Amadou Diallo was my first

i was in the country just a short while when Amadou Diallo happened. 

the shock of it, looking in from outside, is staggering.

how do forty something bullets end up in a person holding a wallet?

he was your classic coming to America kid.

an immigrant boy who came from a lot of privilege looking to make his own way

he didn't need the country

he didn't need the income

he was here to try out independence

Giuliani insulted his mom by offering to pay her plane ticket as part compensation

she said no thank you, i'll fly myself in. 

Amadou was my first

first time, we think, very shocking but not the norm

then it happens again -- a fluke?

then again, and again

ok. not a coincidence

what do we know about patterns

they begin to feel normal. we get used to them. but only when it does not affect us. 

that explained it. 

what to do? flight, fight or oh well.

for the unaffected, it becomes the new normal. oh well 

for the affected, it is a whole other bowl of cereal. 

when patterns take root, feelings turn dark

more police shootings.

two people. same rap sheet. different outcomes. 

over and over

and over and 

over

again. 

i used to think civil rights activists were like broken records

now i lend more credence to breaking the records.

keep it going. 

Martin Luther King broke the earth until Chinese, Koreans, Indians and other non-nordic immigrants were allowed to gain residency. 

civil rights movements don't work. until they do. 

keep it going. 

first time i heard that most groups think they are better than mine, i near fell off my chair in hysterical laughter. Ha! i was in a NYC restaurant with an immigrant who was trying to prepare me to live in the country. 

i didn't get it.

patterns do not ever turn into norms. not when they impact us negatively

its no longer about the others

its about me

what tops it all is the response you hear.

'but they kill each other anyway'

(!)

yes, they kill each other because their neighborhoods are not served or protected.

i don't even believe i am giving an explanation.

anyone who says that is beyond explanations.

have you ever driven around in north philly? 

i couldn't believe my eyes. the neglect. 

families begging for police protection and getting none.

they say so much about it

i feel safe there.

'but they kill each other anyway'

they say it with straight faces. the killing is justified.

(!)

partner tells you one night he is going out to get groceries. 

two days after the south carolina shooting.

you say "no you are not"

he thinks you are kidding. 

you are not.

why? 

fear.

you WILL NOT be another statistic

fear. 

flight.

what are the chances?

it doesn't matter. 

you.will.not.be.a.statistic.

i go to a police station to ask a question one day

somehow they see my brand new car parked outside

then the discussion turns into a terrifying verbal assault

two large police officers with their faces inches from mine

yelling.

they accuse me of stealing the car

Ha! our people say that atrocities can be funny when you look at them a certain way.

if i was sitting i would have fallen off my chair in hysterical laughter.

as they yell, i have the same reaction i had with a soldier in nigeria

visceral

o lord, i wasn't cut out for this. 

i yell right back and tell them they have done a god-awful job at serving and protecting

i stand up while they are still yelling and walk out of the police station. half expecting something bad to happen. 

this was my first run in.

there were several more.

like the first time they followed me

for no reason

then to convince myself that i was being followed. 

i meandered around town and parked in a dark section of a parking lot

(what was i thinking?)

they pulled up right beside me

i wound down my window and said

"can i be of assistance, officers?"

they said:

"no, why do you ask?"

i said:

"well you followed me around town so i thought you might need some help from me"

i remain parked

until they moved.

at a later date, there is a discussion about guns among friends.

one says. i grew up in the south. i played with guns. i don't see why its a big deal

i say it is not a big deal if you are not a black boy in the united states. 

i can say that because i know. i did not grow up in the united states but now i know.

matter of fact i grew up under one of the most oppressive military regimes of its time.

soldiers strolled around town holding AK 47's. 

about the soldier in nigeria.

i saw the soldier harassing a couple because they walked on the wrong side of the street.

Soldier: "Hey you. get away from there!" "This is a no walking zone!"

Couple: "We are very sorry sir"

Soldier: "What do you mean you are sorry!" Lands a loud slap on the man's face.

Me:       "Leave them alone. All you had to do was tell them to move!" 

Soldier: "Who IS you? Who IS you?  (he meant to say "who are you?")

Me:        Did you mean to say "Who ARE you?"

Soldier : Raises his rifle in rage as if to say I could shoot you right now

We hurry off. Me and the couple. 

But I digress. 

Even in the worst of regimes, people disagree with weapon-wielding lunatics and survive. 

not recommended!

i once heard people say that the police instructed them to "shoot to kill" if they saw any suspicious activity. 

this one rocked me to the core. how do people feel such ease at taking lives?

explains why kid who knocked on someone's door to ask for directions was "shot and killed".

it's a strange place. 

then the former immigrants from the mayflower onwards tell the new immigrants to leave if they don't like it. always makes me wonder why the new immigrants don't in turn tell the former immigrants to leave as well.

they don't have a monopoly on "my great grand parents came here for a better life" 

.. and lets not even go into the kidnapped ones who didn't even want to come here. takes me back to my ancestral home in nigeria. we went there for big occasions. we used to talk a lot about a place called 'ofekata' where some of my relatives lived. i just learned recently that my original homeland was in that place .. my ancestors ran from there because villagers were getting 'kidnapped' and the village was losing people at a rampant ratee. my ancestors moved inward to protect their kin.

i digress again.

so with all that said here are my wishes:

My partner must drive around with a camera in his car. My son will not play with guns.

it is what it is. on some level, i think, i should take it or leave it. if i don't like it, i should go. but then again. this land is my land. i should stand my ground. 

Amadou was my first. i have lost count of the last. there are just too many to keep track of. is it becoming a norm for me too? you've got to strike a balance sometimes between self preservation and people preservation. 

it takes it's toll. 

and police behaviors are just one small part of it

the young ones will soon be holding the torch. 

we cannot let them down. 

we will stand our ground

Ha!

The Wall Street Journal: Lego Boost Review: Meet Your Child’s New Coding Coach

Lego Boost Review: Meet Your Child's New Coding Coach
The Wall Street Journal

The new Lego Boost kit makes the classic bricks come to life with programmable motors and sensors. We asked three junior builders to help us put it to the test. Read the full story

Shared from Apple News

Sent from my iPhone

Not Just any Novel - Chigozie Obioma's - The Fishermen

Chigozie Obioma's The Fishermen

A review by - Valerie Chiamaka Chikwendu

Every time literary prize winners and almost winners are announced, I do a quick scan of the authors, the books, the titles. I read up on some of the interesting authors if they are new to me and I occasionally will read a book or two from the long long list of people who I consider heroes of our time: writers. 

I look for intrigue, I look for something grungy and beautiful at the same time, something different and then, somewhat unconsciously, I look for the familiar. So it is not a surprise that when I did my first scan of the recent Man Booker prize long list. I stopped short at a name: Chigozie Obioma. The name is a familiar name that tells me that I have one thing in common with this writer: a common ancestry. This is a very small connection but it was enough for me to stop and see what he had to say. It has been exactly a week since I came across the name and today, similar to what Arundhaty Roy did to me with The God of Small Things, Chigozie and his work will continue to haunt me for a long time to come. 

I just finished reading the last pages of his debut novel The Fishermen and I found myself poring through every last word on the book, the dedication, the book cover snippets, anything that will give me more of what this talented author has to say. Chigozie's writing is superbly designed to captivate readers. Chigozie took me on a devastatingly heart wrenching journey. I was tortured, rooting for the main characters and being let down each step of the way. At the same time, as I went through the agonizing journey into Chigozie's imagination, as painful as it was, I still refused to get off the ride. 

I read this book initially because of it's familiarity but the truth is, this is not just a novel set in Western Nigeria during the 1990's showcasing a middle income family weaving its way through uncertain political and economic times. It is not just a glimpse into the coming together of traditional Yoruba beliefs and western influences. It is a carefully crafted work of art that does what every good work of art is supposed to do. It tugs at your soul. It stirs up deep emotions. It humbles. 

Chigozie is not just Chinua Achebe's heir. He is not just one of the best contemporary African writers of these times. He is much more than these compartments and categories that we often find ourselves placing him in. 

He is simply a great writer, story teller and artist  - by any standard. I am sitting at the edge of my seat waiting, with bated breath to see what he comes up with next.  

I finally caved

I've been waiting for the ultimate bloggers solution for the longest time..p Wouldn't it be nice if we had website widgets that we could include as add-ons on our personal websites. I do not like the idea of keeping a repository of personal information on a website that I have no control over...

I want to blog on my own website. I want my facebook features to be portable. i want to be able to categorize and organize my posts on blogger. I want to have an organized webspace and I don't want to have to come up with a solution myself or spend too much time to get it done.

i have finally convinced myself to make do with what i have

A dying professors last lecture

Structured Education is Overrated

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/66


"If a man speaks his mind in a forest and no man hears him, is he still wrong?"

"I don't have enough faith to be an atheist" Rick Warren

A glimpse...just a brief glimpse of America

New Year's Resolution

I had passed over those commercials on TV again and again in the past but today I didn't flip the channel. I watched for 30 minutes, images of hungry children around the world. How is it possible that children as young as 18 months old, YES 18 months old are alone, on the streets, scavenging garbage piles for food.

The man was asking for $8.00 a month to feed a child. You get a picture with a scheduled status report on a child you help 'save'.

Maybe I am this way because I had my first child, Adanna last month. Watching those kids on TV just made me grateful that she is not likely to be left on the streets alone, competing with vultures for survival.

$8.00 a month.

I have decided that I will stop being oblivious. What good is compassion without action. If $8.00 is worth a life to someone else, shame on me for not giving the ultimate gift. What good am I if I am not of use to someone else?

After Adanna, this life is no longer about me. I am back to believing that my life is not worth anything if it has not served anyone.

My new year resolution? To give the gift of life, for life.

How to write about Africa - By Binyavanga Wainaina

SOME TIPS: sunsets and starvation are good

Always use the word 'Africa' or 'Darkness' or 'Safari' in your title. Subtitles may include the words 'Zanzibar', 'Masai', 'Zulu', 'Zambezi', 'Congo', 'Nile', 'Big', 'Sky', 'Shadow', 'Drum', 'Sun' or 'Bygone'. Also useful are words such as 'Guerrillas', 'Timeless', 'Primordial' and 'Tribal'. Note that 'People' means Africans who are not black, while 'The People' means black Africans.

Never have a picture of a well-adjusted African on the cover of your book, or in it, unless that African has won the Nobel Prize. An AK-47, prominent ribs, naked breasts: use these. If you must include an African, make sure you get one in Masai or Zulu or Dogon dress.

In your text, treat Africa as if it were one country. It is hot and dusty with rolling grasslands and huge herds of animals and tall, thin people who are starving. Or it is hot and steamy with very short people who eat primates. Don't get bogged down with precise descriptions.
Africa is big: fifty-four countries, 900 million people who are too busy starving and dying and warring and emigrating to read your book. The continent is full of deserts, jungles, highlands, savannahs and many other things, but your reader doesn't care about all that, so keep your
descriptions romantic and evocative and unparticular. Make sure you show how Africans have music and rhythm deep in their souls, and eat things no other humans eat. Do not mention rice and beef and wheat; monkey-brain is an African's cuisine of choice, along with goat, snake, worms and grubs and all manner of game meat. Make sure you show that you are able to eat such food without flinching, and describe how you learn to enjoy it-because you care.

Taboo subjects: ordinary domestic scenes, love between Africans (unless a death is involved), references to African writers or intellectuals, mention of school-going children who are not suffering from yaws or Ebola fever or female genital mutilation.

Throughout the book, adopt a sotto voice, in conspiracy with the reader,
and a sad I-expected-so-much tone. Establish early on that your liberalism is impeccable, and mention near the beginning how much you love Africa, how you fell in love with the place and can't live without her. Africa is the only continent you can love-take advantage of this.
If you are a man, thrust yourself into her warm virgin forests. If you are a woman, treat Africa as a man who wears a bush jacket and disappears off into the sunset. Africa is to be pitied, worshipped or dominated. Whichever angle you take, be sure to leave the strong
impression that without your intervention and your important book, Africa is doomed.



Your African characters may include naked warriors, loyal servants, diviners and seers, ancient wise men living in hermitic splendour. Or corrupt politicians, inept polygamous travel-guides, and prostitutes you have slept with. The Loyal Servant always behaves like a seven-year-old
and needs a firm hand; he is scared of snakes, good with children, and always involving you in his complex domestic dramas. The Ancient Wise Man always comes from a noble tribe (not the money-grubbing tribes like the Gikuyu, the Igbo or the Shona). He has rheumy eyes and is close to the Earth. The Modern African is a fat man who steals and works in the visa office, refusing to give work permits to qualified Westerners who really care about Africa. He is an enemy of development, always using his government job to make it difficult for pragmatic and good-hearted expats to set up NGOs or Legal Conservation Areas. Or he is an Oxford-educated intellectual turned serial-killing politician in a Savile Row suit. He is a cannibal who likes Cristal champagne, and his mother is a rich witch-doctor who really runs the country. Among your characters you must always include The Starving African, who wanders the refugee camp nearly naked, and waits for the benevolence of the West. Her children have flies on their eyelids and pot bellies, and her breasts are flat and empty. She must look utterly helpless. She can
have no past, no history; such diversions ruin the dramatic moment. Moans are good. She must never say anything about herself in the dialogue except to speak of her (unspeakable) suffering. Also be sure to include a warm and motherly woman who has a rolling laugh and who is
concerned for your well-being. Just call her Mama. Her children are all delinquent. These characters should buzz around your main hero, making him look good. Your hero can teach them, bathe them, feed them; he carries lots of babies and has seen Death. Your hero is you (if
reportage), or a beautiful, tragic international celebrity/aristocrat who now cares for animals (if fiction).

Bad Western characters may include children of Tory cabinet ministers, Afrikaners, employees of the World Bank. When talking about exploitation by foreigners mention the Chinese and Indian traders. Blame the West for Africa's situation. But do not be too specific.

Broad brushstrokes throughout are good. Avoid having the African characters laugh, or struggle to educate their kids, or just make do in mundane circumstances. Have them illuminate something about Europe or America in Africa. African characters should be colourful, exotic,
larger than life-but empty inside, with no dialogue, no conflicts or resolutions in their stories, no depth or quirks to confuse the cause. Describe, in detail, naked breasts (young, old, conservative, recently raped, big, small) or mutilated genitals, or enhanced genitals. Or any
kind of genitals. And dead bodies. Or, better, naked dead bodies. And especially rotting naked dead bodies. Remember, any work you submit in which people look filthy and miserable will be referred to as the 'real Africa', and you want that on your dust jacket. Do not feel queasy about
this: you are trying to help them to get aid from the West. The biggest taboo in writing about Africa is to describe or show dead or suffering white people.

Animals, on the other hand, must be treated as well rounded, complex characters. They speak (or grunt while tossing their manes proudly) and have names, ambitions and desires. They also have family values: see how lions teach their children? Elephants are caring, and are good feminists or dignified patriarchs. So are gorillas. Never, ever say anything negative about an elephant or a gorilla. Elephants may attack people's property, destroy their crops, and even kill them. Always take the side of the elephant. Big cats have public-school accents. Hyenas are fair
game and have vaguely Middle Eastern accents. Any short Africans who live in the jungle or desert may be portrayed with good humour (unless they are in conflict with an elephant or chimpanzee or gorilla, in which case they are pure evil).


After celebrity activists and aid workers, conservationists are Africa's most important people. Do not offend them. You need them to invite you to their 30,000-acre game ranch or conservation area', and this is the only way you will get to interview the celebrity activist. Often a book cover with a heroic-looking conservationist on it works magic for sales.
Anybody white, tanned and wearing khaki who once had a pet antelope or a farm is a servationist, one who is preserving Africa's rich heritage. When interviewing him or her, do not ask how much funding they have; do not ask how much money they make off their game. Never ask how much they pay their employees.

Readers will be put off if you don't mention the light in Africa. And sunsets, the African sunset is a must. It is always big and red. There is always a big sky. Wide empty spaces and game are critical-Africa is the Land of Wide Empty Spaces. When writing about the plight of flora
and fauna, make sure you mention that Africa is overpopulated. When your main character is in a desert or jungle living with indigenous peoples (anybody short) it is okay to mention that Africa has been severely depopulated by Aids and War (use caps).

You'll also need a nightclub called Tropicana, where mercenaries, evil nouveau riche Africans and prostitutes and guerrillas and expats hang out. Always end your book with Nelson Mandela saying something about rainbows or renaissances. Because you care.