable language. It’s as detestable as the word Nigger= an adjective denoting a black person as early as the 17th century and has strong offensive connotations. Today it remains one of the most racially offensive words in the language. No matter how people try to change or add to it’s meaning , (Nigga=Friend or buddy) the root of it is the same. One can not sugar coat shit, as it is still shit…

The evolution of this curse that wouldn’t die needs to end here. These words of mine are a cure if only you believe. 


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Home

September 11, 2011 at 4:17 am (Life)
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So… I was sitting at home relaxing before heading into a new work week. I found myself home sick. It’s Labor Day, but this year almost everyone had to work or was tired from it. Understandably, because of the economic problems we’ve all been at work more than play. Usually we would be at South Mountain Reservation having a cookout and crab feast. We didn’t even need music because our conversation was the lyrics and our laughter supplied the beat.

 Suddenly, I was there again. I was back in Newark on Google, comparing pictures to my memory. I remember my mom waking my sisters and I up at the crack of dawn to go to our favorite bagel shop in Orange, NJ. We got a bag of hot, buttered and cream cheese ready plain, as well as cinnamon raisin bagels to go. Along with that we had hot teas. From there she would drive us straight to South Mountain Reservation to see the sun rise while we ate. I remember the clean, bitter cold air not bothering me anymore or loss of sleep, because I was there with my family. That moment provided all the warmth I needed. I can still smell the northern dogs on the grill, in Tony’s truck, across the street from Orange High School. I haven’t forgotten passing & staring at the Washington Statue in Washington Park. I thought somehow it was the official seal of my home. It laid right in the heart of Downtown, by the bakery we often visited for their cheesecake and brownies. Inside, it even had the same photo of Whitney Houston on  their wall that I had on the wall of my room. I can smell the stink of mud from net dipping for tad poles and guppies at Branch Brook Park, along with competing against my brother in catching the most creatures. I went back to being devastated by the brilliant tulips at Verona Park. The imaginations inspired by the many weddings that took place there over the stoned bridge, where the swans swam are still vivid. The feeling as if I had boarded a plane and landed in Japan didn’t leave me either, as I remembered the Cherry Blossom Festival that we attended each year. I can still see the painted face of the beautiful Geisha and like music that played.

Finally, I came across a photo of Branch Brook Park in 1907 during a concert. I stared at the many people who attended. I wondered about the memories they must have held, times they revisited this place, my memories there with my family, the family members I’ve lost and the history. Then somehow Margaret Mitchell’s line from one of my favorite character’s came to mind. “Go back  to Tara Scarlett. It’s your home and where you get your strength.” If I didn’t understand the significance of this line when I first heard it, I do now. Newark is my home. It’s a place where I can go to be with all of my family when we can’t get together, and also be with the ones that I’m unable to see for a while. Though I can’t physically be there right now, I’m there in heart. Hopefully, soon we all will be there again and can wave the bye to strenuous labor that consumes our time… I hope the same for you too.

Catch ya later ;)

J

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Finding something that was lost

December 6, 2010 at 11:24 am (Uncategorized)
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Hello my Sky Masterson guys and Sarah Brown dolls. I felt bad about delivering my newest piece late, but as I pulled my batgirl mobile in front of the Times Dispatch to pick up the December issue of Skirt and it wasn’t there I said to myself, if Nikki can be late with a release so can I.. I just have to make it vogue-ishy late!) So, without further adieu… SPARKLE NEELY SPARKLE (tell me you’ve seen it, luas)

I’ve never really been a new years resolution person, because through the year I’m always testing myself, hoping to pass on everything I set out to do. So, in December I review and there were quite a few failures… Failure to gain that impossible love, failure to not care if people think I’m silly for believing in the ever after, failure to stop accepting what’s out there because I haven’t been able to receive what I want, failure to be assertive when it comes to what I want and failure of not having enough self-confidence… After the review I asked myself, “why am I a failure? “An unknown, buried facet of myself lumped herself from my throat and told me “History”. Times have changed and chains have been broken, but alas somethings are still the same and some chains have yet to be broken.

When I picked up the December issue of Skirt and read “The best gifts of 2010″ one thing stood out to me. “Finding something that was lost.” Well I found that something, which is the reason behind my failures. My realization inspired an epic and I gift it to you.

~From the beginning of time to where the land of Sheba mysteriously lays, from 1619 to 2010, no pardons from me, I am more than my skin. More than my untamed hair, wide eyes and dented cheeks. My firm breast, shapely legs, oval lips and a waist made to grip. If he can see my soul, why does he only see this?

He’s looked in my eyes and knows that my sisters burdens are mine, I’ve been kidnapped as a virgin and made a concubine. I was giving away as bounty and added to a long list of wives. I was auctioned off, turned into a laborer, maid and sex slave. Couldn’t ride with my legs side by side, work, own, cast a vote and speak my mind. My mission was to become your equal, yet it brought you no pride. You’ve even seen the Nile within my eyes and offered no levee for the event of its demise. You’re cold and without care. The only emotion you bear   is the stirring of your manhood from this skin. With all rights gained still you only see this skin, but in and out of time I am more than my skin.

I gave him my heart, because I thought he couldn’t be apart from me… Did he attend the academy of performing arts? I was unaware this was a movie and we were playing parts. He was smart with his intentions to part ways after leaving his prints on the scene. His boldness shows he doesn’t care and the pain in my heart wishes this was only a nightmare. I bore his children, nurtured and attended to his needs, held a job, kept my figure and he left with a younger version of me. Didn’t try to change or cut him into a design that better suits or fits me and he in return cheated, wasn’t honest and infected me. My days are now numbered because I loved a man and he didn’t have enough respect to tell me he was tired of me or that I was just an experiment to find out who he wants to be. I was his at home candy when he didn’t feel like shopping in the streets and make no mistake this was unbeknown to me. Standing at my locker he passes by with my friend and my heart screams, he told me I was special! When he touched me was it just a dream? Did he not feel and make love to me? Despite what I showed him, he thought so little of me?

My words are my mouthpiece, because I’m shy like a dull wind. A heart after God’s instruction and I put up a fight not to sin. Befriended and loved him, and his gratitude is to make me someone on the side by trying to persuade me to give in. I am not his  own sweet sally and Monticello isn’t the ground under my feet. I dare him make me think I’m something that will continue to reek of defeat. Could this be the reason I prefer words over speech, because he won’t breach from his forefathers sick history of enslaving me? Like culture being stripped he made me forget and feel ashamed of me. Well, I no longer ask myself why he treats me this way. I don’t care to have his approval or about what he thinks. I break the chain and proclaim that I am the one with the wild hair, wide eyes and dented checks. Firm breasts, shapely legs, oval lips, and a waist made to grip. Dark brown, tan, olive, pale and peach skin, no pardons from me, I am more than my skin and my name is Woman.


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Jesus fed 5000, we’re feeding 3000:)

November 22, 2010 at 7:42 am (Life)
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As you guys know from my last post I volunteered with The Giving Heart to help raise money for the Annual Thanksgiving Feast for the homeless & people in need. In hope that my readers would come and assist me in volunteering, The Giving Heart Director Vicki Neilson appointed me in charge of the volunteers for the event.  But, unfortunately my readers couldn’t make it this time around. However, my number 1 friend (God) whispered a word in my ear reminding me of The YMCA’S mission statement, “To put Christian principles into practice through programs that build healthy spirit, mind, and body for all.” So, I called and told them about the food drive and my lack of volunteers and found out about a program I didn’t know existed.

Associate Teen Director Lindsay Templeton made me aware of The Leaders Club. It is a volunteer community service that helps students accumulate points towards their GPA as well as help enhance personal growth & leadership skills. Well, Lindsay was more than happy to get the Leaders involved and they were more than happy to assist!

When we all met up for the food drive Saturday at  Sam’s Club and I interacted with these leaders, watched & listened to their responses to the kind & not so kind people who entered & exited the store I saw that it wasn’t just about accumulating points for their GPA’s, they were there to help and they cared. It’s one thing to assume this, but it’s especially wonderful to see it.

The Leaders and I had a blast and brought in $900 plus cash with some food donations as well. Founder & Director of The Giving Heart Vicki Neilson said that their goal each year is to meet the amount of $1400. Adding the profit from the Sam’s Club drive with the profit from the food drive at Walmart and other independent donations towards the feast, unofficially she believes that they met their goal to feed 3000.

Knowing the end result and the fact that the YMCA & myself took part in this event makes me unable to stop smiling. Now when we sit down at our tables with our families on Thanksgiving to have dinner, I can be content on this day because I know that my distant family members will be doing the same thing.

I thank the The Giving Heart for allowing me to be a part of this and the Leaders Club for having my back. Job well done guys!!! Check out the pictures below to see us in action!!!

Me & my dolls

Davina, Smarty Pants & Becca working the entrance

(The attention Getters:)

The early birds (Thanks for the tunes guys)

Giving Heart Board Member Norma Jean with the Leaders working the exit area

Giving Heart Board members Jeff & Barbara

 

Me & my dolls about to get VERY silly after lunch! but what a way to reel them in!!!

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Homeless In Virginia

November 2, 2010 at 2:27 am (Uncategorized)

Each year, a number of people donate money to different causes in different countries and even more so during the holidays. It’s good to help people and causes everywhere, but at this time I’d like to ask everyone to take a look in your own backyard and tell me what you see?… in my own from Brook to Azalea, Chamberlayne Avenue to Marshall Street, and 5th and Franklin to West Broad there are hungry and homeless individuals that need our help right here in our own hometown.

The Virginia Coalition to End Homelessness say’s that 9800 Virginians experience homelessness on any given night. 43% are families often with children, Veterans make up a disproportionate share and 12.93% of Virginia households pay more than 50% of household income on housing, putting many at risk of homelessness. Over the course of the year 40,000-50,000 experience homelessness and it is estimated that 21,000 more will experience homelessness in the next two years due to recession if we don’t intervene.  This is not just an issue that requires assistance or help from the state alone; it also requires help from the communities.

Hearing the word HELP a number of people will automatically think of money and flinch because they’re struggling financially themselves. But, they don’t realize donating “TIME” is needed just as much as money. There are organizations such as The Salvation Army, Meals on Wheels, and Freedom House that provides shelter, food, employment assistance and recovery guidance that address the issues that lead to homelessness. These organizations needs hands or volunteers just as much as they could use currency donations to help with packaging, serving & delivering food. Cooking, cleaning and sorting through donated items.

For the people that might be more financially able to donate money please understand that there is a great need of more shelter space to house homeless individuals. Many are turned down due to lack of space and will have to endure the cold. The organizations can provide them meals, but they are without a place to lay their heads…  Can you imagine if it were you, your son or daughter knocking on the door for help and being turned down because there’s not enough room? You would want help for you and your family, so let’s look at these individuals the same. When family is in trouble you don’t stand by and watch, you help.

Our family is in trouble, so please come out and join me in donating time, money or both for the homeless and individuals in need. I’m currently in contact with The Giving Heart of Richmond, Virginia. Each year The Giving Heart provides Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless & individuals in need at The Richmond Convention Center. Unfortunately, I contacted them too late to volunteer, because they now have enough help. However, I’m not too late to volunteer for the food drive that will take place the Saturday before Thanksgiving. I will have event details by the end of the week and will post them on my Facebook and Twitter page. I do know that since this will be a group effort I will need a head count of the number of volunteers attending. So, you can reply “I’m volunteering or I’m unable to volunteer”.  I’m looking forward to meeting my guys & dolls so don’t disappoint me! ;) Remember to check back for details here http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jerseys-Fire/146243445393278

Also, I came across this video on my Twitter and it shook me, because I saw my own nephews faces and thought what if it were them…  please watch.

http://twitter.com/FallingWhistles

 

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Project;will be back in a couple of weeks… I promise;)

October 15, 2010 at 11:16 pm (Uncategorized)

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