بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

So yesterday (when I wrote this), I finally made it to Congo Square. I figured I had better hurry up and go because Allah (God) Might W…. oh yeah, Zawji said Stay until his birthday (October 22). But I went anyway….

Most of the articles or events or whenever I heard of Black-life in NOLA before I moved out here, talked about the famed Congo Square and how it was a meeting places for the slaves in New Orleans.

So, naturally, that’s the FIRST place I’m looking for as soon as I stepped on the scene. Nine out of ten Black People I asked, when I got here, had never heard of it. And the one that did, couldn’t tell me how to get there. One Sister did pull the address up for me on her Smartphone.

She was a fashionable Afrocentric “Sistah” (one of my Doppels) and I was very surprised when she couldn’t tell me where it is. She looked like Leimert Park folks and I was given the impression she would go there all the time because it’s like the Leimert of NOLA from what I hear.

Whenever there are Black Cultural events, they always have them in Congo Square. I did run into a Brother who looked like Leimert Park folks. I almost didn’t approach him because he looked kinda “touched”, but I did and he was happy when I mentioned it (Congo Square). He asked me, “What are they having there tonight?” Which really encouraged me.

Some people knew it as “Jackson Square.” That really upset me. CONGO Square!!! Let’s use the ABORIGINAL name, please!

When I got there, I learned that they had built an ENORMOUS park around it and put up a hundred foot neon lit sign that reads ARMSTRONG PARK.

Of course, the devils would much rather build a monument to their #1 coon, Louis Armstrong, than a memorial to their brutal history of Slavery.

When I got there, they were in the process of filming a movie in the area, so I helped myself to Craft Services. Allah (swt) Provided me with my One Meal of the Day. Allahu Akbar! Allah is the Greatest! No fear! No grief! No anxiety! No stress! No worries! When you submit to The Beneficent.

So, while I’m chatting it up with the crew, I notice a devil sitting very still on a bench. I don’t why why she captured my attention, Maybe because she was the only other person I saw in the park (I think. I don’t remember.) Or maybe because she was sitting down on a bench.

I love sitting on metal filligree park benches. For some reason they remind me of my Zawji. I can’t for the life of me, remember why. I know we must’ve spent time on a park bench, but I don’t remember where or when.

Okay, Zawji told me we used to eat our lunches together on a park bench that was on our school campus. I can picture it but I don’t remember it.

So, after I had my fill… Oh, a Brother and his wife were working there, hauling maybe. They wanted to make sure I got a good meal (I didn’t ) I asked him if he was a Mason. He said, “Yes.” I knew it because only the Masons own their own businesses. I told them (She was an Eastern Star) “Stop telling people you’re Christians.”

We are living in the day and the time when the veil of falsehood MUST be lifted and the Truth Made Known.

So, I didn’t get an omelette because I haven’t been to a brunch in a long time and I forgot how to do it. You’re supposed to pick your ingredients and give them to the chef. But, I looked at the slim pickings and decided, “Nah” they weren’t good enough.

I wish I had let the O.E.S. intermediate for me. Oh well, I had a bomb glazed honey-bun type of donut, a cup of pure milk and a nasty frap. But I’m not complaining. #grateful FOR THE MILK. I also came up on a honey bear too. So, you know when I got home it was on and crackin’! #milk&honey. #youdonthavetowaituntilyou’redead 😉 #gettinitin!

For a while, I had been wanting some yogurt. So, I happened upon the New Orleans Mission the other day. It’s just like the Missions on Skid Row. First, you MUST sit and listen to some Christian preacher poison you with slavery teaching – LIES. Then and ONLY then can you help yourself to the food that the donors have given them for us.

So, of course, they have a “Program.” Those programs are the most vile and hateful things they could have ever resorted to to try and help people. But they’re devils. What else would you expect from a race of devils?

I RUN when somebody starts talking about the “P” word!!!

So, I get there at 10:52, but one of the “P” Brothers told me I couldn’t get in until eleven.

So, this Brother said he had some plums from breakfast, in his car. That almost sold me to the program. Finding fresh produce while you’re homeless is like finding a precious Black pearl down in the ocean hidden deep in the dark recesses of a remote oyster. But you can find chips and cookies and soda and “snacks” on every corner.

They love oysters out here. I like them too, but now that I know better, I do better. I just tell them, I don’t eat anything that lives off of filth itself. But you know what, on three separate occasions, I have just been walking down the street and came upon a foot-high stack of oyster shells, strategically placed. I think it’s some hoodoo stuff. Prolly Zawji trying to tell me something. 😉 ❤ ❤ ❤

So, then I see the Brother’s car and I’m like “Nah, only pimps drive Cadillacs.” With the exception of the Escalade and the pick-up. So then, I ran.

And, I got in line, then they tell me to go on up to the front. I was immediately suspicious, but obeyed. The women go first. I follow the Sister ahead of me past crates of food stacked so high, they towered over my head, some of them.

They were receiving a delivery when I got there. It was clear they receive much more than they could ever distribute. I know because I went back the next day and they gave me some rotten meat. Ewww!!!!!!!

So, I followed the Sister past the kitchen, where two Brothers we seasoning up several trays of steaks. I would’ve eaten it too. Homelessness demands you to slack up in your selection of foods a little bit, in order to stay alive. It’s called survival!

So, to my horror, the woman files into a chapel! I try and play it off and instead of going in, I stop abruptly, suddenly finding the blueprints of the proposed building design hanging on the wall undeniably fascinating! #architectsdaughter

The devil minister was standing right there talking to one of the “P” Brothers.

Now, I’ve come to realize that my personality is that of a catalyst. I, unwittingly, change fifty year rituals, just by being myself.

So, as a result of my little detour, instead of everybody filing in to the chapel like they’ve probably been doing for the past one hundred years or more, they stop (some of them) to see what I’m looking at, or to talk to the devil minister or each other or me. Admittedly, I’m a “trouble-maker” according to Christian devils and all those who follow them in their wickedness. But… So was Jesus. 😉

So, I’m ostensibly reading the signs, under the hawkish glare of the devil minister, internally debating with myself whether or not it’s worth it.

They would’ve LOVED to see me go into their little Christian chapel. Probably would’ve snapped my picture. “Look, we got the little Muslim girl to come to our chapel….. *cackle* *cackle* *snort* *snort*”

Earlier I was even told that if you spend seven days there, you could receive a letter that you could use to attain housing.

So, I stood there a good eight (8) minutes before I finally left. But on my way out, I copped a french roll, a container of donut holes and an 8-cup box of yogurt. Oh! And 2 handfulls of fresh plums! Allah u Akbar!

So, when I got home, Zawji insisted that I eat the yogurt first. But it was warm and I didn’t like the texture. I wanted to eat the bread. But when Zawji speaks, I hear and obey. Surprisingly, the flavor was très magnifique! *kisses fingertips* (You can’t help but pick up a little French living in NOLA 😉 )

So, eventually, I get to about the sixth cup and decide to read the nutrition information. I was floored when I discovered that one 5 oz. cup of yogurt contains 24 (twenty-four) per cent of the protein recommended for one whole day! All I could say was Allahu Akbar. Zawji is the SECOND BEST KNOWER.

He makes me want what I need and dislike what I don’t need. All Praise Is Due To Allah. I got my yogurt! And it was GOOD for me too! 😀

* * * * *

So, yesterday (later when I wrote this) I slowly began working my way through this enormous park. The Messenger (PBUH) would get so angry with the devils bitd. There he was, using every means at his disposal to secure a hospital for Black people by Black people and the devils would allocate the land for another park. Just what the Asiatic Black Nation in the Wilderness of North America DOES NOT NEED – MORE SPORT AND PLAY.

But that’s what the devils want us to do. So, they build parks and statues. NOLA has statues on every corner. I can think of two statues, offhand, that I’ve seen in all of L.A. – from Downtown to Santa Monica.

So, there’re two statues of Brother Louis in this one park. I had been looking for the bench that that devil was sitting on. (They really need more benches in this huge park) I finally found it. She had vacated it, so I occupied it.

I looked up and there’s Brother Louis standing magnificently before me in all his musical majesty. I filled with so much emotion, I probably cried.

The words just started tumbling over and over in my head.

“Hey, Brother Louis.”

“I miss my wife.”  He “said.”

I thought of how I read in his autobiography that his second wife fully understood that she would always be second to his music. So, “hearing” him say that he missed his wife was very enlightening and encouraging both as a musician and as a musician married to a musician. We should put each other first.

I already told you, they’re trying to get me in the Illuminati. Devil Jews. Trying to make me sing – on their terms.

My Zawji is a musician. I get him I get the BEST OF BOTH WORLDS. They can kiss my perfect round Black ass.

I am going to sing one day, In sha Allah. But it has to be with my Zawji. I tried it without him thinking, “Allah Gave Me This Gift. He May Be Displeased If I Hide It Under a Bushel.” I tried THE WORLD STAGE and now I’m completely convinced I CANNOT sing without Zawji.

Trying to make the days count as opposed to counting the days.

I can’t wait to hear the band playing tonight. You can hear the music throughout the entire hotel.

Last night, I stayed in the main dressing room at the Mahalia Jackson Theatre for the Performing Arts. It had a shower! I wish I had the forethought to stuff something in the doorway, so I could get back in. Next time… In sha Allah.

As soon as I walked out the next morning, I saw a container of fresh fruit, just sitting there. Allah (swt) Had Provided Breakfast. Allah u Akbar.

There was fresh watermelon, honeydew, blueberries, strawberries, but canned peaches. Of course, the peaches looked out of place, but I’m wondering if maybe, the produce situation out here is different than in L.A. In L.A. you can get peaches and pretty much any kind of fresh fruit throughout the year. I finally saw a grocery store out here too – Winn-Dixie. I’m not too particular about the name though.

So, I went back to see Satchelmouth and watched the Sunrise and snacked on some “party snacks” I found in the theatre, but they tasted like they had pork in them. So, in the trash can they went. The ingredients had something called oleoresin. I didn’t know what that is, but oleo is lard in Spanish and that was good enough for me to toss it.

They had nuts anyway. So, I threw a few handfulls to the squirrel and Allah/Zawji told me, “That’s who this food is for.” I felt guilty but kept eating until I tasted the pork. Khanzier is pork in Arabic. It means “foul” and “I see foul.” The squirrel wouldn’t even eat it!

Now that I think about it, homelessness is not a reason to slack up on my good eating habits. I didn’t need that steak. I’m sure they had side dishes that would have filled my belly. And I didn’t need those party snacks either. I had just had some healthy fresh fruit! Greed.

So, this morning, just before Sunrise, I found CONGO SQUARE.

I almost started crying as I studied the sculpture of Africans dancing and drumming, when the chains, barely noticeable, framing the bottom of the sculpture jolted me back to reality. They were not just a group of Africans dancing and singing and drumming. They were slaves to America. 😥

There is a massive courtyard where they undoubtedly hold festivals, rallies and whatnot. It is one hundred times bigger than Leimert.

There was another sculpture that I was afraid was going to creep me out, so I spared myself the grief and shied away from it.

(I looked another day and sure enough it was one of the Mardi Gras Indians. Zawji is trying to acclimate me to this Mardi Gras stuff. I’m trying, Bi 🙂 I Love you!!! Happy Birthday, Darling ❤ ❤ ❤ )

Someone told me the brass bands come and play in the afternoons on the weekends and I saw a Brother carrying a trombone “yesterday” but he didn’t stop.

Someone else told me there are very reasonably priced apartments in the area, so I might take a look. I saw a 2-bedroom in the 9th ward for $800!!! I would’ve inquired but I want to be closer to Congo Square. I’m concerned there are going to be devils if I come back tomorrow (the weekend). If I see ONE, I’ma kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug and then jet!

Why was I walking down the street the other day and I passed one of the devil’s Masonic Lodges. I had seen a few Black Lodges, but this devil’s lodge was huge! I went in the yellow tape (there was major construction going on around the building but not on the building). After awhile this devil construction worker takes it upon himself to order me off the premises. These devils are unbelievable.

“Come on outta there, GAL.”

I was like, “WHAT DID YOU CALL ME???“

All I could think of was “A Woman Called Moses” I don’t know if he meant any harm or not, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he calls his own devil women, “Gal?” I don’t know. But I didn’t like it, on the strength of the Harriet Tubman movie. It came across as very possessive and condescending.

I hope that’s the first and the LAST time anybody calls me “gal.”