All About Ms. World's World

HELP! I'VE LOST MY SARAH LAWRENCE COLLEGE YEARBOOK circa 1991, 1992, 1994 and I'D LIKE THEM BACK!

If the postman or post-woman recently delivered you a box that included a Sarah Lawrence College yearbook from 1991, 1992, or 1994 and you don't know who or what Sarah Lawrence College is (just the best and wildest liberal arts college in the U.S.), please contact me via e-mail at chilande2001@yahoo.com.

The post office lost my Sarah Lawrence College yearbooks and other items and delivered onto me a series of books about diplomacy, foreign affairs, and Islam which seem to be related to course(s) taught by
Dr. Mohammed Ayoob of Michigan State University. If this sounds familiar, please contact me at chilande2001@yahoo.com since I don't need any books that don't belong to me (I have enough books!).

Please note that I want my yearbooks back but I won't pay anyone a ton of money for them.

Same, Same- Hurricane Katrina

Brother OMI has written about it. The Professor Amardeep Singh added his wisdom to the topic. Diva Saffron, Diva Chai, Diva Saurav (he said I could call him that), Mr. Bomani Jones, and Sir Bernie also featured prominent weblog posts about Hurricane Katrina.  And I'm happy to finally see a hip-hop artist speaking some political truths regarding this catastrophe.

For once, I am left speechless and horrified by the photos flashing across CNN or BBC whenever I'm near a television. I couldn't believe the devastation wrecked by Mother Nature. Unfortunately, I could believe that the U.S. government would ignore the poor people stuck for various reasons in New Orleans.

I won't pontificate on the matter of race because I think it is a mute point. I truly believe that America doesn't give a shit about poor people, especially poor Black people, even when they sign up to fight its wars (Please note I'm currently traveling in Vietnam.).

I'm going to allow Sir Bernie to speak for me with his 'People Helping People' post. I'm also going to pray for the victims and survivors of Hurricane Katrina and give a donation.

I really wish we all could understand how connected we are. As I travel around Southeast Asia, I've seen so many people in various countries who look like or have energy that remind me of my family and friends from in the U.S. and Japan.

I was in the Chinatown area of Ho Chi Minh City this afternoon doing some exploration and shopping. I went to the pharmacy looking for shampoo (don't ask). A Vietnamese woman came up to me and started pointing at me and speaking. 'Same, same,' she said. 'Huh?', I replied. Then she put took my arm and held it next to her arm while a small crowd slowly formed around us. 'Same, same,' she repeated and smiled.

The truth is that we share so much more than earth-colored skin. We are all human beings who love, hurt, laugh and cry. It is a shame that we don't fully realize that.

Black people don`t

Another saying I hate is, `Black people don`t eat sushi.` BULLSHIT! Black people eat sushi but they may not eat sashimi! 

Hold On! Wait A Minute! It is Father's Day!

I have to take a few minutes out of the regularly scheduled blogging to talk about the man in this photo. This is my father. I don't write about him a lot but that doesn't mean he isn't important to me.

I love my father because he was the first man who loved and adored me. He spoiled me badly by allowing me to eat his Big Mac when I was seven years old. He would buy me music albums, such as the Mickey Mouse Club and Snow White. He never punished me. Sometimes he would try to convince my mother not to punish me. He would let me watch numerous reruns of the Brady Bunch when his favorite Christian radio program was broadcasting. When I celebrated my 13th birthday, he gave me one of the best gifts I've ever received by taking me to a bookstore and allowing me to buy up to 15 books (I was in heaven!).

Over the past years, my father and I have had our ups and downs. We are very different people. I don't know if my father ever envisioned his eldest daughter going off to the big, bad city and making a life for herself or traveling to foreign countries to learn about new cultures and have adventures.

I don't know if he understands me fully but I know in my heart that he loves me and prays for my well-being. And I'm grateful for that. 

Happy Father's Day B.!

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Dear Family, Friends, & My Blogging Peoples-Happy Father's Day to all of you who are fathers or who help nurture and help raise children!

A Few Words On Mr. Jackson

I was in love with Michael Jackson when I was in elementary school. I thought he was very handsome, talented, and an amazing dancer. I use to dream of being Michael's girlfriend. So, now it is very odd to look at the soul star that I once lusted after turn himself into the world's most unattractive white woman.

Honestly, I can't believe he was acquitted. I think he needs to do a little time in jail to help him realize that it really isn't OK to share his bed with young boys.   

Apparently

It is very apparent to me that I have yet to reconcile my inherited history as a descendant of enslaved Africans in America with the myths of America as the land of milk, honey, liberty, and opportunities for all hardworking individuals (I really don`t think you can get anymore hardworking than the enslaved Africans.), and my personal history as this woman`s daughter, and the knowledge that I am a child of God.

I have no idea how I`m suppose to reconcile all of these histories, myths, stories, and the love and bitterness.

If you have any ideas on how to circumvent all of these emotions in a health way, please leave a comment or send me an e-mail.

Lessons from the First Occupation

In the winter of 1996, I was pounding the New York City pavement on the hunt for a job. By the time spring emerged in April, I had two job offers in different fields. I gave myself a week to ponder emerging opportunities in the publishing field and museum arena before making a final decision. I took the museum job. I worked there for about 2 1/2 years.

Now, I look back on that decision with a little tinge of regret. My love of books is slightly below my love of God and family. What was I thinking? My decision to work at a museum instead of in publishing put me on a career track I was bound to abandon. Now I can clearly see how important and powerful that decision was in my life. But I couldn`t fathom its impact until eight years later.

Since my mother taught me to learn from my mistakes, I`m very aware of how the smallest decisions can have significant repercussions on your life and the lives of your progeny. This idea is always in my mind when I think about the Reconstruction period in U.S. history. I clearly see that time in American history as a pivotal moment when my country could have owned up to its horrific misdeeds and committed itself to integrating their African brethren into mainstream political and economic life in lieu of their great contribution to the building of our nation. Unfortunately, America faltered on its promise to promote liberty for all. The economic and political empowerment of Blacks in the South was thwarted. And I honestly believe that America has never properly recompensated or reconciled with the descendants of enslaved Africans.

I started thinking about all of this after reading The First Occupation by Edward L. Ayers in The New York Times Magazine. Ayers sees lessons to the quagmire of problems the current U.S. government faces in its occupation of Iraq with the America`s first occupation in the post-Civil War South. His views resonate with me.

I've Been Gone That Long

I believe Memorial Day will be celebrated this Monday in the U.S. I only know this because it was mentioned on National Public Radio which I listen to religiously on the Internet as I assemble dinner. I've been away from the U.S. long enough that I've forgotten about Easter, President's Day, Labor Day, and Malcolm X birthday (celebrated by my brother). I almost forgot July 4th last year too. However, I've added Golden Week, Marine Day, and O-bon to my holiday knowledge bank. There are four holidays that I never forget though; Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Christmas.

I can't wait to celebrate Diwali, Republic Day, and Ethiopian Good Friday!

Scenes From The Reckoning

Ms. World arrives in Africa in February 2006. This is a foretelling of what could happen.

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Ms. World : Hello! My name is Ms. World. I'm from America. How are you?

My first African friend: I'm fine. You are American.

Ms. World: Actually, I'm African-American.

My first African friend: Where are your people from in Africa?

Ms. World: I don't know.

My first African friend: What tribe are you from?

Ms. World: I don't know. The Midwestern tribe?

My first African friend: You aren't African. You are American.

Ms. World: I know I'm America but I've got Black skin.

My first African friend:That doesn't make you African.

Ms. World: It doesn't. Oh.

My first African friend: No!

This is my reckoning. I'm going to go to the land of my ancestors and not be recognized. My Americanized sense of African identity will be chopped down, splintered into many pieces, and thrown in a trash heap. Half of my name will be cut off from me by the original owners of the name. I will have traveled thousands of miles over a period of years to realize a truth that my mother told me over 10 years ago in the house on a hill. I will finally realize that my vaulted roots actually begin with the names of a 17-year-old and an 18-year-old who fell in love in the early seventies, got married, and signed their names on my birth certificate. Actually, I'm a little wrong there.

The tree begins with a woman whom I never met who shares the same name as one of the months. She was married to the man whose name starts with H. which a tarot card reader in Sydney, Australia correctly guessed. They begat the woman with strong Native American features who used to give me grape soda when I was sick with chicken pots and lived in a house that had no bathtub. The 17-year-old is named after this woman. But the 17-year-old didn't know this was her proper name until later in life.

The branches of this tree are filled with church-going, working people, a Pullman Porter, some teachers, a slew of life of the party-types including the legendary Ms. B., a sprinkle of ministers, a former Ebony Fashion Fair model, police officers, and a jazz musician, me thinks. My roots are indeed vaulted and strong as the Redwoods which help stabilize me as I rush madly and excitedly around the world looking for something that is already within me.

I will travel all the way to Africa to realize, yet again, that my mother is usually right. "Your roots begin with me, " she curtly noted in an semi-uncomfortable conversation we had over 10 years ago.

I must remember that sometimes the journey is much more important than the destination.

Class Really Matters

The New York Times is publishing a series of reports about social class in America called "Class Matters." Hell, I could have told them that class is a central component in American life even though some people still want to believe the U.S. is a classless society. Social class is an emerging chasm in the African-American community. I'm very interested to read their upcoming series of articles about this topic.

I always bring up the class topic in political discussions I have with middle class or upper middle class Americans. My experience is that some Americans, especially those in the upper social ranks, don't realize the impact of class in American life. I have firsthand knowledge of how class works in American life. I hate the fact that poor and working class kids of all colors who desperately need quality education usually get stuck with low quality education which makes them only suitable for low-wage service work.

The New York Times is defining class as a combination of occupation, education, wealth, and income. This is where things can get dodgy for me. I have the education attainment of the upper echelons of American society because I hold a master's degree but I have no wealth. My occupation prestige is in the middle rank but my income is above the middle level also.

I have definitely moved up in American society but I still call myself a working class girl, like this noted writer. Although I'm becoming obsessed with building wealth. I want to buy a house or condominum when I return to the U.S. I want to be an entrepreneur because I'm sick of working for other people. I also think it is very important for African-Americans to build their own businesses and use them as a tool to bring opportunities and wealth back into poorer communities.

But I can't shake my working class origins and I don't want to. A British friend of mine who also shares a working class background pointed out that working class people don't travel all over the world for leisure and exploration. This brings me back to a central question in my new life- How do you call yourself a working class girl as you country hop all over the world?