Lucie Chihandae's Blog

Preorder the book!Kevin and Kenzi

When I started writing ‘The World Is Ours,’ I initially, I started from the end and worked my way to the first chapter. However, it did not pan out as well as I hoped, I got stuck; it read like a stand-alone short story with no continuation, nothing to it…. so

I ditched it!

then I thought, why not just add it to the blog since the novel, now complete and set for release, is all done?

If you haven’t visited my website yet, to satisfy your curiosity about what this novel is yet, just follow this link

Now for the deleted chapter :

It was one of those Manhattan nights in 2015, city lights dotting the night sky for miles from the wide sliding windows of her luxurious condo. It was beginning to snow again, lightly as was told in the news weather forecast. She had been excited about dinner and her flight. By 4pm, she was calling Kevin when she did not hear from him from the night of the party. After the seventh ring, there was a clumsy clanging on the other side of the line as someone unsteadily picked up the phone. Kenzi flicked her wrist to check the time on her wristwatch; 4:45pm, the sun was beginning to set. 

“Hey…” a husky tired voice drawled on the other end followed by a loud yawn.  Kenzi smiled, “Hey yourself,” She said then added casually, “You sound like you just got into bed.”

“Feels like…” the male voice on the other end chuckled and further in the background she could hear a female voice mumble something she did not catch. “this was  a rousing bachelor party; Bigz had a big send off. You can’t beat that, you know” He chuckled again, “Hold up Kenz,” he added quickly and then seemed to say something to his female companion It was muffled by him probably covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

“Sorry about that,” He drawled sleepily into the mouthpiece.

“No worries, I bet it was!” Kenzi agreed grinning.  She could tell he had the phone poised between his shoulder blade and ear because of the muffled way his voice bounced off the speaker into her living room. “What’s up?”

Bigz was finally getting married and although the two men had hoped Ssaka would be there, Kevin had assured his friend they would have the rowdiest most hedonistic bachelor affair, something Ssaka would have been proud of. Kevin knew how to have a good time, he brought the fun to the party but left the most sober, she was not surprised he spearheaded the bachelor party singlehandedly with the groom’s permission of course. He gave new meaning to the hip-hop phrase ‘work hard, play hard,’ After Ssaka had disappeared Kevin had withdrawn for a few days, it felt like the loss of his mother all over again, when he resurfaced  to the scene his new slogan was ‘Life is too short.’

 “You know what’s up… dinner at 7pm, I leave for Paris at 2am.” Kenzi reminded him like a mother gently nudging a child, reminding them they have homework.

“I didn’t forget, sleep ridden or not, I would make dinner,” Kevin chuckled, “were you worried?”

‘Nah, I wanted to wake you up. Can’t do late, the wedding is in 36 hours, no?”

“you sound worried to me Kenz,” he teased “and my best man swag is hanging in the closet, ready to go. Aunt Dina should hear you right now. Good Lord!”

Kenzi laughed, recalling how his mother hurried them to the car during school days so as not to annoy Taata Bob.

 “Who knew you would watch over me like this when we grew up, reminding me of my tardiness?” He drawled good naturedly.

“I always did, hot head. Will you bring your companion to dinner, I can place another plate …”

Kevin had interrupted, “Nah. Dinner is our thing and it is a special occasion, celebrating your Paris breakthrough! You are far too kind, extending that invite beyond me but no, it is rescinded, I won’t have anyone else steal your limelight.”

“Are you trying to get onto my good side?” she chuckled

“ummm, a little … is it working though, I need to know?” He asked charmingly.

She guffawed supressing a giggle, just like she did when she was a child, when they sat together on that rooftop in the Bugolobi flats roftopand dreamed of a better life. “A bottle of dom Perignon, might redeem you, as long as you bring it by 7pm.”

“Done! Infact I will be there at 6:30, just so to prove my act of contrition is true?” he was dramatic in his response, she shook her head, amused .

“Seeing is believing,” She smiled as she stared at the phone’s hands-free receiver.

“You should know by now you don’t dare Kev, you know that, don’t you?”

She grinned, “Iam waiting…”

“Alright, Princess,” He cleared his throat again and stifled a yawn.

Click.

 Kenzi appraised herself in the huge glass mirror that stood on the wall, her eyes a rare shade of blue and green sometimes one color overpowered the other depending on her mood, stared back at her. It had been a long time before she accepted herself, a mishap of a trial that had handed her the fashion industry. There are many dark girls like you, Alek Wek, you name it…but there are few dark girls with eyes like yours. She recalled Sketch assure her when she panicked about being picked for the Paris deal. Best believe it, this is yours, baby. And he was right.

America had been good to her as it had been cruel. She had faced two extreme reactions to her appearance, obsessive admiration, and outright repulsion. Her search for identity as a black girl in a white neighborhood, as a black girl amongst other black people, as a black girl whose mother had not loved enough. It was the blessing and curse she had to live with. It was something she grappled with, but solace was in Kevin who ascertained she was who she was, beautiful and that’s all that mattered. Anything she wanted she could have if her dreams depended on it.  “Whatever you want me to do to help you on this course,’ He had told her, “I am here now, and just so you know… If they didn’t consider you, I would probably shut them down myself,”

She had rolled her eyes at his haughty remark and scoffed, “like hell you would.”

“You know I have connections Kenz, I can do anything I want. I own the world.” He arrogantly belted his conviction with stark charisma, it was no wonder the ladies drooled over him. Kenzi had rolled her eyes.  .

They were seated on the rooftop patio of her house, the temperature had started to drop like the leaves and New York was generally cold much to Kevin’s chagrin.   “Urgh, I don’t think I can deal with these seasonal changes, Uganda will always have the best seasons! Why complicate it. It should be hot or wet, not very hot and humid, then really wet with a side of snowflakes? What the fuck!’  Kenzi had laughed at his frustration. He did not like the western world as he called it, a changeable superficial place, where nothing was grounded. Kenzi could understand why, life had been a series of multiple changes layered over each other. It was harder to tell when something would happen; it all just flipped on them, right from block 4. He did not like to be nervous. She often told him, he would get the hang of it, “You are into business Kev, and you know how it is; unpredictable and risky,”

He shrugged, “fair enough, but I can also see where my money is and I know how it is coming,” He defended stubbornly.

“Well, we have accuweather now,” she nudged him with her shoulder coaxing him gently.

“accuweather my ass,” he laughed, “what happened to you being my side kick?”

“I still am.” She had put a hand over his. He had patted it lightly then squeezed it in his other hand.  “We own the world, Kenz. We always said we would, remember?” 

***

Kevin was at her door at 6:29pm knocking in his familiar way, three rhythmically spaced raps.

 “You kept your word,” she said with all the mock diplomacy she could master, “and you look good.” She added, her eyes took in his leather pants, purple fitting shirt and elbow patched jacket.  His one hand clasped around the neck of the Dom Perignon and a single black baccarat red rose.

“A black rose?” Kenzi grinned, “for me? aww you sure know how to pacify a girl,” She reached for him affectionately, “give us a hug!”

Kevin hugged her back , bottle and flower in tow, “for you my darling, anything!”

“I know” she kissed his cheek “I probably should demand for the rare breed of black roses from Turkey. The ultimate pacifier,” she winked

“Woman, I give you an inch you take a mile?’ Kevin made a face “sheesh! I spoil you too much, ‘ultimate pacifier?’” he mimicked her as he strolled into her luxurious living room splurged in warm gold and burgundy.

 Kenzi laughed, “You don’t spoil me enough,”

“aww,” he laughed, “you don’t say! However, you do look smashing, are you taking the plane in heels?” She twirled so he could fully appraise her.

“Why, thank you, I need to make a grand entrance from the airport, love,”

He shook his head and sighed, “Who would have known, you would turn out this way…”

Kenzi made a face as she headed to the kitchen to put some water in a vase she had picked from the credenza in the living room, “Turn out like what?” Her soft voice floated back to him. He walked round to the couch and sat, stretching his long legs out as far as he could. The nagging fatigue of a sleep debt still had its grip on him, “Well you know…the way you are, could you bring me a glass of water while you are at it?”

“You did not answer my question Kev, like what?”

“Does it matter?” He asked

She was standing by the door of the kitchen tall glass of water with a few ice cubes and lemon slices in it, “Yes it does, as a matter of fact.”

He turned and looked at her then shrugged, “Alright then, come here and I tell you,” She shook her head: “Dinner is just about ready, I was warming it up before you got here, you should enlighten me over a glass of Dom.”

He shook his head, “The water will do,”

She chuckled nonetheless and sat by him on the couch, handing him the water. “It must have been a wild night; how many women – I know drinks are not your thing- so women did you consume?”

He groaned throwing his head back, “Oh sharks, Let’s start with the weed. That was good. The women?   well, not many, I swear but there was a lot to flirt with, I was spoilt for choice. Iam a one-man woman though. ”

“That’s how you had only one in your bed, huh?” she grinned. “So you, Kev!”

“What?”

“One-man-woman, get the fuck out of here. Mr larger than life! Iam sure those ladies were lined for miles to be with you. You were always that way.”

He grinned devilishly and waved a hand over her like a wand, “And you were always this way. Beautiful, soft, gentle…my heart.” His hand rested on his chest. He looked at her searchingly, ‘You know that bullshit I keep saying. Been saying for forever? That the world is ours?”

Kenzi laughed, “Yeah some bullshit.”

“Well,” I always believed it, especially when we were younger, When I was with you… seated on top of block four roof top on those hot evenings after the dust of the day had settled,”

She smiled, “Oh that dust,” She recalled it all in that moment, the mood she thought they had escaped returned sitting lightly between them, a cascading invisible projector of memories exploding in rapid motion. For a moment it felt like time had zapped them backwards.

“Yeah that dust…Does it ever settle?” He asked almost absently, still held by the invisible hands of time.

“You know, I don’t think it does, there is always a new day and new dust to kick,” She tried to lighten the mood, dispel ghosts of the past.

“When you got taken,” He paused and took some water, “It was hard. I realized I was someone else for a long while, driven and ruthless …especially with those who hurt me… mom… Part of me was afraid I would not see you again. The world couldn’t be mine alone if you were not there to share in that power with me,” He drawled on as if in a dream.

Kenzi sighed. It was still so fresh for her too. It had only been three years that passed by so fast since she met Kevin again. No matter how much they talked about the past and the same things over and over, it never seemed to eliminate the details of pain. How does anyone get over that? She wondered.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be redeemed but to be relived through these moments they spent together. One thing had not changed though, she still loved him and adored him as she always had.

“Kev…” she paused, “The world is still ours and we still have our dreams,”

As easily as he had slipped into that reverie, he drew back from it and frowned , “Of course. So when you return from Paris, you and I should go to Dubai, or somewhere warm…say Christmas in the Caribbean?’

“Hmm, I will have to think about that. Got a winter shoot for the holiday edition of New Mode when I return…but it’s only a day or two then I can take a break. Besides, it will be only a few days to Christmas, do you leave soon?’

He shrugged, “I can extend my stay, two weeks more. I would like to celebrate your 24th birthday if you please?”

She squealed, “Awesome! So we can spend New Year’s together! Yes!”.

“Whoa, whoa!” Kevin was laughing, “Easy girl,”

She was past listening; her blue green eyes sparkled with an unusual glimmer of excitement “This means planning! Things to do, where to go…ok, I need to get this dinner on the table,” she was up on her feet heading to the kitchen, her steps, frisky and alit with excitement.

“I hope it won’t involve skating or whatever you people do in the snow,” He smirked.

“It’s an acquired taste Kev, you will get used to it,” she teased.

Kevin let his eyes soak in her apartment and finally rested on the painting she had newly acquired that graced the wall in the dining room adjacent to the living room.  “I like that painting you have, is it new? Wasn’t here when I last saw you?” he called out to her.

“Yeah, because it came yesterday morning. Thanks. I like it too,” There was a pause, “Tell me about the bachelor party. You were out for the last twenty-four hours. I mean, I could hardly reach your cell, and I figured there is an awesome story to that.”

Kevin got up from the plush burgundy seats and walked toward the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room and living room “the usual, drink up, strip tease, rowdy fun with the boys, telling jokes I could not let you hear,” he grinned at her as he said that “and to top it all off…I am still so sleep deprived Kenz, it’s crazy, I can’t even relate the evening to you as well as I often do because I am so tired…” then he lifted his face and sniffed, emitting  a small groan of delight, “But that smells good!” 

“Prepare your palette,” she announced as she laid out the table with food and silverware one by one, a feast fit for a king. She recalled Kevin telling her on the roof of the flat once, that they would never starve. Her eyes welled up, and her thoughts trailed from his hedonistic night of adventure.

“You okay?” Kevin had been talking and stopped, watching her, frowning.

 Kenzi started, her eyes fell on to the table and she motioned for him to sit, “Nothing really… you said we would never starve….”

Kevin watched her lower lip pout slightly, “you are not going to cry, are you?” He sat across from her at the four-seater.

“Oh silly of course not, I am just grateful for what I have and that you are here, I can’t help thanking God every day for that. We are so lucky Kev,”

“Hell with luck, Kenz, we were meant to have this and more. We only just started,”

She shrugged, “Well…”

“You kept me sane through it all too.  All I had to do was think of you …look at that photo and tell myself… it was all for you, I had to find you. I couldn’t do it alone,”

“Aww you make me blush,” she teased

He laughed, “Damn! if people out there knew what you brought out of me, I probably would not get the business deals I get,”

She laughed, “You are still that fearless boy I knew on bloke four who teased me and gave me food and did homework with me and…”

“Beat your mother’s boyfriend’s away,” He said hesitantly, “I don’t want to talk about her if you never want to,”

“It’s alright,” Kenzi smiled, “How is she by the way,”

Kevin sighed, “Last I saw her…well, the same,”

Kenzi nodded and focused on the food on her plate.

“When do you want to come visit,” He finally asked

Kenzi helped herself to more matooke, “I don’t know,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

He could understand why and she probably would never want to, that was her choice, he could accept that. It was a nightmare growing up the way she did. “I have plans to look at the oil plants in Hoima.”

“Getting into oil, are we?” she brightened up on that note

“Yeah, it’s the next big thing,”

“Big as gold?”

“Gold is gold, some things are constant, but oil is the big thing in Uganda now and getting a share of that black gold is going to take blood, not with how it is being autonomously governed like it’s state property,”

“Be careful, I have heard stories,” Kenzi warned seriously.

“I am fine Kenz, if I could survive the DRC, I can survive anything. Our plan is full proof, it might be slowly coming together but…” Kenzi sat up right looking at her best friend with a glint of admiration in her eyes.

“What’s the plan with all this money, early retirement?”

He grinned digging his fork into the chapatti slices on the serving plate, “A man needs to do some travelling with his money and his adorably beautiful friend. I bet everyone will be asking for a piece of you,” He slapped his thigh as he said that, “Speaking of which, you still don’t want me to go to Paris with you?”

“It’s rather too late to, don’t you think? You have Bigz wedding day after tomorrow, And we had this discussion already, I shall be fine,” She rolled her eyes, “Besides, I don’t get down like that, you know,”

“Yeah we did, Kenz… and then on a lighter note…do you ever get down?” He laughed; he stressed the ‘down’ for effect.

“Really?” she shot him a warning glance, “Not like you, I don’t. I hope you play it safe,”

He leaned back into his seat, “Of course I do, you worry about me too much,”

“I just think you are way too adventurous braving too close to the cliff of life… I want to make sure you don’t fall over it,”

“Isn’t that sweet? That’s why I have you, no?”

She shrugged, “Maybe,”

“What’s that to mean?”  He picked up the saltshaker

“I could be married soon, babies, I won’t have time to watch your back,” She made a face at him.

“Oh?” Kevin watched her, “Are you not telling me something?”

“Maybe,”

“When did we ever have secrets?”

“It’s not a secret, you know my life isn’t a secret, the whole world pretty much seems to know about me most of the time.” She laughed, “even before I do.”

“No one knew about the photographer … what’s his name? the one you dated when you started out….” He snapped his fingers rapidly

“Shawn…that was so long ago” she said dispassionately

“Yeah him. But its Devon I could have killed…” He said a steely growl to his words

“Well, it’s over.” She quickly glossed over it, not wanting to return to that time. Kevin noticed her tone and let it go. “I am talking to someone but it’s not official, I think my no ‘dating break’ is done with,” She blurted out, “a couple of messages.  Chit-chat but we haven’t even gone out to dinner,”

Kevin watched her, “Another tanned Brazilian model? You like him?”

She laughed and shrugged, ‘Not a model this time, Jiao was  gay really, No, he is an artist. I donno, we will see,” she didn’t seem enthusiastic and changed the subject, “Remember the time I was scared to go home because Uncle Mulenzi was there,”

“The sodding pedophile, you mean,” Kevin spat out with disgust.

Kenzi nodded,’ and you sneaked me into your room, I had never felt safer,” her eyes sought his. He was staring back at her.

“You remember what I asked you?” She said almost timidly

He looked away briefly, “I don’t forget a lot, you know, yeah I remember,” He nodded. His eyes locked with hers again. That old familiar feeling of wholeness crept up on him. It was strange that after all these years, seeing her again made him feel that way… complete.

She did not know why she brought that night up, in her childish crush on him she had asked him if he would marry her when they grew up so that he could always protect her from Uncle Mulenzi and the so many other uncles she had known.  He had agreed and even proposed they get married there and then and under the sheets of his bed with a little torch turned on, they made paper rings and got married. Then he held her till morning before the first light and woke her up so he could stealthily take her back to her apartment before her mother realized she was not in her bed. 

“We got married Kenzi,” He laughed, “and now you are cheating on me,” He grinned.

“You have been away for almost twelve years. What do you expect?” she playfully retorted.

“ouch! Nelson Mandela would be turning in his grave now!” He wasn’t one to shut up on a smart mouth verbal exchange.

She laughed.

They passed the next hour over dessert , coffee and wine, recounting their lives like they did, listening to music that Kevin picked out regarding himself a master of African music and in a bid to keep Kenzi up to breast with the newest East African music she hardly had a chance to really listen to, locked up in her cosmopolitan world swirling with American and Euro influences.

At 10pm He drove her to the airport, stopping on the way to get her favourite ice cream, chocolate chip and coffee cream and made it in time through the snow that had gathered momentum and was falling still softly but determinedly higher. The weather cast on the radio warned for everyone to drive carefully and there was prediction of almost twelve inches of snow in the next few days, “Damn this weather! Are you sure I will be safe?” He asked stealing a side long glance at her, her face shadowed by her hair falling thickly over her face close enough to her left eye.  “You will hate it but you will survive.”

 “I donno how you all do this, year in year out,” he was shaking his head.

She laughed and scooped more spoonfuls of ice cream. Kevin’s rental car pulled up to the airport departure section at JFK at 11 pm where he helped her with her bags into the ticketing and flight waiting area. The VIP section was a breeze to check in another five minutes her bags were checked in and they were heading down the long corridor of busy airline booths and food stalls, the lull of humans and computerized calling voices on the loudspeakers carried on with footsteps on the clear marble floors.

Kenzi was on the phone for a few minutes finalizing her schedule with Sketch, he had gone ahead of her to prepare.

“Sketch says hi, “ she told Kevin when she got off the phone, “Well, I shall call you when I get to the other side.” they approached the check in terminal, she shouldered her Lancôme tote bag and reached her hand out to him, “Be safe, don’t be too naughty,” Kevin grinned a naughty glint crossing his finely chiseled  features, “you honestly can’t ask that of me, love.” He drawled.

“Dinner was awesome, made me homesick. I might have to go back to Uganda and return when you are back in New York,” He teased.

 “Don’t you dare!” she jabbed a finger into his rib,

“Aww! My oh my, it bites,” He chuckled, “No I won’t, I will be waiting for you with breakfast at Ellen’s?”

She smiled: “Alright then, and we can start planning, yay! Be good at least…”

“Sure, we will, and I will try; no promises. You take care of yourself,” He told her firmly. 

“I am a good girl, Kev,” she whispered close to his ear, “my best wishes to Bigz and make sure they receive my gift,” she turned to the terminal, looking back once to wave and blow him a kiss and she was gone, swallowed in the sea of travelers.

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‘That man has a lot of face on him.’

Shannon said pointing her half empty bottle of Hennessy towards the entrance of the bar we were seated in.

We were both bored and broke on the last week of our vacation and spent every single happy hour at The Glens , one of the cheapest bars two blocks from our apartment. The only place for ten blocks where we could get beers for two dollars at happy hour.

‘Who?’ I turned with effort towards the entrance to see who this person was, mostly to understand what ‘alot of face’ meant.

Shannon had a way of describing people that was hers alone, for example when we were in school she used to call me the ‘owl chick’ because when I get confused or embarrassed I bob my head like an owl . I honestly don’t know if I do , but she says so.

However Shannon doesn’t name everyone , unless she particularly finds them intriguing.

‘Him’ she pointed again with her bottle, ‘blue polo.’

There were four guys walking in, all about the same height , and definitely friends from the way they interacted with each other.

Then I saw ‘the a lot of face guy’ and choked almost immediately, in an effort to keep myself from laughing. He did have a lot of face.

His lips were thick and wide , his cheeks seemed to never have lost the baby flesh of his childhood, his nose crowded the center of his face, his eyelids were puffy and his forehead meaty. He looked a little like a caricature of Denzel Washington.

‘Dont laugh!’ Shannon scolded me , her eyes never leaving the group . They circled over to a pool table and started a game. One of the guys came to the bar and ordered beers.

‘Yeah alot of face’ I told her chuckling .

Shannon smiled and then said ,‘let’s go play pool.’

My eyes widened , ‘we can’t shoot pool for alms ! ‘

‘A lot of face will teach us.’ She winked.

I could not understand what intrigued her about this guy in particular . I could never understand it.

One day Shannon brought home a python she decided would be a pet. It had a birthmark in its underbelly which looked like an infinity symbol , she called the snake ‘Labyrinth’ because of the mark.

I hated Labyrinth mostly because we had to share our two roomed flat with it.

Labyrinth died three weeks later, fortunately for me.

Shannon was sad for a few weeks but then she brought home a boyfriend , she called him Curly Toes because the second toes next to his big toes were oddly protruding and sort of curved … slightly. She found that cute .

Like I said she named things.

We played pool and yes , James , the ‘a lot of face’ fellow did ‘teach’ us . Before the evening was done, he had taken her number. Two months later, he was sleeping over on weekends. Six months later they were engaged and married.

I moved out , got a job with a software company and soon after moved out of town all together but Shannon and I kept in touch. The babies came , they grew up . I visited on holidays and we recounted good old times over several bottles of Hennessy.

Then twenty five years later , I got the phone call. ‘He is dead. My alot of face man is dead.’ Shannon’s voice trembled into the phone.

I wasn’t much for settling, my career offered me remote opportunities so I traveled from place to place. This time I moved to Algiers with a Spaniard I met a couple of months back in Morocco. ‘Iam coming home!’ It was that simple .

I booked a flight after that call and told my lover, ‘there is death in the family.’

I needed to go .

He took me to the airport the next day and even as I held him, alot of my emotion was the grief I felt for Shannon.

I got to Virginia at noon the next day, took an Uber to Shannon’s and found her waiting at the front porch.

We held each other like we had not been in touch for years. We had spoken only six months before. Everything was fine then… until the news of James’s death.

When she told me what happened later that evening , I wept with her over our favorite beers.

Hennessy.

It was an unfortunate accident. Errant driver skidded into him on that icy 66 highway. His Ford focus overturned off the road – he was dead on spot.

The days to the burial were busy. I spent each waking moment on the phone with the insurance company , the funeral homes, the caretakers, the decorators, the food people and her children.

I wanted Shannon to rest.

She was afterall my best friend and the only family I had for over forty years.

Her two children , Mark and Melissa returned home for the funeral , insisting their mother needed to move out and have better care in an assisted living home where she would be surrounded with people.

I shook my head , ‘ I will take care of your mom. Just like always.’

A week after the burial , I convinced Shannon to get away . To shake off the doldrums. We took a cruise to the Caribbean , just us two and once again the light in her eyes returned .

She started to name people on the cruise ship and I cackled . Remembering older times when we people-watched in cafes or bars . Naming people and things.

I figured maybe it would be a good time to ask that question I had always wanted to ask her since the funeral .

‘Why James? Why did you choose him? I know he was kind and gentle and funny – but …’ I shrugged.

Shannon grinned, a far away look touched her eyes and there again I saw that look she had when we sat at the Glens, two broke bored girls two decades or so ago; she shook her head and the memories seemed to scatter and infuse the air with a good long ago scent . ‘Oh but you knew… because he had a lot of face on him.’

There is nothing more sobering and provocative than truth and that’s the crux of the rich man virus by Joseph Kabuleta who once again throws a spanner in the works of our mundane living jarring us to think on issues that affect our view of ‘wealth and how we treat those who posses it with deep suspicion’.

If you , like me, had a Christian upbringing , where the sound teachings of the old and New Testament resonated through your very core ( we had to cram the book of psalms and mandatorily come to terms with which book came before which book until you could open the Bible to exactly the book, chapter and verse without hesitating ), then I am sure you are aware of the scripture which joseph launches the subject of the rich man’s virus from in the entirety of 118 pages. “In fact, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God!”in Luke 18.

I was aware of the ‘eye of the needle ‘ alluding to a small gate way in Jerusalem city that was left open to allow for camels and merchants who came by nightfall to pass through, camels would have to literally get on their knees without the encumbrance of baggage to get through that Tiny gate, often preachers have tied it to being unburdened by the wealth of this world to qualify you for heaven- only until several minutes ago did I realize it was not so ! The eye of the needle actually refers to a real seamstress’ sewing needle . And that throws the whole message of that scripture off. It does not make sense! Or does it?

Be rest assured that all the confusion is cleared up straight from the introduction message of the book.

Joseph Kabuleta (author of Strength of Character – A must read too!) unpacks his vividly animated, humor laced writing skill to indulge us in the question of true wealth. He once more reveals in this well articulated research both scriptural and secular-compelling historical exhibits that correlate with scripture on the ‘love of money ‘ and in turn illuminates scripture through layman explanation and riveting examples ; surely, it’s hard to claim missing the point being made!

The world generally and Christendom have come to honor the vow of poverty as ‘the attitudes godliness’ but Kabuleta goes on to debunk that mindset ; giving its origin and how, like a virus , it has spread into the church surviving centuries since it’s inception.

He also probes at the motives of our hearts when he gives unfeigned examples of the ‘rich man’ Jesus meant , from greedy people calloused over through amassing wealth for the sheer pleasure of it to Esau who represents a batch of people who would rather live on the receiving end of life than the giving – breeding a society if victim-minded ingrates .

He explains how no one starts out purposely to be bound by the love of money but rather explains how this process takes over an individual inch by inch like a virus until they are completely ensnared in its death hold.

It does not end there, chapter five provides the antidote to the rich man virus.

It’s a simple read with seven chapters ; describing the biblical rich man and his character, explaining the deceitfulness of wealth, and how it is possible to escape its snare.

The Rich Man virus answers a lot of questions and assuages debate on the opulent lifestyles of ministers of the word of God.

He also does point out in his final chapter that as much as there are true preachers of the gospel in regard to wealth , there are those who use the pulpit as a business; the comfort in that it is , it is short lived as the fruit of their actions manifest quickly.

You possibly have your questions concerning the prosperity gospel and might be wondering why ‘rich man virus’

Well, I will not preempt and hope your appetite is whetted enough to buy the book and read it for yourself ; your mindset on wealth will never be the same!

A few weeks back I had a series of unfortunate events that left me near depression and doing something I said I would never do; ‘question God’. I was confused and despairing, slowly slipping into helpless depression, wondering what I had done wrong to have such setbacks. In the midst of my crisis, tears and questioning whilst still praising God no matter how I felt, I felt the Lord impress upon me to sow a seed into my spiritual father, ten thousand miles away, it was an undeniable impression, so urgent, so strong. I pulled my phone up and sent an amount I knew I was to send to my partnership group, asked the Leader to please have it directed to the Man of God. The moment I did it, I knew everything would be alright – I had followed a spiritual directive and that was all I needed to do. Be obedient. I also scheduled a call with a True man of God, a spiritual son of my spiritual father for prayer which he did do and I knew for sure things would be well.

However, my mind was in a dark place and I battled the dark descending clouds of depression for hours.

The next night I had a dream in which I was in attendance of the fellowship where my spiritual father ministers and he came to where I was seated in the congregation, motioned for me to stand up and kissed my forehead from the left to the right – 4 kisses across my forehead and then hugged me. He simply held me. My soul welled up with love, my eyes misted and I told him I missed him so terribly. He, in turn, said he knew that. He finally let me go and continued ministering, praying for other people, laying hands on them or speaking prophetically to them. I kept following him, watching him and something happened to me- I became very aware of how hard he worked – how hard he labored in the vineyard for God – how much he knew this harvest depended on him being out there doing what God has called him to do. I felt this burden, I felt the weight of the mission and my heart understood just how much sacrifice it takes to be a minister, a person chosen and anointed of God to do his work.

So I woke up from that dream elated! However it was what had happened to me that was even more miraculous, my mind was not going crazy over the circumstances that had befallen me and the pain and aggravation that had robbed me of peace was ebbing away, the soreness it had caused my whole body and soul was healing – by the day after, I was completely restored- the old happy, calm me whose focus is trained on God- the miracles did not stop there, with a calm disposition , I was able to pray and declare God had sorted my situation and I watched the miraculous happen in the days going forward – not only was I healed of near depression and emotional conflict, but the situations that had brought me to a grinding halt were sorted out – just. like. that!

But the point of this post is not only about the miracle and the fact that the money I sent was a point of contact that enabled God to move on my behalf through the man of God, it was that God had revealed to me something I had never noticed before – the labor of the men of God.

Recently another man of God who is my friend hit me up and we got into light banter and through it I discovered he was going through something and holding firm to God, and he talked about the sacrificial labor of working for God his words ‘sometimes we pastors pray for everyone but who prays for us’ . That not only struck a chord in me, it reminded me of my dream and also gave me a whole load of self-reflection. My heart was moved not only by what he said but by what he was going through, I found it ridiculous a man of God sold out to the gospel should go through such difficulty when a whole body of Christ exists;  and I knew that as the Bible says ‘ if you are able to help a brother, do it. Our lives are meant to be lived for others not for ourselves ‘ so without telling him, I immediately sent him some money and not only was he not expecting it, he then tells me how he was low on money because of the situation he was in. I soared with joy, praised God in my heart for allowing me to be a blessing. It was the most rewarding thing I had done. Taken the focus off my own issues and been right there when my brother in Christ needed a hand.

Our pastors, teachers, prophets, apostles, and Evangelists who are diligently working the fields of the Lord harvesting souls for the kingdom are doing a lot of work that we don’t see, completely. Our eyesight is short; focused on our situation and our own little lives. They get up and pray for us, they pick up the phone when we call them and pray with us whatever time of the day or night, they come to visit us where we are, they listen to our teary stories of gloom, they advise us, minister to us, correct us,  even give us money when we panic about bills or rent , they are always there for us . If they can’t meet us in person or on phone, they come to us in our dreams- never complaining, never requiring anything.

Have we thought about the fact that these ministers could be going through a lot of struggle themselves but they have learned that it is not about them, it is about the work of God and for as long as they do it, God will cover them?

Have you ever thought that maybe God is using you to bless them with what you have? Too many of us Christians are selfish and immature. We want what God can give us through our ministers but have excuses for not giving in gratitude to those who watch over our souls replenishing it with words, time, money and, energy.

We complain when the man of God does not return our call or pray for us personally, we gripe and have a mood when we are not ministered to and in our childishness ( which God really does forgive coz we are being spiritual children) we don’t even see how blest we are, we don’t stop to ask ‘what can I do for my minister? ‘

The Bible instructs us to Pray for our ministers and to give of our natural substance to those who watch over our souls.

Are we doing that or are we complaining that ‘our ministers want too much. After all they drive the latest car, wear the best clothes, eat in the best restaurants while I don’t even have a car,’ or are we seeing how much they are laboring for us to have as much as they do ; that their hearts are heavy before God for us, they literally carry us in their spirit, that they love us so much they have laid down their lives, rain or shine, sleepless night on sleepless night, for us.

You see, God has a sense of humor, one day you will be a minister too in some capacity, experiencing the same things your minister has experienced, leading a congregation of spiritual children who only cry ‘me, me, me… what about my need?’ Children who throw tantrums and run to a different church because the minister did not pay attention to them or their need was not met in the time they wanted it met. Spiritual children who seek prayer and then bad mouth their spiritual leader.

Spiritual children who eventually grow up and realize the opportunities they missed, the gifts they missed from God because they did not heed to God and replenish their minister. Because they were caught up in their lives.

The Christian life is about service, we don’t live for ourselves but for each other- like a chain link, we carry one another burdens, we bless one another and carry it forward, that is the full intent and full definition of love.

Love in its full-grown nature- that love that our ministers are laboring to perfect in our lives.

I pray God will open your eyes, as he did mine, to the plight of ministry, the sacrifice, the labor that produces selflessness and endurance and love above all. That you will see your minister serves you for God’s sake and gratitude in any way possible (prayer, funds, honor) would be the kindest recompense you could offer.

I have been thinking of writing something for days and just did not; from the moment it clocked 30th December. A thoughtful post has been brewing inside my mind. From the very core of my being, I have been longing to speak my mind about a lot of things. We crossed over, hugged, kissed, possibly watched the ball drop and millions, fireworks that razed through an inky sky with promises of another fabulous three hundred and sixty-five days.

Many resolutions have been made once more, on how much weight will be lost, how much money will be made, countries will be traveled, marriage, books read – in general, lives changed, making that 360 change overnight. Is it rationally possible?

Maybe more realistic steps have been taken, with a vision board, a diet plan- the baby steps in setting the ball rolling. Personally, I looked at my vision board, that bright yellow cardboard square board plastered with Habakkuk 2:3 pictures cut out from magazines, bold notes and scribbles in markers and carefully cut out letterings stuck together, a wavy seemingly jumbled mess that was my vision and plan. I smile to myself. I did score points on some things and did not accomplish others.

I tell myself, there is 2019. I shall review those things unfinished and simply carry them forward with a different strategy. ‘if at first, you don’t succeed, try again, right?’ Maybe start differently, evaluate the mistakes, take off time to maul over things, maybe a weekend off to create a new perspective to embark on and start strong with faith and courage and hope renewed.

How are you evaluating your 2019 so far?

Yours Truly,

The Thoughtful Girl

 

The in-between child

“There were not one amongst us who looked forward to being born. We disliked the rigours of existence, the unfulfilled longings, the enshrined injustices of the world, the labyrinths of love, the ignorance of parents, the fact of dying, and the amazing indifference of the Living in the midst of simple beauties of the universe…..There are many reasons why babies cry when they are born, and one of them is the sudden separation from the world of pure dreams, where all things are made of enchantment, and where there is no suffering. The happier we were, the closer was our birth. As we approached another incarnation we made pacts that we would return to the spirit world at first opportunity. We made these vows in fields of intense flowers and in the sweet-tasting moonlight of that world. Those of us who made these vows were known among the living as abiku, spirit-children. Not all people recognized us. We were the ones who kept coming and going, unwilling to come to terms with life. We had the ability to will our deaths. Our pacts were binding…” The famished Road by Ben Okri

He was seated On his potty, staring out ahead at the shiny green walls that graced the mini hallway of the bathroom area. Engrossed in a conversation, a grin on his lips – a chuckle emitted between phrases – I smile to myself, approach cautiously and ask, ‘who are you talking to?’ He shifts his eyes from the wall to me and says ‘an angel.’ Then points towards the wall ‘he is there can’t you see him?’

I look to where he’s pointing and shake my head, ‘no.’ but it’s all right some children have an overly active imagination, right? I don’t even think it strange that he was done pooping minutes ago and had not bothered to call me to wipe his bottom. Should I have taken note- maybe so.

It was more often than twice that he seemed to enjoy the solitude of the bathroom hallway ; sitting on his potty and talking to himself or his angel as he claimed . We grew accustomed to it and even joked about it.

Only quite recently when someone asked me about my family did I find myself speaking about him; Michael, the child who spoke a thousand syllables at the age of sixteen months . A little delightful boy who was to me an incredible genius with an amazing memory; a quick witted linguist flawlessly holding conversations by the age of three.

A child so odd and quirky who loved ‘tea biscuits’ or as we fondly recall them as ‘family biscuits’- so much he had them for tea time and breakfast . First dipping them in a cup of hot black tea and letting it soak until the biscuit succumbed and crumbled in the liquid heat – only then did he dig them out hastily and plop the soaked bits in his mouth barely missing them as they continued to crumble and melt in soggy paddles on his fingers , falling to his little chest , down to his lap. Tea was not tea without family biscuits .

A child who was both constantly sickly and riddled with numerous night terrors; he taught us the art of dreaming with eyes wide open while the world snuggled and slid into deep dreamy states; we watched the evening shade and embraced the beauty of silence , and admired the task of stars . It was never easy staying awake long enough until he slept.

As I spoke of him, I thought of him, his face still imprinted in my memory ; and it started to dawn on me he was never really here, he always seemed wedged between worlds – never fully here nor there – lost in the cosmic battle and only he could decide where he wanted to belong . Some days he seemed to want to belong to the place beyond time and space and other times he remembered us and embraced us . In those moments when he chose us , he was well.

How did he die? My friend asks and I shrug because I never know how to tell it, I don’t know if he was in pain: if he was, he handled it with an ethereal grace and courage , beyond any I had seen.

But how did he go? I don’t know. Did he ask for anything ? I don’t know – Maybe but I missed it because I was fast asleep only waking up to realize he had quietly and peacefully checked out without a struggle. He had just gone.

My friend forces me to face something I buried years ago; make peace with the star child that visited our lives. I ask my self often ; what would he have been like now; a brilliant professor, no doubt, an incredible genius inventing the next Facebook, a child of astronomical potential; ahead of his time as he was ahead of his age already.

Maybe he was a glimpse of the future; a herald of God’s ingenuity; but I accept with a lump in my throat that he was not ours to keep. He was not our star-child. He was a delightful three year visitor.

Thoughtful girl

I had seen the advertisement for the launch of the book on facebook but had assumed I would not be able to get my hands on it, not until months later when in a WhatsApp group someone mentions to make sure we read it, ‘its a must read,’ she said with emphasis. When friends recommend a book, especially friends who read, I am most likely to follow through; this person who is more an acquaintance but her ’emphasis’ on it being a good book for leaders, got me thinking, ‘I do need a copy’. So I browsed through my goodreads.com and Amazon; I was delighted to find it featuring on both platforms and immediately placed my order.

It has been a week now since I finished reading it and I must say, it has been one of the most life-changing reads on my ‘reading challenge list’ this year. For 185 pages, packed with the most eye-opening nuggets , ‘Strength of character ‘ is not just an engaging read because Kabuleta peppers the pages with colourful extravagant diction and humor, but it is in itself a ‘magic mirror’ that peels away at your soul and lays you bare before you – in painful revelatory self-analysis. Yes, I had my moment of clarity – I do have my own insecurities to work on.

Kabuleta is brave, he frees the reader by first off coming clean about his struggle, his painful path to finding wholeness from insecurity, posturing, and low self-esteem then goes on throughout the book to expertly outline examples of insecurity (with case study examples of  both men and women caught up in it) he expertly delves into each character with biblical references (and does make the tumultuous relationship between King Saul and David come alive so vividly as he illustrates the pitfalls of insecurity in leadership and relationships.

He breaks down the relationship we have with ourselves through unmasking identity and emotional retardation; these immediately force you to take a hard look at the man in the mirror and pose the question to yourself, “who are you really?”.

After a deep introspective ‘eval’ at your life, off the first one hundred or so pages, Joseph does not leave us hanging in desperation, raw and gasping for relief from facing our own issues, he provides us with a way out, because it is possible to be free, if we, first of all, recognize we have a problem, then choose to get free. It is not an easy process and like a ‘diet and exercise plan,’ it requires commitment. Yes, some days we will binge eat, other days we will not want to do that workout and other days we will want to give up because it is too painful, but he lets you know that ‘he who endures to the end will be saved,’

He gives the book a glossy finish of what to me is still a self-evaluation model ‘the ten things that prove the strength of character,’ you either have it or you are getting there…or you don’t.

Why does this book pop!

Joseph Kabuleta, a highly acclaimed sports journalist turned preacher, bears the quality of a great reporter; the book is loaded with researched material and case scenarios that make the subject relatable. A subject like insecurity is a worldwide disease, in my opinion, so why not take a pique into the pages and find out how ‘well’ you are or not?

He is an incredible writer! Joseph writes like he speaks so the stories, advice, scriptures and research mesh together to form one long raw (yet graceful) and honest tête-à-tête, between reader and writer. One thing I know about good books is they do sound like intimate conversations between two friends, far from the scholastically banal material of self-help narration;  Joseph nails that aspect. I had many laugh-out-loud moments and my imagination was curiously heightened, vividly exploring every word and phrase through the lens of my mind whilst marking my own soul’s inventory health chart in the process. Although the editing and typesetting could do with another perusal, those imperfections don’t take away from the ‘weight’ of the subject matter in the book.

Maybe you don’t believe the bible and think the book will be a waste of time, I challenge you to try it, consider it one more attempt at figuring out your life, if you have tried every other self-help book, yoga, buddha, Alcoholic Anonymous , you name it and you are right back at square one. Something in these pages will stick out and nudge at you and it could just be the start of your journey to finally meeting ‘the man in the mirror’- you.

Back in 2013, I was humbled to have had an international gospel artist accept my facebook request for a quick Q & A with him.  I was so thrilled, I hardly slept prepping the questions for him. what were the odds that a no known blogger like me (then) would get a Facebook response from an artist like him? But I ‘luh-ed’ his music and I figured ‘whats to lose in asking? Nothing really so I did it.

I had it up on a blog I abandoned a long time ago, so I thought it best to revive that moment by placing it on here;

Real name?

My real name is Chris Lee Cobbins

Your salvation story

I was raised in the church. Baptized at 4. Spent the better part of my youth with a heart for God and living according to his word. In high school, I drifted from the Lord drawn by the chance to finally be a “popular kid”.

When I got to College I officially decided to try not living for the Lord (lol). That lifestyle left a bitter taste in my mouth and I realized I had had it right before. Jesus deserved my life, heart, and time.

When did you decide to do Music? Was it a passion? A calling or both? What came first?

Decided to do music when I was 19. Singing was a passion for me initially. Writing came as I sought a way to communicate as I was not, at the time, a very great social, face to face communicator. Writing quickly became my passion. Made me feel I could be me completely. I believe it may be a bit of both…or entirely both a passion and calling. I think God gave me a gift and allowed certain events to draw the gift out of me.

  You came from being unsigned to a Grammy-nominated writer working with other gospel artists. Describe the journey from there to where you are now?

A lot of long hours writing and recording when no one cared what I was doing..lol. I got my first opportunity to perform my original music in 2008 opening shows for a popular CHH group in my city (Kansas City, MO) at the time. I performed at enough shows that I started to gain a little popularity which led to a concert promoter to ask me to open up for a show he was bringing Lecrae in for. I met ‘Crae before the show and he asked for a project from me. At the time I had recorded, written, and produced a project of my own called “Kryptonite”. I gave it to him, he watched my set and said he enjoyed it, he sent me a message on Twitter saying he enjoyed my album, then, 2 weeks later, Trip Lee emailed me about working on a song. That song became ‘Life 101.’ The next project I was placed on was Lecrae’s album “Rehab” (Songs “Boasting” ft. Anthony Evans, Release Date, & I Love You). That album was nominated for a Grammy & Dove award and won a Stellar (Rehab: the Overdose, that is)…my first award. My producer Tha Kracken! (Then Cheesebeats) produced the Life 101 track and we were connected via Trip. We started to work in 2010 and have had great musical chemistry since then. We’ve released an EP, mixtape, free album, and now my debut album together.

  What’s a typical day in the life of Chris Lee Cobbins?

The lamest day ever! lol. I’m an EXTREME homebody. If I don’t have a dance rehearsal or a studio session, I’m probably at home playing PS3 then later watching Netflix or Hulu with my wife. I’m a fan of sci-fi, action dramas, mystery shows/movies, documentaries, and, oddly enough, I love watching the Disney channel and Nickelodeon..lol. Something about corny kid humor…

  Are you married? Kids? How do you juggle all that? Is your family supportive?

I am married. No kids. I just remember not to make my wife a PART of my life because she IS my life; we’re one. It just takes some prioritizing. That’s probably why I don’t go out much. I enjoy spending time with her. My family is very supportive..even my in-laws! It’s a great feeling. (fast-forward: they got a baby now)

What do you struggle with as an artist who is trying to make a difference in Jesus’ name?

Honestly, finances. Fortunately, I have a 9-5 that allows me not to be burdened by not selling “x” amount of records or having to do free shows but, as a business, I have to make money in order to sustain a certain quality in production. As long as my family is provided for money will never keep me from sharing my gift. The art side of it comes pretty naturally if you don’t overthink things

Christian Music worldwide seems to be a genre not taken to by most people because of the Jesus Message, how are you working on making it acceptable yet not diluting the message?

If you listen to my music you’ll hear that I just talk about life. If I’ve been pondering why certain things happen I put it out there. If I’m happy and just want to dance, I put that out there. I think being an effective Christian artist from a music standpoint is more about the lens you write through. I don’t try to make it acceptable. All I can do is be myself and tell the truth. I let the Lord do the rest.

Coming from Africa and working with a lot of Christian artists, the industry could explode sooner than we expect, are t here future prospects of doing collabos with artists from other parts of the world especially Africa?

I’m always open to that possibility, I just haven’t had the opportunities. I have worked with a Canadian artist named Fresh IE and a UK artist named David Keigh…so I’m getting there, I guess lol.

How many albums do you have?

Technically, if you count my mixtape and projects I made that I didn’t release online, 8. 5 you can find online (Kryptonite, The Medicine, #GetWellSoon, Better, The LoveSuite, Hello World

What are your fave songs on any of the albums?

Runaway from “Kryptonite”, LoveNotes from “#GetWellSoon”, Believe in U from “Better”, Masterpiece from “Hello World”

Which albums or EPs are more musically personal?

The Mixtape “#GetWellSoon” is most personal. I think it’s because I put it together myself. Features…I chose the beats…I recorded almost all of it…”Hello World” is a close second with “Kryptonite” right behind it. Kryptonite sounds really amateur because I was just learning how to record and mix music but the heart of it is pure…If you listen to it don’t judge the quality of the sound…lol. I’ve come a long way.

  Which artists have you worked with on albums?

Lecrae, Trip Lee, Anthony Evans, J’Son, Pastor AD3, Ruslan oft theBreax, KB, Rhema Soul, Black Knight, Derek Minor, Canon, Tony Tillman, Dre Murray, Flame Shai Linne…a few more that never released the songs we did together.

What’s your view on gospel artists, you as well, taking on mainstream songs and twe aking the lyrics up e.g songs like medicine, hit the lights, in the morning (Jay Sean beat for Ride It)?

My songs “Medicine” & “In the Morning” were original tracks. Didn’t take those from a mainstream artist. I have used mainstream tracks though and I don’t have a problem with it. You just have to find a way to make it original and it should be for an ART reason. Not just because it was a popular song. I usually use songs that aren’t popular…a lot of times people don’t even know it’s not my track. Then I usually create an entirely different song…it’s fun.

You are a songwriter too. Whose albums or songs have you worked on?

I wrote ‘Boasting’ ft. Anthony Evans & ‘The Good Life’ for Lecrae. I wrote ‘Fighting for Me’ for Anthony Evans…kind of a short list right now

  Who have been your musical inspirations?

MJ, Ne-Yo, Usher, Owl City, Jor’Dan Armstrong, Aaron Sledge, Labrinth, Ingrid Michaelson, MercyMe & Music Soulchild are a few

 The industry is tempting, limelight, fans, it’s addictive, how do you keep yourself afloat all that?

Keeping Christ the focus. Finding satisfaction in being in His will and enjoying the peace that comes with it. That peace is far more valuable than the status or financial benefits

What’s your latest work and what’s the story behind it?

“Hello World” is the latest. Debuted #33 on Billboard Gospel. It’s my debut album as ‘Chris Cobbins’ ( used to be Chris Lee and Chris Lee Cobbins) so it is a bit of a Hello or introduction to the world as me, the artist. I also hope to cause people to think a little with some of the subject matter I discuss…kind of saying “hello” as in “do you see what’s going on”…” stop ignoring your struggles and take them to the Lord” type of thing. Other than that, I just wanted to share what had been on my heart the last 2 years….then we picked the 14 that sounded the most organic as a unit.

  How has 2013 treated you and what’s on for 2014?

2013 has been a lot of work…I’ve grown a lot…also gone through a lot of pain. Been about as close to depression as I think I’ve seen without actually dipping into anything too serious…just a lot of heaviness and sadness that I can’t control. Definitely been a roller coaster ride but I landed on my feet! Not sure what 2014 holds. I know I’ll be making music and traveling with the Hello World live show. I’ve actually already started to write again…I’m anxious to see how another project unfolds.

  What’s your power scripture?

I don’t know that I have one….The 1st chapter of James always challenges me in my decision making and encourages me to live what I hear/read.

What do you think are the major problems that the Christian music industry is facing and how can they sort it?

I think we need real Christians who talk about real life while offering a real solution. In some ways, I think we’ve lost our heart. Everything sounds the same…well, not everything. That’s my humble opinion 

Trivia:

Best breakfast meal: Pancakes, eggs, grits, sausage, hash browns, orange juice coffee…syrup on errthing!!!Fave hang out: Home (lame, I know)Best friend: Wife (lame, again…but it’s true)The weirdest thing you did for love: Didn’t really do anything weird but I did use to drive 45 minutes 4-5 times a week to see my wife before we were married…put a lot of miles on my car…..WELL worth it!Pet peeve? COMPLAINERS!!!!!Instruments you play?None…sad lolWhat you love about the holidays: Family events…sadly, it tends to be the only time you see some of themYour nickname? Never really had one…I guess I wasn’t cool enough. lol

Where is Chris Lee now, five years after this interview?  Let me fill you in…

The two-time Stellar Award winner,  Grammy award/Dove award nominated singer released a new LP  late April this year,  ‘Beauty in the beast ‘

and also celebrated eleven years of blessed marriage to his loverly wife TraShana Cobbins (Miller) early this month, 13th June to be precise. I love me a staying godly marriage! Low key, but still singing!

 

 

 

I just got done reading Neil Geiman’s American Gods and though it was ‘noir enchanting’, the narration technique and the storyboard idea was a delight to indulge in. If tea was my guilty pleasure, I doubled down with American Gods. A satisfying and decadent read.

Only hours after I was finished reading it, I took a drive into the country with a white friend of mine, we got to talking about the book and I gave my literacy dissection of it; What did I think of the book in relation to America? Is Neil right to say the technological advancement in America has overshadowed all belief in the gods that matter? that all the gods that floated into this land have been slowly razed down by smartphones and television? Maybe that’s so but I have other American gods to talk about. The gods that linger in the air from one state line to the next, that peek out of the eyes of furtive strangers clutching on to their handbags, sneer on their lips and young men in street corners receiving a pat down from the men in blue.

Racism? Yes and then a little deeper.

And like Wednesday, Racism is the supreme god; the Zeus, fighting for relevance and maintaining it through every avenue it can make itself present, refusing to die and become eroded with its ancient fellows, instead, choosing to ‘evolve’ with the times and feeding off its victims who unknowingly offer libations to it.

This god called, Racism.

Racism is not a person. Not a thing, but a system. It’s cancer that has its tentacles and hooks in the roots of the American network; social, economic, political and cultural. Like all cancers it spreads fast and kills its host little by little, weakening the cells and it feeds and feeds off everything healthy in the host until the host is dead.

The gods in Neiman’s book are like cancer, breeding where they are worshipped. Needing worship to survive. Racism has morphed and found a way to survive in the blood of the American people through two emotions: anger and guilt.

Anger

The first time I dated a black American man, I was introduced to a world that said audaciously ‘ I am black and proud’ and there is ‘no room for whiteness here’ in any form ; then ‘see me, I have suffered much but Iam still black and proud ‘ and also ‘Hey, you might break me but you can’t stop me singing I is black and proud’ and these messages of validation rang out from every pore of his brown body like he needed to beleive in himself ; but when he stood before a mirror each day, he stared back into the eyes of a man he hated, hated because down his ancestral line, there was a rape and now he was light skinned and envied my pure breed africanness; hated parts of him because of the colorism division he saw in his family; hated the police because every day another brown skinned man got a pat down and handcuffs; hated that getting a job for a black man was like trying to have sex with a tree, hated the existence of black people because no matter how talented or how brave you seemed to claw your way up to the top, something always pulled you back down; hated the fact that every street corner he lived in had a liquor store, low-grade supermarkets with cheap processed foods; hated and questioned even scoffed at the worship of The biblical God ; sneering at it as ‘white Jesus,’ a subtle coercion to make slaves of black people, he hated that all around him were good people who had resigned to a life that was less than what they possibly dreamed about. All about him was hopelessness and struggle but what they had like a Martin Luther King dream reechoed all around them was ‘ I am black and proud ‘ a loud cry needing validation – to the universe – that I am here, acknowledge my past and give me my place in the world, I am entitled to it, You took it from me and You must give it back!

And he was not the only one, the complex dynamics of scattered identity, broken spirit, fear, a hapless existence and strength drawn from adrenal reaction seemed to be the main character traits of all the black men I met and some, dated, they all, like puppets on strings, parroted the same things ‘ I am black and proud. The black man is a god. The white man is the devil, no one good can participate in slavery. The white man’s Jesus was a tool and a hoax. We are black and proud and have our own gods.’

And I slowly became familiar with the pain that- like a DNA strand that joined all these black people I met – identified them. They carried this pain in their being almost unaware of it and it reared it’s head when an unfair arrest occurred – of a black man- or a black shooting- or employment issues- whatever tipped the scales of balance in the white man’s favor – brought out this spirit of anger and pain and helplessness, it united them together ; and like telepathy they garbled from the same script, line by line.

This dark brooding pain I realized, was passed on from generation to generation and the ancestors demanded through the living – a pound of flesh. A payment of dues overdue and that pain would populate and continue to spread in all the descendants until appeasement occurs or until healing occurs.

Guilt.

My white friend was confused and just like so many white people who are mostly clueless to the ‘why so much anger’ embedded in the DNA of black people in America, the anger that sustains that sadistic god called Racism, they are not very aware of their own part in the puzzle. But Racism cannot survive on one dish-anger- because something needs to fuel that anger to keep the flames of it blazing. And that is guilt- white guilt.

I told my friend that what Americans know of Africa is only what they learn in school and it’s a limited scope that focuses only on Egypt. Yet Africa as a continent has the richest ancient history ever known to man, considered the birthplace of humanity And the Home to the first human ever discovered. But what do majority white people know? What they are taught in school; that they are great and their ancestors conquered lands and took prisoners and slaves and killed whole tribes obliterating their existence from the map, that they built roads and planes and made the first engines and scholarly inventions, that they were smart and brilliant and the most superior race on the planet, that black people really originated from monkeys and they are not half as intelligent as they are, no one is . And that narrative, ‘we are superior, we are great, we are so powerful we razed down whole tribes and brought prisoners and slaves across oceans and made them work for us,’ has fed the pride and blinded the eyes of the descendants of the white people that initiated the evil called slavery. Blindsided by their own ignorance and their own arrogance, their need to conquer and be great, they destroyed and plundered, killed and stole and made slaves of men they considered less than them and treated them like animals; branded them, sold them and owned them, whipped them, raped them and separated them from their families; then they realized these people they stole were stronger than they were, multiplied rapidly than they did and fearfully devised ways to keep them under; denied them education for one and kept their families torn from each other; kept the spirits of the slaves broken for a broken people lose morale and a desire for life itself hence willingly accept enslavement.

But the spirits of the slaves were strong and it grew stronger; decade by decade and they passed down stories of pain and freedom, and the DNA of pain was born at that same time as the DNA of guilt was born. Twins suckling at the same breast of a black woman, one white, one black.

These twins, like weeds, grew side by side most times they drifted apart learning later in life what each of them carried.

And the white twin forever felt a need to stoop low, deny his own voice if at all it could be retribution for what his ancestors did to the black twin. The black twin would not accept retribution because he had learned from a young age that the white twin would always choose his own over truth and justice.

Now the white population embroiled with the guilt of their ancestors as well as the pride of who they are; the illusion of superiority and greatness, they have decided subconsciously to pay the price of their ancestors; their retribution in form of white guilt – revealing itself in passive-aggressive attitudes and hero complexes. This guilt has also bred the ‘sidegod’ Fear.

Fear that one day, the black twin’s descendants will rise up and take what’s theres, fear that with every ticking of the clock, brings them closer to doomsday of a war between colors and so they work harder and harder to oppress the black twin’s people, fight their resolve through mind manipulation and emotional provocation.

Could racism have died a long time ago?

Yes. Most Likely- if the system had been rectified and justice served from the beginning of the civil rights era. but like a selfish god that needs to remain relevant, it morphed and continues to exist. Not as overtly obvious with rampant killings and name callings and outright degradation but a little more subtly, a little more slyly, a little more poisonous.

You see this god has become the people – it possesses them.

AND that makes it a most deadly god that only needs external triggers like an election, the brutal arrest of a white man, the killing of children in school, and so much more to incite the raw emotions of fear, anger, and guilt.

I am one of those girls… tailor-made and fashioned after fairytales, I grew up making my dream wish list of the kind of person I wanted to journey with me on this basic existence called earth- At least, I believe you only live once on this plain; so make your mark, scar every spot with charred marks of your adventure, blemishes that are like hot metal brandings on cattle.

Yes that’s the mark I want to leave on earth and with that tall order on my list of ‘living life’ I need to do that with a fellow adventurer, someone lithe and spontaneous , someone that understands the fleeting nature of earthliness, the beauty of living it up and enjoying every moment, the one that understands material things come and go but in the end we have each other. How can two walk together unless they are in agreement?

My idea of Mr Right has evolved from the Mills-and-boon version type men , I read about in my preteen and teenage years; the tall dark handsome man with catlike strides and a dashing lazy smile, who makes heartstopping sexy jokes, were arrogant as a tabby cat and owned half the world’s construction business needing an adventurous mature down to earth man that wants to do life with me- with or without money.

We shall figure that out.

It takes kissing a few frogs to finally realize the ‘Mills-and-boon type men don’t exist’ If they do, they are abusive from being self-made and feeling every woman is a commodity acquired. Besides you need to be in certain circles to even kiss the ground these type of men walk on. Am I really that desperate? No.

But, It also takes going through a lot in the name of love for some women to settle for the men that have all the money; Love has been tried and tested and it burned. so what more is there to lose? nothing. the next best thing is comfortable living for a piece of your soul, lost every night to a man centuries older who possibly adores you to death, but it is a small price to pay. Afterall, what he cannot fulfill, the money will provide; trips to various lands, numerous shopping escapades and secret lovers that will provide a taste of that ‘love sentiment’ you still crave. Is that the way to live for me? No.

Recently the story that captivated my attention was one of a Saudi Prince, 68 years old, marrying a 25-year-old with an extravagant bride price worth $50 million US dollars and more. When I found this story on the news today, I thought; what price did she pay for this exorbitant display of wealth?

Was it truly her heart? Will she live her fairytale (this might be it!) Will she be there in sickness and in health, in good and bad times, no matter what the cost?

True, money makes living easier, but love does smooth over the bad times too and through the bad times, you weave creative ways out of life’s ditches with the strength gleaned from mutual love and commitment.

Again this is someone else’s fairytale and we are entitled to our choices. Mine will always be active participation. I want to participate in my fairytale story, build together, grow together, adventure together, so we can say, we did this thing called life- together!

Thoughtful girl.