When Michael, Prince and Whitney were killed, someone made the often-heard comment that Deaths occur in threes. At the time, I didn’t really pay attention, one death is bad enough.

On Sunday, my son and I took a long overdue tour of Leimert Park.

It was wonderful! I had an amazing time. He even pointed out the beautiful luxe growth of the lawn. I can’t front. The park seems to be thriving, in spite of its inaccessibility that many “regulars” were concerned about.

You cannot imagine the heartbreak I felt, when, as we were ending our daylong excursion, a sundry Brother who was entering the area, informed us of the untimely death of our poor Brother, Ermias Joseph Asghedom bka Nipsey Hussle.

I remember hearing his name YEARS AGO, when I used to go to Project Blowed. He was one of the incoming new breed, just as I was “outgrowing” the Blowed. So, I didn’t pay him much attention.

Years later, a Brother, who was very active in the Revolutionary Black Riders and whatnot movement, mentioned how much he liked the Brother’s music.

I had a modicum of respect for this Brother, and am an avid lover of music, so I gave Brother Nipsey an ear.

However, all I heard was “Slauson,” “Crenshaw,” and a whole bunch of derogatory lyrics that I was not feeling, therefore was in no way inclined to continue to listen.

Although, indubitably, time has a way of choosing and refining certain people and the sundry Brother enlightened me by enumerating the various acts of صدقة (charity) and community investments that Our Dearly Departed Brother had initiated. So not only was I sorry for our loss, but also remorseful that I did not support the Brother during his lifetime.

Ironically, as we arrived at the park, I saw an old Blowed Heavyweight, Zagu, who my son had never met, yet commented on how similarly he resembled Brother Hussle! Then to hear he had been brutally murdered only a few minutes earlier, was rather unsettling.

I pray Allah forgives him for anything he may have done in opposition to his nature and pray Allah welcomes him into Jannah.

 

May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah forever be upon him.

Then, yesterday, I was going through some of the literature I had picked up during my trip to “town.” And I came upon a flier for a Jazz Fundraiser honouring Sister Patrice and her drummer of choice NDUGU CHANCLER, posthumously.

This really came as a surprise because the last time I saw our Dearly Departed Beloved Brother, I noticed he had lost a considerable amount of weight.

Although he had, admittedly, been somewhat overweight before, his sudden weight loss just did not sit right with me.

I, humbly approached him and inquired about his health, with every intention of recommending “HOW TO EAT TO LIVE,” in the event of his being ill.

Our Dear Brother, emphatically assured me that he was not sick, and so, convinced, I gave him the greetings, took my leave and did not worry about him further.

As you can probably imagine, my sadness surrounding news of his passing was only amplified due to our Dear Beloved Brother’s little prevarication… May Allah forgive him and welcome him into Jannah. Peace be upon him.

For those of you unfamiliar with his work, this is our Brother featured on Michael Jackson’s, “Billie Jean” off “Thriller,” the highest grossing album in music history. Peep the intro…

I remember this like it was yesterday. Ya’ll feel me? It was touted as such a big deal because he “debuted” The Moonwalk that Jeffrey Daniels and other L.A. Poplockers had been doing for years.  Where my old heads at? 😛 Ya’ll remember this??? I could never really get into it because of the subject matter… I looked for an instrumental in honour of Brother Ndugu [r.i.p.] but it was some artificial, computer generated, digital replica and the quality was boo-boo. Michael is lip-synching at this show, so you get to hear the album version featuring Our Brother on the traps. May he rest in peace.

This is his and Patrice’s most popular publicity photo.

With Stanley Clarke on bass, the Jazz Combo… Love the Afro-Cuban feel in this…
Clarke is a Scientologist, but I don’t know how to edit him out, so just try and not get caught up in the tricknollegy.

Their playing was really in the pocket at this session so I want to include another number.

 

 

 

Finally, the one that brings tears to my eyes everytime I think about it.

I would like to believe that perhaps I am mistaken and it was not an announcement of the death of my little اختي, that I read about in the paper (denial). 

And, although the illusion (or disillusion) brings me comfort for a while, it just makes facing reality – when it hits again, and it will hit again – all the more harsh.

I had seen this Sister in Leimert often and considered her one of the Regulars.

Unfortunately, she was one of the Regulars who happen to be members of one of the rather undesirable aspects of the “Makkah” of our Black Community. A segment I refer to as “The Homeless Society.”

We, (and yes, I am a part of this Society among others) are the ones who usually suffer from some type of mental illness and/or drug abuse; Have been to both jail and the psych ward; May be distributing drugs or some other illicit product; most likely smoke/drink; and because we are categorically homeless or feel most comfortable and/or make our living by being among homeless, we spend most of our time in or near shelters, homeless resource centers, or public places like parks and libraries. 

Another Leimert Park Regular (Not a member) made it a point to tell me her name.

Once about ten years ago, or more, I was about 35, and someone referred to me as “Queen Mother!” I thought it was cool. Most people, in The Homeless Society where I receive services, refer to me as “Mother Love.”

Don’t ask me how my street name “Mother Love” from Orleans Parish Prison traveled all the way across the country back to Santa Monica, before I ever set foot back in California. Because I certainly couldn’t tell you. But, I have always had a maternal instinct and now it’s apparently becoming more apparent. 🙂 (“a parent” LOL)

Incidentally, “Amber” is the name of the daughter who came out of my womb, so naturally, when I heard the name, Amber, called out as I stood in line preparing to board a bus that was scheduled to transport me, and a few of my fellow inmates to trial in Los Angeles Superior Court from the women’s county jail, my interest was piqued.

I turned around to see who was this Amber. And it was only after a careful and meticulous study of her face, did I realize that she was indeed Leimert Park Amber. It will have to suffice for me to say that she was scarcely recognizable. She had aged considerably, also cut her hair and gained a little weight.

In my heart and mind’s eye, I could visualize me giving her a big California Grizzly Bear hug, just to let her know that I saw her, but simply introducing myself, let alone giving her a hug, was completely out of the question, as we were both shackled, and under the universally snooping eyes of the LASD, whose deputies would have, heartlessly, made mockery of us, humiliating and affronting our current wretched situation. So I bided my time.

Opportunity knocked after we reached the courthouse and were housed in the same tank. The other inmates had had their lunches (I only eat one meal a day. Yes, even in jail. 🙂 The other inmates practically fight each other and lavish me with praise, obsequiously begging for my breakfasts and lunches. LOL I usually sell them for writing utensils though. You almost have to. It’s like a rule in jail. You’re not supposed to just give away stuff. But I’m Muslim and صدقة is a fundamental principle. So, I am not bound by jailhouse rules, at least not that one. So, I gave away my lunch at the courthouse as well) and were relaxed and peaceful, so amicably, I approached her and introduced myself.

It took forever, but she finally remembered me. Well, she remembered Hakim. 🙂

“Oh!” She finally got it. “You’re the Sister with the little boy with the glasses!”

“Yes!!!”

So, I hugged her for Hakim a little bit too. 🙂

She turned out to be more like me than My-Womb-Amber! (Whom I would NEVER run into in a jail, unless she worked there.  That’s why I didn’t speak to her when she found me after I cut her off for betraying her entire Black Nation… But that’s a whole ‘nother blog… I’ll just call her a traitor and won’t kill her without mercy like I’m supposed to. Calling her AMINAH is helping me immensely.)

Unfortunately, the GOOD Leimert Park Amber is dead now and I feel horrible because we really clicked! I mean, I found out where she stomps and I still haven’t been by there.

I erupted a couple of nights after I learned of her passing. I didn’t know how connected we were. Just on the strength of her name!!! If you don’t know, by now, how important a name is to me, you will never know.

She was like my surrogate Amber. Who I never really got to bond with after I had my umpteenth nervous breakdown and she went and grew up and grew away from me.

Then, I got to embrace Leimert Park Amber and just chill for a cool minute. I mean, she was, I don’t even know what to call it, other than what the paramedics call it, like me.

I totally understood when she needed to excuse herself for a minute and “isolate” (as the psychoanalysts label it, to make us feel like something is wrong with us because sometimes just being around other people can feel like you’re giving a reading and it’s terribly taxing on the nervous system) I have to do the same thing after a while more often than pleases me. 

I mean, when I used to drive, we never took main streets. I cannot take the craziness on busy streets, preferring to crawl along at 25 mph on residential streets in the interest of retaining my little bit of sanity. And sometimes, I would stop at the masjid, on long trips away from home, just to recoup, before venturing out on the road again. 

But by the time we were on the return bus, we had become so enamoured with each other, we were singing “Sister” across the rows in the bus (I was in the front and she was in the very last row) from THE COLOUR PURPLE to each other. LOL We didn’t care. We had something no other two Sisters in the whole jail had – A  SISTER! Someone we could sing Sister songs to. 🙂 And although, I’m older than her by at least ten, probably fifteen years or so, and had read the book back in circa 1983, and only knew the first sixteen bars, she knew the WHOLE song and sung all the lyrics, over everybody’s head, all across the rows of the bus, all the way back… to the Los Angeles County Women’s Jail… 😥

May Our Saviour Allah, Who Came in The Divine Person of Master Fard Muhammad, To Whom Praises Are Due Forever, Have Mercy on Her, Forgive Her of All Her Sins and WELCOME HER INTO JANNAH…

May The Peace and The Blessings of Allah Forever Be Upon You,
My Dearly Beloved Sister, Amber. I love you.