One year ago, I decided to invite my best friend (who is from Brooklyn) to Haiti for the annual Christmas/New Year's festivities. December in Haiti is marked by an endless string of parties, uniquely themed club nights, day time barbeques in the mountains and evening bondfires on the beach ... family dinners and house visits. Bottom line: every year my family and I packing up the countless outfits and gifts to parade around our troubled but still all too proud homeland. Despite the threat of political turmoil, my friend was game to go.
Once in Haiti, we hit the ground running. First stop was the the super market (yes, we have those) to pick up "Piment" (the Haitian version of Time Out) and meet up with my friends at Sushi Night (yes, we have those), to prioritize the next 15 days (Dec 21 - Jan4). What events we "Can't Miss," "Won't Miss," Might Miss," "Will Miss," etc.
So, one night we were out at a rooftop club (yes, we have those) throwing back endless amounts of Barbancourt (Haitian Rhum) punch when next thing you know this dude takes out a gun and begins shooting in the air.
A typical consequence of too much a-a-a-a-a-alchol ... Haitians are used to it by now. Nonetheless, everyone immediately hit the floor in an attempt to avoid the crossfire. When I looked over to make sure my friend was ok I noticed that she was just squating down ... definitely not as low as she could have been and unecessarily leaving herself vulnerable to the crossfire.
So, I shout over to her, "GIRL GET DOWN!!!"
But she yells back, "THIS AS FAR DOWN AS I’M GETTIN’, I HAVE WHITE PANTS ON!!!"
Shortly after, the gunman was escorted out by security and the DJ picked right back up on Carimi's Bang Bang (a popular song about how Haiti's become a cowboy movie ... fitting choice). My friend continued her two step more pleased that nothing got on her white pants rather than just having survived her first Haitian showdown! She was not phased.
This only confirmed for me why so many Haitians end up migrating to Brooklyn ... same shit, different country.
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If you aren’t already aware President Obama killed a fly during a TV interview at the White House and PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) is calling it an execution.
An “execution” PETA? Really? Who here knows what it’s like to have a fly f*ck witchu? You know how it is no matter how many times you shoo that fly away and despite the fact that fly has an entire planet to fly around they still chose to keep f*cking witchu. I’m sorry but some flies deserve to be taken out especially the ones that won’t leave you the f*ck alone! That fly was not “innocent.” I love how animal rights groups try to act like animals are completely harmless, shit you pass through the jungle and see what happens. I even read a story about killer plants .
Was Obama out looking to execute a fly? No. The man was tying to deliver a message that effects the lives of people, yes people- remember us? And no fly should be above the law. I’m not saying that we don’t need an animal rights group but for a muthfreakin’ fly? Is that your 9-5 PETA? Cause if so yall are out here hustlin’ muthaf*ckas. You’ve gone too far PETA, you’ve gone too far.
On another note for those of us who can actually recognize the situation for what it was- have commended Obama for his “Ninja” (in the true sense of the word) skills. My man was on some Mr. Miyagi son tip with out the chopsticks.
But really… did you see Obama’s face when he caught that sucka? Below is a screen shot of the moment right after
The expression on his face is on some, “Yea mothafucka, who want some.”
Some Urban Chameleon, thrive off the cosmopolitan lifestyle of having moved to the city and able to walk home after those power lunches or to the suburbs for peace and serenity or in some other cases some Urban Chameleons have been victims of regentrified neighborhoods pushing away their cultural goodies . Regardless of how far from the hood you’ve moved or the hood has moved from you, I guarantee most of you UC’s are re-visiting that 1hr to 2hr commute when it comes to your hair.
This was me yesterday traveling back to Flatbush Brooklyn, which I guess is not as nearly as bad as some of my girlfriends who travel from NYC to Washington DC to get their hair done. I was exploring getting a new hair style, the curly afro, but needed somebody tight to hook it up. My regular girl is good for other type of styles but wanted to try someone new for the new doo, which can be terrifying for a UC.
I did a week of referral research and finally landed on Empress Zakitisha Afro Hair Care, a Jamaican woman on Utica and Winthrop. Not only did this commute entail the #4 train to the last stop but then a 10min dollar cab.
Definition of Dollar cab: an African or Caribbean’s hoopty that drives up and down the main boulevard packing as many people in as he can for a dollar. Except with inflation the “dollar cab” has risen to $1.50.
The irony of the location was that it was a block away from my regular girl who I couldn’t dare let see me.
My plan was to jet out of work early but still needed to get back home to see if my hair weave had arrived from UPS. Part of my research also entailed finding the best looking natural afro hair piece from this spot in Houston, TX that a girlfriend of mine told me about. It was 3:30PM, I decided to leave the office now and go home to pick up the hair, which ego wouldn’t have allowed me to have shipped to the office. Now instead of looking like I left work THAT early, I just decided to take the sleep mode off of my computer so it looked like I just briefly stepped away. Normally I would be conscious of the environment but a sista still needed to keep her job and still get her hair done. When I got home I was in luck and my hair weave was right there waiting for me. I hurried back to the office and pretended to jump back to work. Then after waiting 45min I quickly gathered my things, spun my chair around to look like I just got up, which I figured would give me at least 10min and slipped out.
I brought a book to read on the train so the ride didn’t feel that long, it still did. When I arrived at Empress Zakitisha shop, the woman I assumed to be Zakitisha quickly brushed past me and shouted at the man from across the street to bring her back some ackee and saltfish (a traditional Jamaican dish). When she came back into her shop she quickly flashed me a customer service smile and said “Have a seat. Soon come.” After growing up with a Jamaican father I know that “Soon come” doesn’t mean anything close to that she will be with me soon. So I got comfortable as she was working on another woman. Luckily there didn’t seem to be anybody else waiting for people like these don’t take no appointments, you just gotta wait and even when they do get to you they’re doing your hair and 4 and 5 other heads at the same time--juggling that money, can’t knock the hustle. She didn’t get to me soon but sooner that “soon come.” While doing my hair people started to trickle in and then the hair shop conversations started. No matter how many times I’ve gotten my hair done over the years the conversations always end up on how we as Black people need to get it together as a race but this one turned into something more …uuuhm …new. A Rastafarian decked out in red gold and green entered the shop to sell some weed before lighting one up. He then began to pontificate about man and woman (which is always an interesting perspective from a Rastafarian). I had dozed off from the convo having no interest in the patriarchal spew either that or high from contact but was then startled by the sound of a big Black woman shouting back at the Rastafarian, “SHOW ME WHERE IN THE BIBLE IT SAYS WOMEN SHOULD NOT HAVE A CLITORIS?!”
Rastafarian: “Women don’t NEED clitoris."
Big Black woman: “I am telling you from someone with a clitoris I NEED my clitoris”
The conversation progressed for 45min as the Rasta continued to support his argument from quotes from Jah Rastafari Selassie I and I could not but help to wonder if Selassie I had ever intended for his movement to be centered around the clitoris.
As I sat back and continued to get my hair done, I thought to myself, damn I miss the ‘hood.
Gotta big up Serci of Funky Fanny's who makes sure we stay fly. Last summer I made my way to a private sale she was hosting to pick up more than a handful of keepsakes. Now usually when you bargain shop with a bunch of other women around you are bound to run into some kind of tension but because we were all friends of Serci nobody got cut. However there were definitely a couple of moments of "Oooh girl, are you going to take that belt?" (because if you don't best believe I will leap over there and it will be going home with me).
Shopping at the Funk Fanny's most definitely allows us to flaunt our many different Urban Chameleon facets and at a bargain. My friends and I picked up a wide range of selections from the sophisticated and classy look, to the Walk Bitches Walk (that's when you're fiercely pumping down the street forgetting you're not on a runway but actually a pavement) look, to the "Can you pass that bong" hippie look, to the the eighties B-girl step out my way before you get served look, and one of my personal favorites- this beautiful long white kimono like dress which was giving you the "Me no speak no English" look. This outfit has been semi helpful for getting rid of wack dudes who disrespectfully try to talk to me in the street, "Sorry brotha, Me no speak no English." So I definitely encourage you to attend the invite below.
Starting this Saturday April 18th...10am-5pm....Bishop Loughlin Schoolyard..Lafayette Ave btw Clermont & Vanderbilt...BK,NY..
A typical consequence of too much a-a-a-a-a-alchol ... Haitians are used to it by now. Nonetheless, everyone immediately hit the floor in an attempt to avoid the crossfire. When I looked over to make sure my friend was ok I noticed that she was just squating down ... definitely not as low as she could have been and unecessarily leaving herself vulnerable to the crossfire.
