Mean Black Women?!

“If you don’t give me a real drink, we are going to have some problems,” I laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, blueberry martini. Right?” The bartender said with a sly smile.
“See this plastic black AMEX? It will pay for a new shirt if you are nice.” I waved the card in the air.
“That’s a way to get what you want,” the guy next to me said.
“Oh and I thought my good looks did the trick.”
We both laughed. He ordered a rum and coke. Classic. We sat silently as the bartender got our drinks. I crossed my legs in the opposite direction from him. He kept his eyes on this napkin.
“Are you with them?” I pointed at a group of people laughing loudly with name tags. He had a name tag on too.
“Those drunks? How did you know?” He smiled. He had a gap.
“I guessed,” I looked into his face better. He wasn’t very attractive.
“We are in town for business,”
“I wish I worked for your company,”
“I bet,” he still didn’t look up from his napkin.

I didn’t like his nonverbal communication so I turned away from him and made faces at the bartender.

“Look, I have your husbands name on speed-dial, one word and that AMEX is gone!” the bartender said.
“Eat my ass,” I threw my head back in laughter. He placed my drink in front of me. He also gave the guy his drink.
“I would never marry, date or even take a black girl seriously,” the guy said.

Before I could react, I had to think, I had to let everything sink in. I just got my drink so my mind couldn’t have gotten tampered with yet.

“Maybe you should try black women over girls. I hear there is a difference,” I said smiling to myself. Still not looking at him I sipped my drink.
“Who do you think raises them?”

I slowly turn around and met his gaze, “certainly not black men.” I felt myself start to get mad. I took slow sips. If I was about to battle, I needed a clear mind if I was going to win.

“My mother pushed my father away-“
“How weak was he?” I cut him off.
Looking angry he continued, “she nagged, complained, pushed and pushed. Eventually he left. He left me, my two other brothers and my sister who later got pregnant at 16.”
“You call that a man?”
“The best, if my brothers and I were older and my mother didn’t threaten to kill him if he took us, we would have went with him.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so,” he gulped his drink and signaled the waiter. “Another one.” I still sipped.
“So you hate black women now?”
“I hated that he always provided for us and she still complained. He worked hard and it was never good enough for her. When she got frustrated, she took it out on us. She told my brothers and I about our so called “good for nothing dad”. She pushed us in school. You couldn’t even bring home a B+ because that wasn’t good enough for her. An A- is when you aren’t that strong in a subject not a B or a C.”
“God forbid she pushed you to do your best, what a witch!”
“Sometimes a B+ was the best!”
“Did you ever get a B+?
“We couldn’t because if we did, we wouldn’t hear the end of it until our grades went up. We were at school early, stayed after and took extra classes to stay on top. She never pushed my sister who got pregnant and had shit for grades. She blamed our father for that.”
“Tell me, what does you and your brothers do?”
“I’m a President of a college, my older brother is a CFO at AIG and my younger brother is your governor.” I officially ignored my drink. “My stupid sister still-“
“I didn’t ask about her,”
“Ok, why did you ask about my brothers? You looking for a husband?” He scoffed at me.
“You ignorant asshole,”
“I’m just saying,”
“You better ask your brother who was his biggest contributor for his election was,” I pulled out my black AMEX card like it was supposed to prove something. I knew he saw it but made no comment.
“I’m sorry,”
“I don’t need an apology from you, you need to apologize to your mother. You bad mouthing someone you got you and your brothers to where you are-“
“You don’t know shit about what she did! We made it ourselves. She didn’t help with anything, just wore a big hat to our graduations and took credit for something she didn’t do.”
“Negro, have you lost your mind?”
“Don’t call me that,”
“When you act like one, I call you one,”
“Bitch,”
“What?!”
“When you act like one, I call you one.”
I threw my card at the bartender. If I sat next to this man for another minute I was going to kill him. I looked at my drink it was barely touched. The bartender came back and asked what was wrong.
“Baby, I’ll see you next week, I have to go.” He handed me my card and said it was one the house. I watched him take my barely sipped drink away.
“Look,”
“Fuck you,”
“Angry black woman, let me stand back,” he put his hands up.
“Keep pushing it and angry will turn into violent,” I got in his face and smiled. “Goodnight, Nigger.” I knew that would push his buttons.
“Goodnight, whore,” He knew that would push mine.

I felt myself got hotter and hotter as I walked out that bar. I was furious but glad he couldn‘t see my expression. I got in my car ready to scream. My cell phone rang it was the hubby.

“Sup gorgeous,”
“Hey lov,”
“You alright, you sound stressed,”
“I’m ok, just annoyed,”
“Well, come home and we can soak in a nice bath,”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”

Haiti Part 3

Maybe if I asked her to listen to me for a second to educate her that the people of Haiti were not just my people but they were hers too. Is that the problem in American or just Black people? They separated us for so long that we cannot even claim each other as our own? We have to continue to differentiate ourselves from each other.

“I’m not Haitian, I’m Jamaican.”
“I’m not from the South, I’m an up north girl.”
“I’m not dark-skinned, I’m brown skinned.”
“I’m not African, I’m Black.”
“I’m not a nigger…”

Lets say there were 10 children who grew up in one house. Same mother, same father. From babies to teens we are all the same. The house burns down and all ten are taken and brought to 10 different places. Life goes on, all 10 children have 10 more children and the cycle continues. What if the original 10 children never saw each other again? Their children didn’t know who the original aunt and uncle are. When another house burns down, the original 10 childrens offspring’s know 1 of the originals offspring’s needs help. But they don’t know them. They never meet them; in fact they don’t even live in the same country as them. Should they even care about people who have done nothing to add to their lives?

“I’ll send 5 dollars,” one says, recognizing something is better than nothing.
“Not my problem,” another says.
“I know who that is…they owe my neighbors money! Thank God it’s not me,”
“It’s too bad what is happening at their house,”
“What can I do?” The last one asks.

The grandmother sees and hears everything. She’s broken that all of her children are so separated. They are so broken that they don’t even recognize each other. She thinks about the original 10. They were so close. What if the original 10 never separated? Maybe they would be like the children in the beige house, or the yellow house, maybe like the ones in the red house. She starts crying. The grandfather comes in.

“Africa, what’s wrong,”
“They don’t know each other,”
“They don’t want to know each other,”
“But the originals-“
“They are gone now love,”
“Remember when they were teased and called rainbows?” Tears are in her eyes.
“Yes, because they were so many different shades,” he squeezes her hand to comfort her.
“Why can’t they see? We all grew up in one house.”
“They don’t want to love,”
“But they kill each other, put each other down, don’t help the other one even when their house burns down!”
“They don’t want to-“
“That is not how they were built. They were not built to be this way. Strength runs through our blood. We had the strongest house on the street. Courage, power, humility. I’ve had enough!” She jumps up.
“Africa, calm down.”
“I will not calm down. I want everyone home right now.”
“How do you suppose you are going to do that?”
“I’m going to make the earth shake.”

Haiti Part 2

“Maybe if Haiti was forgiven their debt, they could rebuild themselves better,”
“I think they should pay it off.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you owe money you should pay it off.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Haiti is getting enough help and America is always trying to save people when we have problems of our own.”
“I can’t believe you are saying this shit.”
“I’m just saying, my people,” she pauses. “In New Orleans are still suffering from Katrina and Haiti is getting 300 million dollars and you want them to get a debt write off?”

I am in shock and full of anger. Before I speak, I ask myself if I should I let this fake history buff have it? Or let her continue to make an ass out of herself by repeating this to others. I will let her die of ignorance. I don’t argue with mules.

“See why I can’t fuck with American girls?” Andre says pointing at his Jamaican flag tattoo on his arm. “No culture. Who the fuck says that?”
“Apparently a lot of African Americans feel that way.”
“No they don’t. If Africa fell off the face of the earth and we needed to rebuild it, them niggas would turn their noses up and say, “I’m not African, they should pay their debt.” That’s some ol bullshit! No culture ma, no culture. You see who your true friends are during the bad never the good.”

Haiti Part 1

I was running on the treadmill, damn those holiday pounds, faster and faster. I look up at the television and think, Oh God, why is Haiti on the news…again. I look around me hoping no one notices the fear on my face. An earthquake? I’m running faster. Haiti is asking the US for help? My legs are burning. I turn the music up on my ipod and ignore the TV. They are just fine.

“Girl, Haiti just collapsed!”
“WHAT?!”
“Turn on the news!”

I turn to the news and there is a picture of the capital. The Presidential Palace. There is something wrong. They keep showing before and after pictures. The Palace collapsed. The line beeps.

“Hold on a sec,”
“It gotta go!” she hangs up.
“Hey,”
“Earthquake!”
“What happened?” It’s Lourds.
“An Earthquake hit Haiti and everything collapsed.”
“What the fuck do you mean everything collapsed. It’s just an earthquake.”
“Just an earthquake? Honey a 7.0. hit the capital.”
“Is that bad?”
“That’s very bad. Yo, No one can get in touch with anyone in our family.” She sounds panicked.
My line beeps again. “My mom is calling, call you back.”
“K”
“Hi mom,”
“Jesus” she whispered.
“It’s gonna be ok mom,”
“How can you say that? Have you watched the news?”

I look at the TV screen. It’s not looking good. It looks like total chaos.

“I can’t get through to anyone in Haiti to see if they are ok,” she says in Kreole.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I hang up the phone.

I’m staring at the TV. This cannot be happening. I’m online and I see nothing but prayers for Haiti all over Facebook. I still can’t grasp what is going on. The news is showing more images. There are people still buried…alive. I’m addicted to the news.

“Yo Cuz,” it’s Jeff.
“You see this shit?”
“It’s crazy.”

I haven’t spoken to him in months. I was mad at him. He didn’t come see me when I went home to Brooklyn. He claimed he didn’t get my message. When I changed my birthday he said it was stupid but called on the original day and the new one. I was still mad even after that. But what I was pissed about didn’t matter now. Our country was falling apart and there wasn’t a person in the world that could stop it.