بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Beloved Brothers and Sisters!
Yesterday, I finally had the opportunity to take the New Orleans Music Tour. I first saw a flier in 2015, the first time I came here, if I’m not mistaken. In any case, the tickets were $25, which I didn’t have or couldn’t spare.
The New Orleans Public Library listed the tour as one of the Summer events. At the time, I didn’t know it was the same tour, but anything beginning with New Orleans Music is a sure shot for Love. 🙂
It rained in the early part of the day and I toyed with the idea of skipping the tour. I’m so L.A., and we’re very laid back. So, even though I really wanted to go and had been wanting to go for quite some time, it wasn’t a big deal if I got rained out.
But the rain stopped. It was still cloudy though and appeared as if any minute the Heavens might pour rain down on us yet again. But, nevertheless, I found myself packing up my sewing project, and tidying up, in preparation for an excursion.
I arrived at the meeting place – a bar on the perimeter of The French Quarter and a couple of people were outside probably of my same mind which under no circumstances would find me entering such an establishment.
They confirmed that they too, were amongst the group of musical tourists and pointed me in the direction of the ticket office in a space adjoining the rear of the bar.
As I approached, a trio of people, who clearly worked at the Library (Library personnel tend towards eccentricity) exited the ticket office, one clad with a clipboard, preparing to check off our names.
We had to Répondez S’il Vous Plaît. She checked us off one by one and noted that a majority of potential tourists opted to stay home – most likely due to the inclement weather.
Shortly thereafter, a chubby, bubbly little Sister also emerged from the office, introduced herself and invited us in for wristbands and fans.
I have been needing a fan for awhile now. I had one in L.A., as usual, but it broke before I arrived in New Orleans.
It was so ironic for me because a matching parasol and fan were a part of all of my garments and upon arriving in New Orleans I found that they are very commonplace here, whereas in L.A., I was pretty much the forerunner in that style, at least of late. It’s classic.
In the eighteen hundreds up until the 1950s, women (and men) would not think of leaving the house without some type of head covering and gloves. They protect us from the filth of this world. Add the tambourine, the parasol (or para agua) and the fan and the sum is me and New Orleans.
So, as we began the music tour, our guide carried with her a bluetooth speaker, playing music that punctuated her spiel.
She began with
Mrs. Irma Thomas – The Soul Queen of New Orleans.
I’ve never been able to afford to see her here in Nawlins, although I recently found out that she does an annual concert for Mother’s Day at one of the more well-known recreation parks and I’m pretty sure that’s free.
I was privileged to catch her act last Summer at the Santa Monica Pier Twilight Concert Series and I can say, with the exception of some of her more raunchier stuff, that I really liked her, even more so than The Queen of Soul.
We crossed “The Ramp” (Rampart Street), officially exiting The French Quarter and entering The Treme. The tour took place on a Sunday afternoon, just as the Congo Square Drum Circle was in full swing.
I felt like the biggest hypocrite because I have actually come to blows and ended up in jail over these tours and here I am on one, in the very same place.
So, when I recognized some faces in The Drum Circle I accepted their looks of contempt as something I should have expected.
I was the only so-called Negro on the tour. Our guide, was of course, Black, but she informed me later that her father was a Jew. Hence her name Malika “Goldberg,” or something equally as ludicrous.
We talked about the history of the Drum Circle, our guide swooning over it, as most people who are heavily into music do. She related the history of The Treme’ as the oldest Black neighborhood in America and the location where we were standing our ancestors (mine and hers anyway 
) had been gathering in the exact same location on the same day, at the same time for about the last three hundred (300) years.
She omitted the fact that we were only corralled there in the Square, while the white devil slavemasters cavorted in The Quarter…
Moving on, she spoke at length about the famous Mardi Gras Indian Chief “Tootie” Montana. I didn’t tell her how we Black New Orleanians pronounce his name. Nor what, Black New Orleans musicians call Satchmo, about whom she talked later. I’m not telling you either, because I called 2pac by his familiar name one time on FB, now er’body and they momma calling him by it. So cheah.
She talked about the trumpet jazz pioneer, Buddy Bolden, whose statue up until that time, I had thought was Louis Armstrong. They may have just changed the plaque. White people do that kind of deceptive stuff.
She talked about Satchmo, for whom the park is named, as we stood in front of his twelve-foot-high or so statue.
She talked at length about Mahalia Jackson, whose statue is about as tall as Armstrong’s.
But she could barely even recall Sidney Bechet’s name, much less mention he has a bust sculpture. He wasn’t a part of the tour. But feel free to wave as we walk right on by him.
I was stunned. And, later when I went back (I left the tour early. I refuse to be humiliated while you sing the “praises” of the Catholic Church that still enslaves our Black people today! I’m not going to use your favorite term which is like poison every time it is uttered.
Why say, “Free People of Colour” instead of BLACK? Is there any other colour of people whose coulour necessitates the prefix of “FREE?” Is there a need to preamble Mexican, or Japanese, Chinese, Indian or even Native American with the emotionally charged precursor of the word “FREE?” I think not.
So, why insult my intelligence by inferring that there’s any other colour of people included in that descriptive terminology of yours, other than the American So-Called Negroes, and just call a Black Spade – Black!
WE ARE BLACK AND PROUD. SO, SAY IT LOUD! BLACK BLACK BLACK BLACK BLACK BLACK!
And, stop worrying about and fearing your devil Caucasian white slavemaster, who is actually afraid of us and the power that will result from our UNITY under the all-encompassing word that applies only to the Chosen People of Allah (God) and not any other race of people – BLACK!
Back to Sidney and his snub. Now, keep in mind that every last person mentioned on this tour is
A. A native of New Orleans
B. Commemorated with some type of statue
C. A master in his/her field of music
I have read several quotes where Armstrong lavished praise on Bechet and enumerated how influential he was on his playing.
So why the diss?
The tour guide actually waved as we passed.
I was flabbergasted.
Armstrong “told me” he didn’t want any roses, he didn’t want any posies, he just wanted to make sure I wrote this.
The reason Sidney Bechet, the world class clarinet player, who was one of the founding fathers of Jazz and one of Louis Armstrong’s biggest influences, was left out of this musical tour of New Orleans, his home town, is because he didn’t like white devil Caucasian Americans.
He, like many of his musical contemporaries, moved to Paris, where I have heard from musicians, even to today that the devil Americans are much more evil than their Parisian counterparts. With the Germans closely following the devil American Caucasians.
The devils in New Orleans pamper the Black musicians who cater to them or put devils in their combo/band and are friendly – always showing their teeth and grinning, scratching their heads and dumbing down just to be “heard” as the King of the slaves on the Marsalis Plantation put it. (Wynton)
But some musicians don’t fall for the okey doke.
These musicians will be notoriously overlooked in favor of a white musician, who cannot compare to the Black one. But because the Black musician doesn’t shuck and jive for the devil’s camera, he gets no publicity (Tubad )
So cheah, I’m sending this to the tour company, In sha Allah, and The Black Press.
The Black Press won’t do anything but steal my topic and rewrite it. They should call themselves The Black Su-press. Bunch of cowards. This will be my third time but I’m not in it for the money.
That’s why it pays to have your own. Allah pays me and He is The Best of Payers. 🙂 Al Hamdulillah.
Anyway, I contributed more to the tour than I took from it. And, what I did learn was mostly bad, like the identities of people whom I know by face (and know to be coons), only to discover that they are some of the New Orleans devils’ favorite musical coons.
I was lucky enough to leave the tour right before coming upon a block of family I used to hang out with (kinda) upon my first arrival. They are definitely familiar with my animosity towards the whole tourism machine, which basically consists of devils walking, riding, cycling or driving by Blacks at play.
The only difference between us and zoo animals is that we are not in cages.
Or ARE we???
Homemaking For The Black Muslim Woman Journal ™ 