بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Beloved and Beautiful Asiatic Black Brothers and Sisters!

So, I began my Arabic classes and one of my teachers has class within her home.

I love ISLAM more and more, just as Our Beloved Messenger (May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah Forever Be Upon Us) taught us, the more I practice it.

I went to use the privy at her house, and although I have used it copious times at the Masjid, it was different in someone’s home.

There are always plant water pots in the restroom at the Masjids, however, she had a beautiful decorative tea pot. And for the first time I actually considered using one.

I was thrilled with the results and have taken to carrying a small water bottle with me for use in public restrooms. This devil has no intention of seeing us clean, so we must do the best we can while he still lives.

It also inspired me to research what the French call a bidet.

Even the christians will agree that “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” I would go even farther and say “Cleanliness IS Godliness.” 

My name WADOODAH, can also be translated as WUDUDAH – which is the cleaning ritual Muslims complete at least five times a day before PRAYER.

CLEANLINESS is imperative for the RIGHTEOUS. So take my strong advice. Invest in a teapot, a bidet, or some type of water dispenser for use in your bathrooms. You will love the results.

Also, see my tutorial for making your own disposable homemade personal cleansing cloths and go on with TRUTH.

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Beloved and Beautiful Asiatic Black Umma!

I am back in Malibu and enjoying every minute of it.

The Sheriff’s gaffled me up and you will not believe what type of strange and unusual torture is going on behind the scenes of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.

I, of course, have and always will be a POLITICAL PRISONER, but this time I felt like a PRISONER OF WAR – One degree away from a CASUALTY.

First, let me inform you that we have a new sheriff. His name is Villanueva, which is Spanish for “New City,” and he definitely is doing some new “ish!”

He has come under fire lately for re-hiring some deputies who had been fired for misconduct, also the “gangs” that are active within the department, and I can bear witness to the “tattoos” that they do not try to hide.

Personally, I think anyone who joins the police department or sheriff’s or military, has some sort of mental problem – a thirst for blood – to be specific.

What I went through was so torturous that it is difficult to relate, but for the sake of my Brothers and Sisters who suffer the same ordeal, I will elaborate.

I went to court and was sentenced to 180 days.

Obviously, I did not do that time.

When I arrived at the women’s jail, they had me sit there OVERNIGHT.

I was hoping they would just release me.

On the contrary, they processed everyone else and I was still sitting there the next morning when the ones who had court dates were leaving on their designated buses.

Finally, they took me into the change out room.

I think I may have a little bit more shame when it comes to undressing than most people. But the conditions are barbaric.

In New Orleans, they have the common decency to give us our own “stall,” where we can change in private. Not so, in the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department.

There is one big room and every one has to undress completely, one article at at time,  place each item into a storage bag, until we are all standing there stark naked, and then we are given our uniforms. It is very humiliating to say the least.

This instance, I was singled out, and the entire procedure was videotaped.

I was not surprised because Our Beloved Messenger, The Most Honourable Elijah Muhammad (May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah Forever Be Upon Him) warned us that The Bible prophesies that this wicked government keeps a record of her own evil doings.

Each unjust court proceeding is recorded in her own book.

So, I had my Holy Qur’an and my Journal, but before I was able to hand them over to the deputies, I was attacked, brutally handcuffed, thrown to the floor and my clothes were forcibly removed, cut completely through and through and as if that wasn’t evil enough, I watched helplessly from my position on the floor, in horror, as one deputy, right in front of me, ripped my beautiful M.G.T. uniform into shreds. PURE HATE.

For no reason, other than I am a RIGHTEOUS MUSLIM, and will be buried in my M.G.T. GARMENT, In sha Allah. They hate the Righteous just because we are righteous. They also wear uniforms, and are fully aware of their importance. And they were determined to prevent me from leaving in my HOLY GARMENTS.

They then proceeded to wrap my legs in a mermaid type of restraint, with everything wrapped so tight, I could not move, and the only thing exposed were my feet and my derriere’.

The only thing this contraption could possibly be used for is anal rape.

I drew a picture in my journal, which was the only way I could get over such an ordeal. I could not put it into words at the time.

There were handles on the sides which the deputies used to transport me to my cell.

I honestly believe the only reason I was respited from being anally raped is the fact that I insisted on them giving me the head covering we agreed upon before my intake.

I don’t think I am going to post the picture in the interest of good taste, and thank Allah for sparing me from such brutality and pray they have not used it on any of my Brothers nor Sisters held in this devils’ captivity.

I was transported to the Suicide unit and given a “suicide dress” that was so used that the velcro did not work and I had to hold it up to cover my nakedness.

I have no idea how long I was in there, but my requests for decent clothing were ignored.

Eventually, EMTs arrived and I was taken to Harbor UCLA Medical Center’s jail unit.

Why did one of the techs bring in a newspaper and I read about the serial murderer who had recently been apprehended?

There was a picture of the suspect and when I looked up from the article, I looked right into the face of the same man, who had grown his hair out and grew a beard.

I was going to inform this Brother who was Pac’s doppelganger, and he was kind of sweet on me, but it did not seem appropriate. I was the one who should have been worried since all of his victims were beautiful young women. 🙂

But his weapon was always a knife, and we could not even use ink pens, so I knew I had nothing to worry about.

So, again, they tried to commit me. This is the second time.

I NEED the Sun. I was on the top floor, but they put awnings over the windows so I only got a tiny right triangle of sunshine every day around lunchtime. The rest of the day I was in misery.

When I lived in New Orleans, I noticed that plants would grow all over a house until it could barely be seen. But let them enter.

They die.

So, when they told me I would be leaving on Monday (this was on a Wednesday), I began to prepare myself mentally.

My doctor (Doc Holliday) was uber cool. He used to be a drummer and was very easy to talk to.

They use us as guinea pigs a lot – sending in 3 interns, 2 med nurse, psychiatrists, lab technicians, and 20 other people, who all ask the same three questions,

“How did you sleep?”

“Do you feel like hurting yourself or anyone else?”

“Are you hearing or seeing anything I can’t hear or see?”

“Do you feel suicidal?”

So, after the doctor left, I just ignored everybody else.

But the reason I was so worried was because I had only seen one person leave the entire time I was there and she left on a stretcher, probably to another unit or back to jail.

However, there was a Sister there when I got there, who left. And, I did not see her leave. So, despite the fact, that two different people had announced and made preparations for leaving weeks before and were still there when I was given the green light, I maintained.

Monday arrived and my new doctor came. (Doc Holliday was transferred for some unknown reason). He assured me that I would be released before Lunch. I was ecstatic.

But, I knew not to celebrate until I was again walking in the Sun.

Sure enough, the nurses started tripping – all from Africa. So annoying.

All of the Black patients were up from slavery though.

So many companies will only hire Black foreigners, to fill their Black quota.

Even the California African American Museum only has foreign born Black employees. It is nauseating.

So, I came up with a slogan. Feel free to run with it.

Anyway, Lunch came and went and I felt desperate. The Africans were threatening to reverse my release. So, I knew it was time for action.

I became a fixture at the nurse’s station bombarding them with questions. “Are my valuables here?” “Is there anything I need to sign.”

I rolled up my bed coverings, cleared out my dresser and prepared my belongings for departure.

I eventually resorted to upsetting the head African to the point of being THROWN OUT.

But did I care? Of course not! I categorized it as a VICTORY and happily walked out into the CALIFORNIA SUNSHINE.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum

 

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.

 

 

 

 

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم

 

NOTES TO REMEMBER

1. The wife herself is responsible for the care of her home and the welfare of the family.
2. The best woman is she, who when her husband sees her, he is pleased and when he directs her she obeys. She protects her husband’s rights and keeps her chastity when he is absent.
3. Nowadays there is a tendency for women to try and struggle for their livelihood in a harsh world in the way men do. The Muslim opinion is that she should be spared from these struggles and worries so that she can give her full attention to the making of a home.
4. The Muslim woman’s job is to make her family’s life sweet and joyful and the home a place of security and peace.
5. “The mother is a school”.
6. In the relationship of man and wife, both are expected to find peace in each others’ company and be bound together not only by the sexual relationship but by love and mercy.
7. The search for knowledge is a duty for every Muslim (Male or Female).
8. One of the aims of acquiring knowledge is that of becoming more conscious of ALLAH (God.)
9. Both men and women should behave modestly in the presence of the opposite sex.
10. The Muslim woman is to give her husband the respect due to the head of the family.
11. The Muslim woman is accorded full spiritual and intellectual equality with men.
12. The Muslim woman keeps her face free of make-up.

 

To the tune of “RED RIVER VALLEY” except the Bridge, not sure how the RRV bridge goes, but if you have any inkling of how a song goes, you’ll be able to carry it… إن شاء الله

 

This goes out to all the Brothers who wonder why I’m not interested;
Also your sisters, who try to set me up with you…

I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HA-AVE.

I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE “FI-INE AS WINE…”

I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE DRIPPING WITH SAU-AUCE.”

IF YOU WANT ME… YOU MUST BE F.O.I.

(verse 2)

I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE POPE OF THE VATICAN…

I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE P.O.T.U.SSSSSSS.

I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE CEO OF THE FORTUNE 500

IF YOU’RE NOT F.O.I. I DON’T CARE

(bridge)

F.O.I., F.O.I.

M.G.T. CAN ONLY MARRY F.O.I.

THERE’S A LITTLE BOOK CALLED MESSAGE TO THE BLACKMAN

READ IT, BELIEVE IT AND PRACTICE IT 

SO YOU CAN BE F.O.I.!!!

Okay, so apparently the person who wrote this song about the Louisiana River Valley, did not know that every Music songwriting class insists that every song has a bridge.

So, I did him/her a favor and at least gave it a tune…

Fill in with my lyrics… 🙂

 

 

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Beloved and Beautiful Sisters!!!

SPRING IS UPON US. I HAVE NOT NOTICED SO MANY COUPLES DURING THIS TIME OF YEAR SINCE A LONG LONG LONG LONG TIME.

NOT ONLY AM I SEEING MORE COUPLES, BUT THE FLOWERS SEEM TO REACH OUT TO ME. HUMMINGBIRDS COME RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE, LIKE “BAM!!” LOL

I’M LIKE, “OKAY! IT’S SPRING!”

IT’S ALMOST ANNOYING, BUT IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL.

BABIES, COUPLES AND FLOWERS!!!

LOVE IT. THE WEATHER IS WARMING UP. RAIN IS EASING AND IT REALLY FEELS LIKE SUMMER.

BUT I AM NOT GETTING CAUGHT UP!!!

ALLAH IS FIRST.

ISLAM AND PEACE.

I AM NOT LISTENING TO MUSIC. NOR SUCCUMBING TO THE REQUESTS FOR ME TO PERFORM. LISTEN TO THE MESSENGER (PEACE BE UPON HIM).

IN KEEPING WITH MY SAVIOUR’S DAY RESOLUTION, I HAVE FOUND AN ARABIC CLASS AND AL HAMDULILLAH! IT IS ONLY FOR SISTERS!!! AS IT SHOULD BE.

IF YOU ARE LUCKY ENOUGH TO LIVE NEAR ME 🙂 HERE IS THE E-MAIL

Salam Alaykum Sisters,

Our Quran class has begun at the King Fahad Mosque. The time has been moved to 6:30-8:00 on Wednesday.

Please join us tomorrow, Wednesday March 20th, to practice your Quran recitation.

We look forward to seeing you all there.

Let me know if you have any questions.

InshaAllah we will see you tomorrow.

Best regards,

Sabrina Grandke-Bawab

 

HERE IS AN OLD POST ON THE CHANGE OF SEASONS. I WOULD RECOMMEND YOU READ IT. IT HAS SOME VALUABLE INFORMATION WE NEED.

CHANGE OF SEASONS