When The Class Bully Comes to Church

The other day after my regular Saturday reflective Mass someone, an elderly gentleman, fellow Parishioner verbally assaulted me for obstructing his car in the parking lot. I'm sure you're thinking:

"It's no big deal. This is Lagos, everyone verbally assaults, berates and curses the ever living shit out of everyone - man, woman, child, no one is spared. It's a MF jungle." 

But this was different. It was not only at church. It was IN church. I had just concluded confession and was walking to a pew to pray/meditate on my penance when he accosted me mid-kneel spewing his negativity in my face. I was utterly perplexed. In Church! Inside Church!! Is this acceptable? This type of behavior belongs outside on the street. So I can r equally espond. And bring my brand of crazy to the party!

As I left, befuddled, embarrassed and thoroughly shook, I wrote the Parish priest, Assistant Parish Priest, everyone - Y'all need to call your Parishioner to order. I needed that man to apologize for bringing his ghetto to church, a sanctuary, a place of peace for some of us who thirst for peace in this rambunctious hell-hole of a city. If there's one place people can act with some form of decorum, civility, like they got some sense, surely it is Church. I was so wrong.

After many talks, I soon realized that my need for a soothing apology, however flippant, was not to come from this man. It didn't help that this man is one of the elite 1% of the Parish society, and in a church that is predominantly comprised of the 1% folk, I fall into the minority. So really, why would he apologize to me? I should be happy him and his kin folk even let us come to worship there blocking their Benz's and G-Wagons with our ancient jalopies.

When it was clear to me that an apology or even a mediation talk was not imminent I soon lost interest in organized religion, of which the Catholic Church wears the crown. Some of that crown is worn for certain bad acts which I won't bother to get into right now. But still...I just froze...out of betrayal for every thing I held dear.

Not that I won't attend Mass anymore. It's the urge to sit there, meditate, pray, be and especially observe the sacrament of confession there, has disappeared specifically in that community. And before you think it was brought on by this one incident, it's an accumulation of events that were toppled over by this incident. It was a verbal acknowledgment of the reality that this church is made up of the 1% and I am not one of them. Even though Jesus represented the views of the poor, in this Church, not so much. Almost like a celebration of the ill-gotten wealth that is constantly paraded on display in this country. This got me thinking, if these folks are the Churches' key demographic, what room do they have to accommodate someone who is not affluent?

We live in a society that worships wealth. The 1% continually tower over the rest, creating situations of injustice and oppression. And the one place, you don't expect the 1% to win...is Church. But yet it does, so much so that it is flaunted, and by their failure to reprimand, even caution this rude act, it seemed as if it was lauded. Sometimes I just sit there watching them and think this must be intoxicating to them, do they not realize this is a place of worship not a get-together hall.

In the end, who won. The Battle of the Egos. They did. The 1%. The patriarchy. The misogynistic society. The Class Bully. They. Take your pick.

Build an Opportunity of Forget

Of Negroes and Barbies...We Build an Opportunity of Forget

When I wrote that phrase about 2 years ago, I had no idea that I would actually want to dedicate an entire post to it, or even contemplate a prayer circle, where the intention is simply to "build an opportunity of forget."

Here we are.

Used to suppressing the traumatic events in my life. Suppress so much that you pretend that these are not your events or circumstances. Project them as someone else's. But for some events, some inexplicable events you have to build a brick wall against otherwise the smog and filth of their triggers would saliently trickle in...

On a seemingly harmless Monday as I was running late for work, I checked my phone hoping no one from the office had called for me. There it was, an email from a notorious ex-lover - Negro. Since Negro had been recently told to steer the course of his path seemingly away from mine, I assumed that that email meant he was in trouble and needed someone to bail him out. It was not. Instead, he had had a dream (I'm assuming while laying in bed with his new wife) that I was in distress because he was getting married and my "unhappiness bothered him." At first I wasn't offended. Why? Cos I encourage self-expression of any kind. Whatever it is, "Say it, speak your words and thoughts to me, lover!" Negro was gravely misconstrued.

There is no unhappiness here. No more than the average person. You want certain things you don't get them, unhappiness visits. I want a million dollars, pay raise, heck, even an improved lover, it doesn't seem to be showing up, so I am unhappy but I move on. What I am, I daresay is angry. And I know I've detailed that several times on this blog...a certain post from September 2008 and December 2015 come to mind. There's a certain anger and repression that builds from fighting the same fight over and over in this life that atimes intoxicates, almost chokes. But we power through it. In my response I averted his mind to the singular acts from him and our 20 year love affair that have incited my anger of which, the subject email was soon to join their ranks.

1. On one hand of the spectrum, there's me. Having spent all my money moving into my new flat in October, I didn't have any money left for an Air-conditioner. I had to sleep in the scorching heat of my apartment while I waited for money (from my family) to buy an Air-conditioner.

2. On the other hand, there's Negro. Completely aware of this situation, but oblivious to its resolution. Instead, this brotha jaunted off to London on a week vacay with his new wife.

Tell me, would it have killed a brotha to give his ex-lover N100K to buy an AC. He clearly could have afforded it. But no, he didn't. Cut to 4 months later, all of a sudden, on a gloomy Monday in February, my unhappiness suddenly concerns this Nigga. How quickly we forget the times we've been 'purposeful assholes.'

What do we do about the people that hurt us, continually? That continually show up in our faces and taunt us with their 'gram worthy union?

We Build an Opportunity of Forget. Day by day, brick by brick, we mold it with dried tears, cuts and scrapes and brief memories of the hurts that they've caused. And one day soon enough, the wall will be completed so a newness can revisit. And this ex will forever remain estranged. 

I close this very lengthy breathy post or treatise (as he calls them) with words from what has slowly become one of my favorite songs...this last line holds so much weight. 

All the Stars...*

Love, let's talk about love
Is it anything and everything you hoped for?
Or do the feeling haunt you? I know the feeling haunt you
Tell me what you gon' do to me
Confrontation ain't nothin' new to me
You can bring a bullet, bring a sword
Bring a morgue, but you can't bring the truth to me
Fuck you and all your expectations
I don't even want your congratulations
I recognize your false confidence and calculated promises all in your conversation
I hate people that feel entitled
Look at me crazy 'cause I ain't invite you
Oh, you important?
You the moral to the story, you endorsing?
Motherfucker, I don't even like you


*Songwriters: Alexander William Shuckburgh / Kendrick Lamar / Mark Anthony Spears / Solana I. Rowe / Anthony Tiffith All The Stars lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd

Of Negros, Boujees and Assholes

Used to have this ex from many moons ago in the US who was fascinated with Latina chicks. Last year, he married the blackest most woke sista I know in DC and they attend marches and black awareness ish together. 

When I asked him what changed, he said:

Cos a Latina would never understand the struggle of being a black man, no matter how hard you explain it, she'll never know what it feels like to be black, to be a black person in America dealing with your hustles. 

You think? Needless to say, he did it "for the culture."

If you wanna be woke and socially conscious and anti boujee...be that way...but to sell out cos you tasted the other side...that's just wrong, yo! So effing wrong. I see this betrayal displayed with all my friends from the old school, with certain Nigerians (lest I be accused of a generalization). There's always the mentality of "Let's see you made smaller so our light can shine a little bit brighter". At first, I thought I assumed it was my unrelenting overactive imagination, until I noticed similarities and one of my homegirls noticed the same, then, THEN I knew it wasn't a fluke.

Some of them started that way when I just returned, they seemed so anti boujee (if there is such a thing) so woke, so representing for the culture ✊..."oh Anita why you wanna live in Ikoyi...Surulere  no longer good enough for you." Cut to 2018, and their wife decides to build this massive grotesque mansion on Queens Drive, Ikoyi (similar to Ocean Drive Miami) putting them into debt because according to him, she's "always wanted a big house." And they are still married, and the kids are grown but yet the expansive house is still being built. Y'all know if that were my spouse now...we'd be getting a divorce DIVORCE. 

Then there's "Oh Anita why do you insist that you must travel every year...is Nigeria not good enough for you? Haven't you traveled enough?" Cut to 2017 and beyond, they travel at the drop of a hat, even for a week with their shiny new wives...bungee jump...sky dive...swim with the fishes...and speak of how Nigeria needs to get its act together. I'm reading these texts and instagram posts and wondering: "But brotha man...I thought that's what you're here for...to build this country ..strive with us...hustle with us...not run off in private jets with Barbie and pretend you didn't sign up for this hustle...how utterly...what's the word...boujee...and asshole of you!" 

There are more examples of these instances, of these pretentious sell-out black (Nigerian) folk in my life and probably in all of yours. People that, you know, once they taste the sweet nectar of good living turn into different people. Or people who pretend that they're "down" woke, culturally and socially aware and shun all forms of societal peer pressure and vanity and are present for the culture...but deep down they just lavish in the lifestyle of boujee culture with its entrapment and will spare no expense in rubbing your nose in it. 

So I'm saying it now...what does it feel like when all your friends - your supposed woke friends sell out...are they still your friends? Do you pretend to still be friends? Do you call them out on it? Do you cut off that Tr*mp sized sell-out? I do and I have. In fact, I'm slowly running out of friends actually because they are all this way. But oh well... 

For me, it's simple.

I'm Anita and I am bourgeoisie (I actually used to call it this before boujee became a thing with black culture in Atlanta). I like nice, cultured type things...in fact I thrive on them...I am culturally aware and I represent for the culture, for the African in me, but I also believe in nice things, things you can't afford just because they're nice, traveling at the drop of a hat, getting cultured from all your spontaneous trips, and I try to bring that culture, that boujee ish down with me, but that doesn't mean I cannot be down if I need to. So if you hear I'm living in a home I can't afford, don't be shocked...because that is so me...Is there any other type of home? But I will be the last person to rub your nose in it. 

I am Anita and I am boujee and I'm not afraid to say it. You wanna be my friend?