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So, I’m living in New Orleans where the majority religion is by far Roman Catholicism. I have discovered that Roman Catholicism is the WORST form of Christianity there is.
Our Beloved Messenger, The Most Honorable and Humble Elijah Muhammad (May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah forever be upon him) taught us that in the Bible (Revelation) The Pope is referred to as “The Dragon” that gives power to “The Beast” which symbolizes America.
The Head of the Roman Catholic religion is referred to as a DRAGON.
Ever since it happened, and especially since I’ve been living here, I have been asking Allah over and over WHY? Why would He let or even cause something as devastating as Hurricane Katrina to affect a whole city that is, from what I’ve seen, majority Black?
Well, today, My Beloved Darling Zawji Told me it is because they are Roman Catholic.
Then, I thought about it. New Orleans has very close ties to Haiti, which is also predominantly Roman Catholic and almost entirely Black. Well, a few years ago, Haiti was hit by a very destructive earthquake which destroyed the entire country not too long ago.
Here, in New Orleans, they are still collecting donations for the children of Haiti and when I asked why help Haiti when there are children in need in America, I was just told that they wanted to help Haiti. Now, I know it is because of the close ties between New Orleans and Haiti, both being colonized by the French and sharing the religion of Roman Catholicism.
My Beloved Brothers and Sisters, PLEASE Give the devil back his religion and join on to your own kind before Master Fard Muhammad, to Whom Praises are Due Forever, decides to send another warning that the time of worshiping Him in any way you see fit is up.
ACCEPT YOUR OWN (Your own God – Allah, Your own Religion – Islam and Your own People – the Black Peoples of the Earth) and BE YOURSELF (A Righteous Muslim) before it is too late.
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 withoutZawji.
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.”
In my humble opinion, you are, hands down, the GREATEST TRUMPET MAN WHO EVER LIVED!
I love Miles, Lee, Dizzy, Clifford and Wynton is EXTREMELY talented, but YOUR MUSIC, My Dear Brother….When you BLOW, it just takes me to another level.
Your Duets With Sister Ella are Stellar and I hope they are around forever. I cannot fathom anything that could ever surpass them.
It makes my cry, though, Dear Brother, to think of how the devil Caucasians exploited you and the many other Black artists, who let them.
It makes me cry also, Dear Brother, to know that if it had not been for those same devils’ recordings of you and all of my favorite musicians, I would never have been able to hear your music. 😥
It also makes me cry, Brother Louis, to know that if I had been born during the time you were performing, I would have to sit up in the “Peanut Gallery” if I was allowed admission at all (like at the renowned Cotton Club where Blacks were only allowed to entertain the devil patrons but not enjoy the services offered there), if I wanted to see one of your legendary performances.
It makes my heart break, Dear Brother Louis, that you did not have enough Knowledge of Self to see how derogatory “Sleepy Time Down South” was and is to your own Black kind.
I’m sitting here, off Basin Street in Congo Square/Armstrong Park, watching nothing but devils come and go, posing and taking pictures in front of your statue, my dear poor, ignorant Brother.
I’ve been here ALL DAY and have not yet seen ONE Black Person come and visit your statue.
They (America) USED you, their servitude slave, Dear Brother, to travel around the world and act as an ambassador to convince their enemies of what a great country she it. HER SLAVE!
I know you didn’t know any better, Brother Louis, at least I hope you didn’t. I know the poison America has injected into all of her slaves – The So-called American Negroes – through her white supremacist school system, where ALL little Black schoolchildren are taught to worship and admire you because of your love for them.
I hate to say it, My Dear Brother, because of my love for you (regardless of your ignorance) and your music, but you were the Biggest Coon in American History. As much as I love you, Dear Brother, this is a fact.
Some might argue and say, Oprah Winfrey, but she has not been designated by the U.S. Government to act as an Ambassador to Foreign countries, like you were, My Brother.
Oprah Winfrey does not travel the world singing the praises of her slavemasters like you did, my Dearly Beloved, although Blind, Deaf, Dumb and Mentally Dead Dear Brother.
I know you had beef with some of the younger cats who were wide awake to the realization of their condition as “second-class citizens” (if that) here in the United Snakes of America, Dear Brother, like Diz.
I really wish you would have listened to him because that “Wonderful World” (just because of your reputation and image) was some ol’ bullshit, Dear Brother. However, I am happy that you presented a united front in the presence of our Universal and Open enemies – the Devil Caucasians.
Forsooth, if some white hippie, or even a self-proclaimed naturalist, like myself, had recorded it, Dear Brother, it would have had an entirely different connotation. However, because of your history of gratuitous obsequiousness toward your slavemasters, it came off as just another bearer of witness to your blind, deaf and dumb and mentally dead wretched state of mental slavery.
*I just broke my pen, throwing it at these devils.
I wish I had a grenade!
I hate these so-called “Jazz enthusiasts”,
Who claim Jazz as America’s only original art form,
And as if it is their own.
I just wanna CHOKE ‘EM!!!
ALL OF THEM!!!!
* * * **
Brother Louis, I would be remiss in my duties as a journalist if I did not relate for my readers, a story probably only circulated within the jazz community of artists…. wait, wait. I can’t tell that one. I read your autobiography.
(The first autobiography of a jazz musician ever written) and I used to get so frustrated, Brother, when you would not divulge some of your “inside” stuff!
So, I’ll tell another one, you did tell in your autobiography. You explained how when you played for the Queen of England and her people, how stiff and stuck-up and boring they all were. So, you gave them all laxatives and told them to “Loosen up!” LOL
Okay, damn I can’t hold water. But, this is so apropos seeing as how (when I wrote this anyway) it was weed-smoking season….
Anyway, you admitted in your autobio that every night before bed, you would take a laxative and then every morning you would “wake and bake” and loosen up in the bathroom. 😉
Well, the story goes that once you happened upon The President of the United States on one of your return trips from some foreign country and the President turned out to be a big fan of yours.
So, he asked you if there was anything he could do for you? And you said, “Yeah….”
“Slip this bag through customs real quick…..”
You ever notice how when boys add “real quick” to anything they ask of you, it’s impossible to say no? 🙂 #boyz #gottaloveem 😉 ❤ ❤ ❤
***TO READ LOUIS ARMSTRONG’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY ONLINE FOR FREE,
CLICK HERE!!!***
So, I’m pretty positive the devils who arrested me were both KKK AND MASONS. I know, I know KKK are supposed to be Christians but Masons (Muslim sons) are the biggest liars in history.
As we came through the fence surrounding the jail, we passed two older Brothers sitting there. I wondered why.
We reached the entrance to the jail. The driver mentioned you have to push the button next to the car for someone to open the gate, but he made no move to push the button!
Then, here comes Uncle Tom, ambling all the way from his post by the fence and HE pushes the button. I was floored (to borrow a word from my Dearest Zawji 😉 ).
Then as if that wasn’t bad enough, the devil had to comment on my poor Brother’s mental slavery condition, to make sure I bore witness to what is still going on down here in Dixie. I was imbibed with embarrassment.
All the Sheriffs, except one male and two females, were Black.
They let me keep my Holy Qur-an, but handcuffed me and forcibly removed my headpiece after I refused to do it myself. Then they held it hostage until I had completely finished the booking process. I was only required to remove it for the mugshot. Christians.
Allah (swt) Has Already Paid Them Back Their Mockery. I tried to reason with them.
“I took the picture. Can I put my headpiece back on?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t cooperate.”
“You asked me to do something that is completely in opposition to what Allah (God) Prescribed for me to do as a Muslim woman. Of course, I’m not going to go against my religion. I fear Allah ONLY.“
“You’ll get it when I give it to you. If I give it to you.”
We were in a huge auditorium-sized waiting room (Lock-Up) full of men (one white) and they would not allow me to cover my head, as Allah prescribed. I feel sorry for what Allah (God) Has Already done to them.
He (Allah) Has Killed three people for me (that I know of) already!
My neighbor
My landlady
My psychiatrist
Without me even asking!
So, one of my bitch-ass father’s doppels is ( أستغفر الله) threatening to take my headpiece permanently and I’m pacing back and forth trying to keep from losing it. (Bitch) Then one of the Sheriffs tells me to sit down. I said something smart, probably like (“I’ll sit down when I feel like it!” or something like that) and they put me in a holding cell, which was even better, because I could isolate.
Other women, eventually, were put in the cell with me. If they had to use the bathroom, the Sheriffs brought them in there, and left them. Even though there were two other single restrooms right outside the holding cell. That’s where they took me after my bodyscan came out questionable and they acted like I had something under my clothes and had to stripsearch me. I TOLD them why it came out like that, and asked them to just do another one. But Christians………
Then, they did that to this devil. I was mad they let her in there in the first place. But anyway, she went postal when they wouldn’t let her back out. Talking about, “I need my meds!!!!” SMH She started banging her shoe against the glass, but to no avail.
Eventually, she sat down and started thumbing through my Holy Qur-an. Ten years ago I would have snatched it out of her hand, kicked her in the face and called her a Universal Snooping Devil.
But, I’m older, wiser and much calmer now. I even sort of respected her for having the intelligence to even try and read it. None of the Sisters gave it a second look. But, I had to say something!
“You have to wash your hands before you touch that Book.”
She said something, washed her hands and started trying to involve me in a conversation. I wasn’t having it. She was a devil. And I don’t talk to devils.
Eventually, she went back to banging on the window, got turnt up and picked up my Holy Qur-an again.
“Give me my Book,” I didn’t like the way she was holding it.
“How do I know it’s yours?”
“Bitch, Do you not see this fucking headpiece?!?!” I thought.
“Give me my Book.” I said calmly.
“Is your name in it?”
I looked at her stale cheek.
“Hit it” Allah Demanded.
“Give me my Book.” I didn’t want to.
“Prove it’s yours.”
Then I gave her a nice jab to her right cheek.
She immediately started screaming for the deputies, who basically ignored her. Then she paused for a minute, tasting blood. “I’m bleeding!!!! I’m bleeding!!!!!”
I couldn’t believe it. I’ve been in many fights and never has anyone started bleeding. Devils are so weak-boned and stale-faced, just like Our Beloved Messenger, The Most Honorable Elijah Muhammad (PBUH) taught us.
I was holding in a laugh as the Sheriffs just walked by ignoring her. By now, she’s wiping blood on the glass. “I’m bleeding!!!” Everyone is paying her absolutely no attention. One of the Sisters laying on the bench, was like, “Will you shut up? I’m trying to get some sleep!” LOL
So then she got even more mad and picked up my Holy Book and slammed it on the ground.
It was on.
I attacked her and eventually the Sheriffs did come in and removed her from the cell. Which is really what both parties wanted in the first place….
* * * * *
New Orleans’ jail is so laid back compared to L.A. The inmates practically run the shit. I saw women switch dormitories, order the deputies around, and make them wait until they (the inmates) felt like going back in their cells.
When we changed into our prison garb, they just told us to put our clothes in a garment bag and turn it back in to them. They had such cute garments! They were, to borrow a phrase from my crazy neighbor who hates my guts, “Cal-Trans Orange” and came in coveralls, t-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts and pants. Even the sandals matched!
I tried to just put the coveralls on over my garment, but this one wanna be sergeant, peon deputy asked me if I still had on my clothes? How he knew? Your guess is as good as mine. So, I just gave them the dress, but I kept my pants-skirt on. I didn’t mind so much because I had a sweatshirt to cover my arms. I thank Allah!
I am ashamed to even tell you what we have to go through in the City of Angels.
Single file into the huge changing room. Face the wall. “When I say ‘Take off your shirt’ take off your shirt, fold it and put it in the plastic bag on the right side of the table behind you. When I say ‘Take off your pants’ take off your pants….” Until everybody is standing there butt naked. Then, “When I say ‘Put on your panties….'”
Yet another reason when I’m never going back to L.A. That is, unless Zawji pleases. 😉
I’m pretty sure Allah (God) Desires that I go to Harlem next. I’ve been there before tho, and I’ve been trying to get to Atlanta since January, but I’m pretty sure all the cities in the South are basically identical, with New Orleans being the standout.
I’m sayin’. I’ve met people from Birmingham, Mississippi and even ATLANTA, who came here (NOLA), so I’m like, “Why should I go there?”
But Zawji wants me to stay put until after his B-Day. 😀
This Duke Ellington autobio is what made me Know Allah (God) Wants me to go back to Harlem.
He AND Gordon Parks, (whose autobio I put down so I could read the Duke’s) had to go to Harlem twice before they made it. This will be my second time. So, I really have to wait for Zawji. NYE in Times Square would be fresh ta def tho. Word.
Being a CALIFORNIA GIRL, this will be my first time experiencing a real change of seasons also. I can’t wait to bear witness to the Autumn leaves and take an afternoon stroll with my Zawji. #23days 😀 ❤ ❤ ❤
(*I once checked this c.d. out at the library and the librarian asked me if I had returned a certain c.d. and I was like “No, Something Else” 😀 LOL)
Why, when I came home the other day, I couldn’t wait to savour the days catch of a french roll and a quart of whole milk! Only to discover I had left the milk at the place where I had used the computer.
Talk about dejected!
So, I went to the hotel store and was waiting for an opportunity to come up when here comes Head of Security – “Joe Smith: American Negro.”
“Um, excuse me Ma’am. Can you come with me?”
“Do I have a choice?” Really.
He led me through a part of the hotel I had never been and then to “his office” pfffff
I felt an opportunity to break, but thought about it too long.
TRESPASSING AND STEALING
AGAIN.
SMH
OMW TO JAIL.
AGAIN.
I HAD ONLY BEEN OUT FIVE (5) DAYS.
DAMN, GINA!
LOL
All I could think about was the numerous times the Deputies kept repeating, “And, don’t come back!” when I got released the first time.
Joe Smith: American Negro explained to the police over the phone, the nature of my crimes and please hurry.
I was not looking forward to seeing those Roman Catholic die-hards, who were so happy to see me go the first time, again.
And I really didn’t want to discover my Sweet little Sister who was so preoccupied with her children, but listened intently as I talked about the Messenger (PBUH), was still there.
That would’ve broken my heart. 😥
But there was “Sister Security” in “his office” and just like every other Southern Belle I’ve encountered here in Dixie, she was just as accommodating and convivial as she could be.
She gave me cold water and refreshments and we got to talking and discovered that we have a lot in common as far as traditional values go. She said she really wished she could be there when her 16-year-old son got home from school. And, when he called, she gave him the wisdom of a Sage. I added my two-cents and took it up to the next level.
Eventually, she buttered up Big Poppa Joe and convinced him to let me go after I promised (I really hope I didn’t give my word…) not to return.
You know I did. 😛
I hope I didn’t get you fired, Poppa. I heard you were running around the hotel looking for me. BUT, If I did, Brother, open up your own Security Service and do something for yourself. Tell those devils standing on your neck to kiss your Black you-know-what!
* * * * *
But back to our story…..
When I got to the dormitory, it looked like the men’s prisons I see on the news. In L.A., every body has a cell. You might have a “cellie” or you may have one all to yourself.
This jail looked like a big bomb shelter. It was made completely out of metal plates and there were bunk beds lined up toward the rear, with some cots between them. The very back wall held five cells for the particularly unruly Sisters. One of them was only seventeen, but she was so out of control that I had to cast my eyes in another direction when they let her out. I had tried to talk to her about the Messenger (PBUH) though and she seemed to listen.
There were lunch tables in the front of the dorm.
I got my mattress and chose a top bunk in the very back. I was right next to one of Neb Love’s (Five-Footaz) Doppels and thought she would be cool to bunk next to, seeing as how she’s Leimert Park folkers. I forgot or didn’t think it would matter that she’s a lesbo.
So, everything was pretty cool at first. (I started to write ‘the first few days’, but I was only there 2 and a half Time goes by at a snail’s pace when you’re incarcerated…) But the second Sister who showed a genuine interest in Islam after I got there, talked to her so meanly (? is that a word? No squiggly red line underneath, so I’ma roll with it.) Anyway, I couldn’t believe it! I have only heard one person speak meaner (Zawji 😉 ) I could not understand, WHY she spoke so harshly toward this Sister EVERY TIME she spoke to her. Neb might not even be paying her any attention and she would say something so cutting to her I almost felt sorry for her, but she had already lost my sympathy when she showed aversion to her salvation – ISLAM.
THEN, one night she (Neb) started banging this beat on the wall and singing some filthy song.
I ignored her and kept reading my Holy Qur-an. But, then this red devil started disrobing and dancing like a stripper. Meanwhile, I’m trying to reason with all the girls on my team not to get caught up in the devil’s wickedness, they’ve been doing that since they were in the caves and they only want us to go to hell with them……
But my efforts to enjoin them to righteousness fell on deaf ears.
Soon, the whole dorm was in an uproar, each girl, challenging her or egging her on. I’m still trying to read my Holy Qur-an and ignore it all.
Neb’s still banging away, THEN, the red devil decides to position her filth RIGHT NEXT TO MY BUNK AND STARTED HUMPING THE FLOOR!!!! I looked down in disgust. She kept it up though and I know she chose that spot just so she could affront and insult me, who was trying to be and show righteousness to my Sisters. (But who had also been, very loudly, calling her a devil all day and the day before 😉 )
I knew I had to do something or the situation would spiral out of any control. More importantly, I had to let her and everybody else in there know that she could not and would not get away with disrespecting the righteous without there being some consequences.
So, I threw my Holy Qur-an at her sinful ass.
POINT MADE.
She got up and I hopped down. She was ready to fight and everybody else was backing her up.
I was the Lone Voice Crying out in the Wilderness.
But here comes Deputy Jane to rescue me from their murderous machinations.
She took me outside and I was so happy to once again be out among the bees and trees and flowers that I barely heard her excuses.
I went back in victorious because everything was back to normal and apparently, it’s a very, very big deal when the Deputy has to escort you out. 😉 #likeaBOSS
I had a court date the very next day, which was also better than L.A. You might be up in there for two weeks before you ever see a judge. They had me in there 28 days once.
Anyway, to give you an example of how jacked up Louisiana courts are, Our Beloved Messenger (May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah Forever Be Upon Him) wrote about them in MESSAGE TO THE BLACKMAN IN AMERICA and I just read an article about it in their own newspaper.
So, I was kind of nervous. But, I didn’t go that day because they wouldn’t allow me to bring my Holy Qur-an. I really couldn’t part with it that day and so I refused court.
But Allah is the Best Knower, because I spent all day with the Sisters who were extremely interested in Islam; answering their many inquiries and telling them everything I know that would put them on the Road to Freedom, Justice and Equality, Knowledge of Self, God and our open enemies the devil Caucasians.
But, I did go the next day and just like in L.A., if you plead guilty, you get immediate discharge – no questions asked.
But two Sisters, on two separate occasions told me they had entered a guilty plea with the public defender, but she entered a not guilty plea instead. That’s what happened to the Sister who was worried about her children. She was supposed to be out, but the devil Public Defender changed her plea without her knowledge and entirely in opposition to her original request.
The Judge and his assistant or Court mediator, or whatever she was, could not stand her (the public defender), neither could the inmates.
So, I watched her fill out my paperwork very closely and my guilty plea was entered. “Mrs. Jamillah Washington” was being released. LOL 😉 No fees. No fines. No court dates. First offence, you know…. 😉 😛
But, as the court was wrapping, some of the inmates started voicing their disapproval of the defense. (Oh yeah, before I forget, there’s a microphone where you can actually TALK TO THE JUDGE!!!!!. In L.A., if you even THINK about saying something they (the judges, attorneys, staff, Sheriffs, EVERYBODY) act like you committed murder. So, as soon as I got up there I said this secret Masonic teaching that will get you off EVERY TIME! That’s probably why I got off so easily, with No fees and whatnot. EVERYBODY else had court fees. It was so common that I began to think that that was all they cared about. THE BENJAMINS. “Can you pay today?” “$250 fine” “$60 for 12 months”…. and so on…. Also, the Judge didn’t announce over the mic that I had no fees, like he announced everybody’s fines, the public defender came and whispered it to me.
When you go to court, all you have to do is say…… Nah, I can’t go out like that. 😛
JOIN THE NATION OF ISLAM AND STUDY THE HONOURABLE ELIJAH MUHAMMAD (PEACE BE UPON HIM) ACCEPT YOUR OWN (YOUR OWN GOD – ALLAH, YOUR OWN RELIGION – ISLAM AND YOUR OWN PEOPLE – THE BLACK PEOPLES OF THE PLANET EARTH) AND BE YOURSELF (A RIGHTEOUS MUSLIM) AND IN SHA ALLAH (IF IT PLEASES ALLAH) YOU WILL COME ACROSS THIS MOST VALUABLE TEACHING IN YOUR STUDIES. 😉
Read MESSAGE TO THE BLACKMAN HERE; OUR SAVIOUR HAS ARRIVED HERE; THE FALL OF AMERICA HERE; HOW TO EAT TO LIVE, BOOK ONE HERE; HOW TO EAT TO LIVE, BOOK TWO HERE;
So, anyway, some of the inmates start telling the Public Defender, she needs to go home and study some more and whatnot. So, I decided this was the perfect time to confront her about the two Sisters who told me she changed their pleas. She assured me she would never do anything like that. Naive Love Allah said, “Not even if you were convinced it was in her best interest?”
“Oh no,” she said, “I would NEVER do that!”
She sounded so sincere, I almost believed her. The Archdeceiving Devil! So then, I said,
“Well, somebody is lying, and THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER. So, I think it’s you.”
She didn’t say anything after that.
I started to take the LSAT to go to Law School. But I didn’t have any I.D. I was in the process of changing my name and I refused to get an I.D. in my slave name. So, I never took it. But I know I could be a kick-ass lawyer.
I had the study guide with me one day when Hakim (my son) and I were in an American Sign Language (ASL) class. This deaf Brother came in and inquired about the book. I told him I was studying it. He told me it was good because there are a lot of deaf Brothers in the criminal justice system who are as mistreated as any other Blackman in America, but it’s more difficult for them because in addition to a racist defender they have to have an interpreter. So, they kind of have two strikes against them. Most Blackmen only have to deal with a racist lawyer. They have to deal with both a racist lawyer AND a racist interpreter.
Okay, for the sake of my deaf Brothers, I will tell you what to say to the Judge. I love ya’ll. 😉 Just say, “I SEE YOU ARE A TRAVELING MAN.”
That’s all. He won’t say anything to acknowledge that he heard you. But don’t you say anything either. *whispering* It’s supposed to be a secret, remember? He will give you a much lighter sentence, extra time to pay your fine, if you already have one or even dismiss your case. I’ve done it several times. Every time I went back to ask for extra time to pay a fine, the Judge was like, “How much time do you need?” LIKE THAT!
In conclusion, I remember, when I was about 12, telling my mother I wanted to be a Judge when I grew up. She said I would have to be a lawyer first and I was like, “Nah.” LOL
I’m still in “The Big Easy” and loving every minute of it. I had no idea I would love New Orleans this much!
For about the past year, it seemed as if every one I met was from Louisiana.
Allah (God), Master Fard Muhammad, To Whom Praises are Forever Due, Speaks to us using signs. So, this, coupled with the fancy I had that my Zawji’s family is from Louisiana, led me to take this journey. (Being an avid lover of Jazz music only added to my desire to fulfill this Wanderlust.)
I went to Vegas in January (after initially planning to go to ATL), and had an incredible feeling that I was not supposed to return to L.A. But I hated the wickedness in Vegas, so I went back.
This trip, I purchased a one-way ticket, knowing Our Saviour and Zawji wanted me to relocate. But while I waited for the bus, I was overcome with the fear that I would run out of money and end up stranded thousands of miles from him, broke and penniless, with no means to return (which is exactly how I am now, LOL 😛) So, I bought a return trip ticket.
This morning, I came to some resolutions about this extraordinary life Allah (God) Has Given Me.
Reality #1 – My father is a pervert with whom I can have no contact if I want to have any peace in life.
Reality #2 – My mother is an evil witch.
Reality #3 – (sum of Reality #1 and #2) I am basically an orphan.
Reality #4 – My siblings as well as my blood relatives (with the exception of my son) are trying to steal or prevent me from enjoying the Blessings of Allah (God) which are my Birthright and I MUST cast off and forsake them COMPLETELY lest I help them to ruin me.
Reality #5 – My daughter is working with my enemy to help try and destroy me and the Righteous Nation of Earth (MUSLIMS).
Reality #6 – My Zawji, willingly and knowingly, has me out here alone to fight off predatory men by myself.
Reality #7 – ALLAH IS SUFFICIENT FOR US.
In a seedshell, I am in this wonderfully romantic city (Halle was so right!) experiencing the South for the first time, Coming to grips with reality, Thankful to have a roof over my head and personal security. My ticket home was for the tenth, but someone stole it, which was perfect because I didn’t want it to go to waste.
I had no plans to return to “the other L.A.” It doesn’t feel like home anymore. Leimert is being overrun with devils. DTLA as well. I mean, we can have a house or apt. there, if Zawji pleases, but not for the whole year. Unless he pleases, of course.
THIS LA is absolutely AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The devils are a special kind of stupid though. Any old regular sidewalk devil thinks I am supposed to do what he/she says. Miss me with that old world mentality.
I’m really thinking about settling down here. Really, I have no choice since I have no money and no means of transportation 😉 But the music is a powerful incentive to keep me settled right here.
One night, my Zawji told me to have dinner at this fancy $$$$ restaurant. KNOWING I was flat broke. But I hear and obey. So, I ordered the Red Snapper after they told me they were out of Salmon. That’s another thing about NOLA! They specialize in seafood, and I’m a pescatarian! Mind you, some (a lot) of it is not fit for human digestion, but if you know what to order….. OMG, when I saw that snapper, I wanted to slap the people over at Shabazz (they’re not Muslims anymore anyway). They won’t even BAKE it!
Another reason the food is so good down here is because New Orleans was founded by the French, and to them food is sacrosanct.
Anyway, when the time came to pay, I lied and say I lost my ATM card. It was kind of late and a Sheriff was there. So, the manager asked me what church did I belong to? I was like, Huh? What does that have to do with anything. But I remembered this Underground Rail Road book always listed what society the slave owners belonged to like it was a really big deal. Apparently nothing has changed.
Secret Societies are very prevalent down here too. The Police Department symbol is the Masonic Star and Crescent.
This one has the sword.
I can hardly believe this one.
The Black Business owners are all Masons, everybody else serves the slavemasters. But, really, they’re all slaves, because the Secret Societies were given to the devils.
If they were Muslims, they would know better. They are trying to get me in that stuff, but I have laid ahold to the handle that will not break off (Islam). So, I’m like, Nah.
The devil Illuminati members may as well commit suicide. It’s run by devils (Jews) and their time has been up since 1914. You Black members have a chance. Join on to YOUR OWN KIND – THE RIGHTEOUS NATION OF ISLAM (but shun Louis Fraudacoon) WHILE YOU STILL HAVE TIME.
Anyway, I gave the Sheriff, a fake name, fake SS#, told her I didn’t have any ID and so, of course, I came up clean. But, while I was waiting for the results, I tried to tell this Brother bussing tables about Message To The Blackman. He was too afraid of the devils to even acknowledge my presence.
The Sheriff got all belligerent and tried to tell me to stop talking to him. Pffffffff I talk to whomever I want to talk to. Seriously? You think you can tell me who I can talk to? GTFOHWTBS. She was all possessive, like he was still a bondservant. “See Nigger, he works so he can pay for his food!”
These devils LOVE to see us working for them. THAT’S ALL THEY BROUGHT US OVER HERE FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE!
I met one of my Zawji’s Doppelgangers parking cars for the devils at the hotel I’m stowing away in. He told me he makes more parking cars for the devil (due to their tax-free tips) than he did as a psychologist.
I told him, “Sure, they’ll keep you rich because they know it will prevent you from doing something for your own self and for your own people. They don’t care HOW much it costs to keep you in slavery as long as you remain their slave.”
Anyway, I stuck to my story, “Devil,” I thought, but I said, “I got money, I just lost my card!”
So, since I had no record 😉 she told me, the owner was going to be lenient and let me go but that it would be nice if I came back the next day with my card and paid.
I didn’t even point out to her dumb ass that, “I told you I LOST my card, Stupid Devil.”
Anyway, on the way out, the piano was beckoning me (almost every building in New Orleans has a piano #birthplaceofjazz ) and so I asked if I could play.
The manager’s face lit up like a neon sign. “You can play?” Hell yeah, Devil. I wouldn’t have asked. So, he was like “Play me a tune and we’ll call it even.” I was like, “Okay, but you have to turn off the music playing in the speakers.” He gave the order but I couldn’t wait. I had been dying to play since I got here. But these so-called Negroes, working security at most of these places, are so afraid of their slave-master’s children that they always say no.
So, I played my favorite song to play. I usually play it at least three times, but A.) They were devils and I felt like a coon, dinner or no. and B.) I want to get paid for my talent. And, sure enough when I finished, the Sheriff said, “That was worth fifty dollars.” And since my dinner was only about forty, I said, “Okay, then you owe me now!”
I would love to get a singing gig out here, but I have to find a spot in the Black Community. I’m staying Downtown and all of the patrons are devils. My “Coon Register” won’t allow me to do that.
But yesterday I went to the hood (9th ward) and did not see ONE devil. ALL BLACK PEOPLE. Unfortunately though, I didn’t see any jazz clubs. Just a strip joint.
I can’t do Canal Street or The French Quarter. They’re just like Vegas and yesterday I was thrilled because the bus took me down Basin Street. But Allah (God) (swt) Told me it’s WORSE than Vegas.
So, IDK, ALLAH IS THE BEST KNOWER.
Anyway, they have a lot of KIPP (Knowledge is Power Prep) schools, which are predominantly Black and I have a vested interest in the education of our youth, so I’m going to apply for a job. IKR? Me? And a job? I’m almost like T on “Same Gang” when it comes to a job. #badjoke But, I see too many devils there and when I asked one of the students what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said, “a football player” I knew I had to at least apply. They need me.
I met this Brother who looked just like Ossie Davis. He is a P.I. and I’m really good at this stuff, so I sent him an e-mail.
I really would be like T, before having to work in the service industry slaving for the devils (“I’d rather jack another Brother, watch the gun smoke.“) but I don’t want to go back to jail.
I was walking down Carrolton and passed yet another KIPP Academy. Allah (God) Told me to go closer so I could read the sign on the door. It said, they had moved to another location. Curiousity piquued my interest, so I squeezed through the fence, tried all the doors, finally the last window I tried gave way, and I went in.
Inspirational Quotes covered the halls and walls.
“Don’t count the days….. Make the days count.” – Muhammad Ali
“Whatever you do, strive to do it so well that no man living and no man dead and no man yet to be born could do it any better.” – Benjamin E. Mays
Well, the theme of this particular KIPP Academy is “Believe” and there was a wall on the staircase (which, unfortunately the door leading to it was equipped with a silent alarm which I tripped unknowingly ) where the students could leave their own sayings.
So, I’m bawling in the hallway, reading these inspirational, and profound quotes from such ambitious and goal-oriented Black youth, thinking about my own son who is their contemporary, back in L.A., (completely oblivious to the police who were downstairs waiting to take me to jail for trespassing).
One young Brother wrote, “Don’t say the sky is the limit, if there are footprints on the Moon.”
I had a really good time there in that institution of learning though. I found a textbook on Louisiana that kind of filled my thirst for knowledge about this strange and unusual land in which I am such an enthusiastic spectator.
New Orleans is so fascinating! They have “stuff.” Like Mardi Gras, which I am so glad is not until March. I have a healthy, righteous fear of that type of debauchery. I can’t believe there are supposed to be religious reasons behind why the people practice such filth and indecency!
They have the bead thing going on. Allah (swt) told me they symbolize prosperity/wealth and whatnot. The fleur de lis is the bomb because it’s like a symbol that everybody from the city can represent. That’s unity.
I think it’s dope.
The city is surrounded in water. I saw a little frog on someone’s mailbox one morning. Blew my citified mind! Lizards are everywhere. I think I even saw a salamander. It has got to be the abundance of water that feeds the Yoruba/Voodoo spirit down here too.
This one Brother told me, when I first stepped on the scene, that people thought I was a Voodoo Queen. I thought that was “rather unique.” To quote my Zawji. 😉
I’m just thankful I found a place to rest and keep my stuff, other than one of the many abandoned houses left by the Great Flood.
I cry everyday almost (I haven’t today). The awfulness catches you so off guard. I can be walking along and then there’s a ten-story hotel completely destroyed and still in a state of disrepair because of a hurricane that hit TEN YEARS AGO.
Every other house, in certain areas, still has not been repaired and the city looks like ruins. The smell of rotted flesh still wafts by on the passing of a sudden gust of wind. It is beyond words what that storm did to an entire city.
Every time it rains, you can feel the tension. No one says anything; but you can feel it.
People I talk to say they were gone from six months to a year. Their whole lives destroyed. Their whole city destroyed.
I haven’t talked to any of the youth yet. They’re young adults now. I can’t imagine what they went through.
I passed an empty lot a while back, that was fenced off. It was rather big and covered with grass. There was an interesting sculpture and some cement blocks with plaques on them. You already know I trespass, so I went through an opening in the fence and learned that it used to be a school before it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.
That’s what really got me to thinking about the impact it had on the children. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to go past that vacant lot after having been a student at the school that is no more. A constant reminder of Katrina.
The government should have never built a school there in the first place.
It was really an old slave burial ground and they built the school on top of it. Devils have no regard for Black lives. Or deaths.
I bought a phone before making this trip but late one night, I was sitting in a little courtyard (homeless, remember?) enjoying my solitude and here comes my father’s doppelganger disturbing my peace. I threw a metal chair at him.
We started fighting in the street then the Law came and he left. Only to return talking about he couldn’t find his keys. (My father used to offer a reward to whomever could find his keys!)
Allah (God) (swt) Told me to throw my phone at him. “I’ma leave. I’ma leave. Just let me find my keys.”
I was staring in an utter state of incredulity. How can this be? My real father is in L.A. Yet, here is this man, exactly like him. He lifted his shirt, showing me his bare stomach and wiped his brow. I was completely disgusted. He was FLIRTING WITH ME!!!!!! MY FATHER!!!!!!!!!!! I’m nauseous thinking about it. But I threw my phone at him again. Another time and he kept it. But he left for good.
In 1996, when I began my conversion to Islam, Allah (God) To Whom Praises are due forever, started revealing to me old and shameful secrets I had buried deep in my subconscious. They manifested through “psychotic breaks” and my father had me committed to the psych ward, knowing full well what was going on.
He carefully monitored my doctor visits and made sure I stayed on the medication, trying his best to keep his indecent acts hidden. But–All Praise Is due to Allah for the Honorable Elijah Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him) whose famous quote is my favorite, “We are Living in the Day and Time wherein the veil of falsehood MUST be removed and the TRUTH MADE MANIFEST.”
I stayed on the medication for fifteen years. It allowed me to function without episodes or hospitalization but I always knew that there was an underlying reason behind my “mental disorder” and I had every intention of getting to the root cause of it, in the footsteps of my Leader, Teacher and Guide, The Honorable Elijah Muhammad (PBUH).
In 2013, I told my Doctor, I wanted to get off the medication. So, he began a process of weaning me off. Eventually, he showed his true hypocritical colors and Allah (God) (swt) ended his life for mistreating me.
Eight months after I stopped taking my meds, I had, just as I knew I would, an episode.
This time, however, I was in an environment that was conducive to my getting all the way through it. Every other time, my father had called the police. He knew if I was able to get through the “episode” what would happen.
ALL PRAISE IS DUE TO ALLAH. I fully remember him molesting me as a child and am able to, as difficult as it is, face the TRUTH. Allah Does Not Give Us a Burden that is too difficult for us to bear. And, this is extremely difficult.
Knowing he has custody of my son is a source of constant discomfiture for me, but my son has Supreme Wisdom and me and Most Importantly, Master Fard Muhammad, To Whom Praises Are Due Forever. He is The BEST PLANNER.
So, I’m here in NOLA fighting this Holy War (ARMAGEDDON) as a Sister Captain. My Grandfather used to call me “Grandma Moses” when I was little. I never knew why until yesterday.
Our Beloved Messenger, The Honorable Elijah Muhammad (May the Peace and the Blessings of Allah Be Upon Him) Taught us that he was the prophet like unto Moses described in Deuteronomy 18:15. Because like Moses, he had to change his people’s religion.
The people of Moses were worshipping Pharaoh and his people. Moses had to teach them of the God of their fathers and turn them back to Islam.
The Honorable Elijah Muhammad (PBUH) had to do the same thing with us – the so-called Negroes. We have been in the white slavemaster’s religion of Christianity and Allah (God) Had to Find Us and Raise Up One From Among Us To Teach Us Of Him and the Religion of Our Fathers – ISLAM.
Most everybody out here is Roman Catholic. I’ve met a Baptist. But everybody else has been Roman Catholic. I’ve never seen Black People wearing rosaries. Every time I see one, I tell them, “That is a righteous Brother they hung on that cross! It is a symbol of MURDER. There is no life for you in a cross symbolizing death. YOU SHOULD RUN FROM THE CROSS!”
I’m changing their religion, just like Moses and Our Beloved Messenger (PBUT).
The Holy Qur-an says when you get married you get a year off from fighting, if there’s a war going on. Maybe that’s why my Zawji has not proposed yet. Allah maybe wants me to fight still.
I tried yesterday to not go about proselytizing, but I couldn’t do it. I cut down a lot, but not completely. Even today, I asked a Brother if he had read Message To The Blackman and instantly felt like I blew it.
So anyway, My hubby didn’t have enough money to catch the bus, then again maybe he did but just wanted to hold my hand and show me stuff like he used to do in fourth grade.
I knew he played tennis, but I was intimidated by this one girl when he took me to the courts on campus. And, I had never been to the park where he plays. So, I’ve yet to see him play.
I had these cute tennis dresses from the Seventies when I was in college, so I took a tennis class. So, I could learn how to play with my Habibi ❤ ❤ ❤ I always took some type of physical education class throughout my school years (aerobics, weight training, tennis, etc. I’ve always been athletic. I even taught an aerobics class. “Disco-Cardio” LOL #donna ❤ ❤ ❤ )
But my tennis instructor was this devil and she was hating on me. She would never let us play! All we did was learn how to keep score. Who cares about the score?? Do you see this dress?? 😉
I did manage to learn how to serve which is the best part. Venus and Serena know how to do it! #gottagrunt 😉 ❤ ❤ ❤
Sometimes I call myself, SABRINA, it’s based on an Arabic word that I need much more of: SABR. (Patience) It makes me feel like a “Williams” SISTER too. 😉
Sometimes I call myself, SERENA too. That’s based on a Latin word for Siren (a female singer that lives in the ocean, whose melody signals “that which is certain.” 😥 )
In case you haven’t noticed, I have an intense interest in languages. Sometimes I go through psychotic issues wherein it is difficult for me to express myself. I might not speak at all. So, I have always been interested in languages. It helps. Particularly American Sign Language (ASL).
Body Language speaks more truthfully than spoken language. (You know what they say…… 😉 ) I took a Psychology class in college and we learned about that. It’s very interesting. Notice how a person positions themselves when they are sitting down talking to you. Are they facing you with rapt attention? Or are they turned away? Body Language tells you how a person really feels.
Anyway, I don’t care about the score, I just want to hit the ball back and forth with my husband. Me and Hakim used to play at Ted Watkins. That was fun!!!!!!! I had on my garments too!
(I have a picture of me running in my garments, but facebook doesn’t allow you to search pictures and I have like 725 photos to go through. 🙂 )
You don’t have to wear skimpy garments to work out, Sisters. In fact, you should not, unless, you are somewhere private. I also wouldn’t recommend participating in Zumba classes where men are present.
Anyway, while we were walking down La Cienega, My Habibi ❤ ❤ ❤ pointed out a store called “THE MERCHANT OF TENNIS.” I never forgot that. Probably because of the play on the Shakesperean play. (pun intended 😉 )
So, my parents used to go on vacation every Summer. They would take my little brother, but never me. Probably just to make me feel left out. BITCHES.
So, my sister was in college and I had the house pretty much to myself. Which was cool with me.
My “Best Friends” (They had a rap group which they let me join – “FINESSE” – That’s tight, huh? Sounds French 😉 Hey Habibi ❤ Two of us made a demo, but fought over the tape with our manager and nothing ever became of it. Hey J, E, all we had to do was make copies. Duh. )
Anyway, they worked at Sbarro’s in The Beverly Center, so naturally, I started working there too.
(Greatest Human Beat Box Of All Time #5thelement #RIP)
Both of my groupmates were from the East Coast, where Hip-Hop originated, but one was from NYC and she could freestyle. She would battle the boys AND WIN! I was über impressed.
To give you another example of her skill. We would be at work reciting the lyrics to “Romeo” or some other contemporary rap, and she would go and help a customer and come back and still be in the right part of the song! Her last name was Best. And she was the.
We used to practice and it was hella fun writing rhymes. I hated my rap name though. It had “Lady” in it. I’m not going to say it. #hatedit
Anyway, the first and only rap I ever wrote for just myself was about my Habibi. I gave him a copy but lost mine. I remember the first line, “I Know this Cold-Crush guy. His name’s A.J…..” I talked about how he was “debonair” and all that. But you’ll have to ask him the rest.
So, one day, when my parents were out of town and I had a job at Sbarro’s (Suh-BAR-rows), me and my Hubby were sitting on the Love Seat, listening to Stephanie Mills “feel good all over.” I hated that song too.
People used to talk bad about me. For instance, I used to wear braids and one time I really needed to take them out. I was maybe fourteen and still dependent on my mother for that type of thing. It never occurred to me to just take them out. Probably because I would be stuck with the dilemma, all Black women who are trying to be white, are stuck with. How to straighten my hair.
But my Hubby makes me feel good all over. Whereas other men I dated (or married ) made me feel self-conscious and “less than,” my Hubby made me feel good about everything about my natural self.
He made it okay to have kinky hair. So, now I feel like I’m beautiful, with my front tooth turning black. LOL (Stay OUT the dentists’ chair. He fucked me up.) It’s what’s on the inside that counts. But try telling that to these Brothers hawking and gawking……
I dated a man for almost fifteen years who made me feel like horseshit. He would say, “There’s only five pounds between fat and fine.” And here I am weighing 125 – the perfect weight for a woman according to Allah (God) – feeling inadequate because of this abusive man.
I had always had high self-esteem in the professional, physical and intellectual fields, but when it came to LOVE, I was terribly insecure. I took abuse and it never occurred to me there was something better.
I never noticed I was being abused until I accepted ISLAM. Then, and only then, I realized what TRUE LOVE IS…… And that I had once had it……..
So, I’m with my Habibi, feeling good all over and it’s the BEST feeling I’ve ever felt, I just wasn’t aware of it. But, I knew I didn’t want the magic to end, so when the time came for me to go to work, I had an attitude. And my mother used to always fuss at me when I got an attitude about something. “Stop poking your lip out!” I didn’t even know I was doing it.
But my Habibi, would just make me laugh and everything was alright with the world again. Next thing I know, we’re walking down La Cienega on our way to the Mall. But I wished we were on our way walking back home……
One Sister did pull the address up for me on her Smartphone.
Homemaking For The Black Muslim Woman Journal ™ 