Archive for June, 2010

OBAMA! -GHANAIAN WORLD CUP FANS APOLOGIZE TO OBAMA FOR DEFEATING US TEAM!

June 27, 2010

U.S. President Barack Obama watches a live telecast of the 2010 World Cup soccer match between the U.S. and Ghana during a short break between bilateral meetings with South Korea's President Lee Myung-bak and China's President Hu Jintao at the G20 Summit in Toronto June 26, 2010.

Ghanian national football team supporters, one of them carrying a placard ‘Obama we are sorry’, celebrate in Accra after Ghana beat the US 2-1 after extra time in Rustenberg on June 26, 2010 during the World Cup football tournament in South Africa. The Black Stars are bidding to become the first African side to reach the semi-finals of the tournament. Asamoah Gyan was Ghana’s match-winner, smashing home the winning goal in the third minute of extra time after shrugging off a challenge from Rennes club-mate Carlos Bocanegra on the edge of the American penalty area.

Ghanian national football team supporters, one of them carrying a placard 'Obama we are sorry', celebrate in Accra after Ghana beat the US 2-1 after extra time in Rustenberg on June 26, 2010 during the World Cup football tournament in South Africa. The Black Stars are bidding to become the first African side to reach the semi-finals of the tournament. Asamoah Gyan was Ghana's match-winner, smashing home the winning goal in the third minute of extra time after shrugging off a challenge from Rennes club-mate Carlos Bocanegra on the edge of the American penalty area.

OBAMA-HOW HIS KENYAN SISTER AUMA OBAMA CHANGED OBAMA’S LIFE!-FROM MAIL-ONLINE.COM

June 26, 2010

From mail-online.com
He was young, successful… and selfish. Barack Obama’s autobiography reveals how it took the sister he had never met to give his life meaning
By BARACK OBAMA
Last updated at 9:34 PM on 08th June 2008
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Add to My Stories
He has made history as the first black man to get within reach of becoming the U.S. President. Here, in our second extract from his extraordinary autobiography, Barack Obama reveals with moving frankness the moment he met his half-sister and how she made him reassess his father, his career and his sense of identity…
A year after leaving college, my resolve to do something meaningful with my life was slipping away. On the face of it, I was a success, working in New York as a financial writer, with my own office, my own secretary, money in the bank. But this was far from the grass-roots community work I had envisaged. Sometimes, coming out of an interview with Japanese financiers or German bond traders, I would catch my reflection in the elevator doors.
Enlarge
Presidential hopeful: Barack Obama as he is today
In my suit and tie, a briefcase in my hand, I would imagine myself as a captain of industry, before I remembered who it was that I had told myself I wanted to be and felt pangs of guilt for my lack of resolve.
Then one day, as I sat down to write an article on interest-rate swops, something unexpected happened. Auma called.
I had never met this African half-sister; we had written only intermittently. I knew that she had left Kenya – the home of our shared father – to study in Germany.
Now, suddenly, I heard her voice for the first time. It was soft and dark, tinged with a colonial accent. For a few moments I couldn’t understand the words, only the sound, a sound that seemed to have always been there, misplaced but not forgotten.

Auma Obama,the half-sister of Barack Obama
Could she come to see me in New York? ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You can stay with me; I can’t wait.’ I spent the next few weeks rushing around in preparation: new sheets for the sofa bed, a scrubbing for the bath.
But two days before she was scheduled to arrive, Auma called again, the voice thicker now, barely a whisper.
‘I can’t come after all,’ she said. ‘One of our brothers, David – he’s been killed. In a motorcycle accident. I don’t know any more than that.’ She began to cry. ‘Oh, Barack. Why do these things happen to us?’
I tried to comfort her as best I could. After she hung up, I left my office, telling my secretary I’d be gone for the day. For hours I wandered the streets, the sound of Auma’s voice playing over and over in my mind.
A continent away, a woman cries. On a dark and dusty road, a boy skids out of control, tumbling against hard earth, wheels spinning to silence.
Who were these people, I asked myself, these strangers who carried my blood? What might save this woman from her sorrow? What wild dreams had this boy possessed? Who was I, who shed no tears at the loss of his own?
I still wonder how that first contact with Auma altered my life. Not so much the contact itself (that meant everything) or the news that she gave me of David’s death (that, too, is an absolute; I would never know him, and that says enough).
But rather the timing of her call, the sequence of events, the raised expectations and then the dashed hopes, at a time when the idea of working to help people was still just that, an idea in my head, a vague tug at my heart.
Maybe it made no difference. Maybe Auma’s voice simply served to remind me that I still had wounds to heal, and could not heal myself. That I still felt confused about my identity. But if Auma had come to New York then and I had learned from her what I learned later about my father, it might have relieved certain pressures that had built up inside me. I then might have taken a more selfish course, and given myself over to stocks and bonds and respectability.
I don’t know. What’s certain is that, reminded of my family, my father and the sense of duty he inspired within me, I resigned from my big graduate job and began work as a community worker in Chicago.
Two years later, Auma came into my life again. She wanted to visit. At the airport, I scanned the crowds. How would I find her? I looked down at the photo she had sent me, smudged now from too much handling.
Then I looked up, and the picture came to life: an African woman emerging from behind the customs gate, moving with easy, graceful steps; her bright, searching eyes now fixed on my own; her dark, round, sculpted face blossoming like a wood rose as she smiled.
I lifted my sister off the ground as we embraced. I picked up her bag and, as we began to walk, she slipped her arm through mine.
I knew at that moment, somehow, that I loved her – so naturally, so easily and fiercely, that later, after she was gone, I would find myself mistrusting that love.
‘So, brother,’ Auma said as we drove into the city, ‘you have to tell me about your life.’ I told her about my white-as-milk mother and grandparents and how my black-as-pitch and hugely intelligent father had left us in Hawaii when I was two, to return to his family in Kenya.
How Father had come back to see us in Hawaii for Christmas when I was ten, and then left again – for ever. The Old Man. That’s what Auma called our father. It sounded right to me, somehow, at once familiar and distant, an elemental force that isn’t fully understood.
In my apartment, Auma held up the picture of him that sat on my bookshelf, a studio portrait. ‘He looks so innocent, doesn’t he? So young.’ She held the picture next to my face. ‘You have the same mouth.’
Her eyes wandered over my face as if it were a puzzle to solve, another piece to a problem that, beneath the exuberant chatter, nagged at her heart.
Later, as we prepared dinner, she asked me about girlfriends.
I went to the refrigerator and pulled out two green peppers, setting them on the cutting board.
‘Well, there was a woman in New York whom I loved. She was white. She had dark hair, and specks of green in her eyes. Her voice sounded like a wind chime. We saw each other for almost a year. Sometimes in her apartment, sometimes in mine.
‘You know how you can fall into your own private world? Just two people, hidden and warm. Your own language. Your own customs. That’s how it was.
‘Anyway, one weekend she invited me to her family’s country house. It was autumn, beautiful, with woods all around us, and we paddled a canoe across this round, icy lake full of small gold leaves.
‘The house was very old. The library was filled with old books and pictures of her grandfather with famous people he had known – presidents, diplomats, industrialists.
‘There was this tremendous gravity to the room. Standing in that room, I realised that our two worlds, my friend’s and mine, were as distant from each other as could be.
‘And I knew that if we stayed together I’d eventually live in hers. After all, I’d been doing it most of my life. Between the two of us, I was the one who knew how to live as an outsider. So I pushed her away, and we began to argue.
‘One night, I took her to see a new play by a black playwright. It was a very angry play, but very funny. Typical black American humour. Everyone was hollering like they were in church.
‘After the play was over, she started talking about why black people were so angry all the time. I said it was a matter of remembering – nobody asks why Jews remember the Holocaust, I think I said.
‘We had a big fight. When we got back to the car she started crying. She couldn’t be black, she said. She could only be herself, and wasn’t that enough?’
‘That’s a sad story,’ said Auma. I scraped the cut-up peppers into the pot. ‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘whenever I think back to what she said to me, that night outside the theatre, it somehow makes me ashamed.’
Auma asked if we were still in touch. ‘I got a postcard at Christmas. She’s happy now; she’s met someone. And I have my work.’
Is that enough?’ Auma said. ‘Sometimes,’ I replied.
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Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1025052/He-young-successful–selfish-Barack-Obamas-autobiography-reveals-took-sister-met-life-meaning.

Together: Barack Obama, back row, second from left, on his first visit to Kenya in 1987 and Auma, front left.

We talked about Father, who had died four years before when I was 21, after descending into alcoholism. He was killed in a car accident. ‘I can’t say I really knew him,’ she began. ‘His life was so scattered. People knew only scraps and pieces.

She described how he left her with her older brother, Roy, and mother, to travel to Hawaii to study. There, he met my mother, whom he married bigamously. When he returned to Kenya, his relationship with my mother having broken down, he brought back another American, named Ruth.

She refused to live with his first wife in the traditional manner, so he ordered his children to come from their rural village to live with him and Ruth in Nairobi.

Auma said: ‘I remember that this woman, Ruth, was the first white person I’d ever been near, and that suddenly she was supposed to be my new mother.’

It transpired that initially, my father had done well, working for an American oil company. He was well connected to the top government people, and had a big house and car.

Our four other brothers were born at this time: Ruth’s children Mark and David, and two further boys with his first wife, Abo and Bernard.

Then things changed, and Father fell out of favour with the government. He became known as a troublemaker. According to the stories, President Kenyatta said to the Old Man that, because he could not keep his mouth shut, he would not work again until he had no shoes on his feet.

He began to drink, and Ruth left him. Then he had a car accident while drunk, killing a white farmer. Auma told me: ‘I was 12. He was in hospital for a year, and Roy and I lived basically on our own. When he got out of hospital, he went to visit you, in Hawaii.

‘He told us that the two of you would be coming back with him and that then we would have a proper family. But you weren’t with him when he returned, and Roy and I were left to deal with him by ourselves.

‘He still put on airs about how we were the children of Dr Obama. We would have empty cupboards, but he would make donations to charities just to keep up appearances.

‘He would stagger drunk into my room at night, because he wanted company. Secretly, I began to wish that he would just stay out one night and never come back. One year, he couldn’t even pay my school fees, and I was sent home. I was so ashamed, I cried all night.’

She added: ‘Eventually, the Old Man’s situation improved. Kenyatta died, and he got a job with the Ministry of Finance. But I think he never got over the bitterness of what happened to him, seeing his friends who had been more politically astute rise ahead of him. And it was too late to pick up the pieces of his family. For a long time he lived alone in a hotel room. He would have different women for short spells – Europeans, Africans – but nothing lasted. When I got my scholarship to study in Germany, I left without saying goodbye.’

Auma saw Father one last time, when he came on a business trip to Europe. ‘He seemed relaxed, almost peaceful,’ she recalled. ‘We had a really good time. He could be so charming! He took me with him to London, and we stayed in a fancy hotel, and he introduced me to all his friends at a British club. I felt like his princess.

‘On the last day of his visit, he took me to lunch, and we talked about the future. He asked me if I needed money and insisted that I take something. It was touching, you know, what he was trying to do – as if he could make up for all the lost time.

‘By then, he had just fathered another son, George, with a young woman he was living with. I told him, “Roy and myself, we’re adults. What has happened is hard to undo. But with George, the baby, he is a clean slate. You have a chance to really do right by him.” And he nodded.’

Staring at our father’s photograph, she began to sob, shaking violently. I put my arms around her as she wept, the sorrow washing through her.

‘Do you see, Barack?’ she said between sobs. ‘I was just starting to know him. It had got to the point where he might have explained himself. He seemed at peace. When he died, I felt so cheated. As cheated as you must have felt.’

Outside, a car screeched around a corner; a solitary man crossed under the yellow circle of a streetlight. Auma turned to me. ‘You know, the Old Man used to talk about you so much! He would show off your picture to everybody and tell us how well you were doing in school.

‘Your mum sent him letters. During the really bad times, when everybody seemed to have turned against him, he would bring her letters into my room and wake me up to read them. “You see!” he would say. “At least there are people who truly care for me.” Over and over again.’

That night, I lay awake. I felt as if my world had been turned on its head; as if I had woken up to find a blue sun in the yellow sky, or heard animals speaking like men.

All my life, I had carried a single image of my father, one that I had sometimes rebelled against but had never questioned, one that I had later tried to take as my own.

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Barack Obama in his senior picture at his prestigious private school in Hawaii

The brilliant scholar, the generous friend, the upstanding leader – my father had been all those things. All those things and more. Because except for that one brief visit in Hawaii, he had never been present to foil the image.

I hadn’t seen what perhaps most men see at some point in their lives: their father’s body shrinking, their father’s best hopes dashed, their face lined with grief and regret.

It was into my father’s image, the black man, son of Africa, that I’d packed all the attributes I sought in myself, the attributes of Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela.

My father’s voice had remained untainted, inspiring, rebuking, granting or withholding approval. ‘You do not work hard enough, Barry. You must help in your people’s struggle. Wake up, black man!’

Now, as I sat in the glow of a single light bulb, rocking slightly on a hard-backed chair, that image had suddenly vanished. Replaced by what? A bitter drunk? An abusive husband? A defeated, lonely bureaucrat?

To think that all my life I had been wrestling with nothing more than a ghost! For a moment I felt giddy; if Auma hadn’t been in the room, I would have probably laughed out loud. The king is overthrown, I thought. The emerald curtain is pulled aside. The rabble of my head is free to run riot; I can do what I damn well please.

The night wore on; I tried to regain my balance. There was little satisfaction to be had from my new-found liberation. What had happened to all his vigour, his promise?

The fantasy of my father had at least kept me from despair. Even in his absence, his strong image had given me some bulwark on which to grow up, an image to live up to, or disappoint. Now he was dead, truly. He could no longer tell me how to live. Who would show me the way now?

I recalled once again the first and only time we’d met, the man who had returned to Hawaii to sift through his past and perhaps try to reclaim that best part of him, the part that had been misplaced.

He hadn’t been able to tell me his true feelings then, any more than I had been able to express my ten-year-old desires.

Now, 15 years later, I knew the price we had paid for that silence. Soon, it was time for Auma to leave. Sitting in the airport terminal, I asked her what she was thinking about, and she smiled softly.

‘I was thinking about home,’ she said. ‘I’m sitting under the trees Grandfather planted. Granny is talking, telling me something funny, and I can hear the cow swishing its tail behind us, and the chickens pecking at the edges of the field, and the smell of the fire from the cooking hut.’

Her flight was starting to board. We remained seated, and Auma closed her eyes, squeezing my hand. ‘And under the mango tree, near the cornfields, is the place where the Old Man is buried.’

• Extracted from Dreams From Father (£12.99) and The Audacity Of Hope (£8.99) by Barack Obama, published by Canongate Books, (c)Barack Obama 2007. To order copies (p&p free), call 0845 606 4206.

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Comments (6)
Here’s what readers have had to say so far. Why not debate this issue live on our message boards.

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The guy’s a fake, and a fraud. What are his policies?
– Pete, England, 09/6/2008 11:49
Click to rate Rating 18 Report abuse
This is a very moving story. I am touched, but curious at the same time. I am very much interested in Barack’s life back in Hawaii.
– Daisy Baffoe, Accra, Ghana, 09/6/2008 10:49
Click to rate Rating 10 Report abuse
Good luck Barack, I hope America is ‘grown-up’ enough to elect you. Your choice of running-mate should be very interesting.
– Mark, St. Neots, Cambs, 09/6/2008 10:29
Click to rate Rating 10 Report abuse
Stop it, just stop it, stop this demagoguery about this guy. The Obama stuff has become a cult, and all this media fawning over this rather creepy guy is even creepier. Obama is not the hero that some need him to be, mostly, he’s a rather unethical, dullard. So’s his wife.
– Barkatansky, Telluride, CO USA, 09/6/2008 06:02
Click to rate Rating 8 Report abuse
Man! I had been wondering why Barack Obama had been called black, when he seemed quite light to me. He is certainly well placed to understand the suffering of so many, who have been cheated out of a stable ‘mother and father’ family life, in his case by his father’s serial promiscuity. It makes me want to pray and work harder amongst Africans now living in Western culture, so that they internalize the concept of not living just to satisfy their own (political) aspirations, but to honour the true and living (Christian) God, who loves faithfulness in monogamous marriage.
– Roslyn Brown, Melbourne, Australia, 09/6/2008 05:02
Click to rate Rating 1 Report abuse
You want selfish – John McCain dumped his first wife, who prayed every day for his release as a POW, because she got fat while he was in Vietnam! Then he married a rich trophy Stepford wife.
– Carl C, Philadelphia USA, 09/6/2008 03:53

OBAMA HAS DONE THE IMPOSSIBLE THIS YEAR -AS OUR BLACK PRESIDENT IN THE BLACK HOUSE!-FROM THEPOLITICALCARNIVAL.NET

June 26, 2010

from thepoliticalcarnival.net

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President Obama’s Historic Year
Friday, June 25, 2010 at 6:30 AMby Paddy
0 Comments and 9 Reactions

Wonder why this isn’t making the meme rounds? Oh, that’s right, he’s a Democrat… Via Taegan-

Now that Democrats have agreed on a Wall Street reform bill, President Obama is set to have an incredible year of accomplishments. He’s already signed major health care reforms into law and is more than likely to have energy/climate change legislation on his desk later this year. Not since FDR has a president done so much to transform the country.

First Read: “The agreement — and the likelihood that Obama will sign it into law — is yet another reminder about how much the White House and the Democrat-controlled Congress have done in the past year and a half (stimulus, health care, Wall Street reform, perhaps energy). You can’t say this is a Do-Nothing Congress; Then again, Republicans would argue it’s a Do-Too-Much Congress.”

Mike Allen: “Two legs of the triple crown: This means President Obama will sign health reform and Wall Street reform within four months of each other. Plus there’s the likelihood he’ll get some sort of energy-climate bill by year’s end — an astounding year.”

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From Twitter via BackType 3 more retweets from Terre817 geekjames AvatarMonica
RT @GottaLaff: “Not since FDR has a president done so much to transform the country”, Obama’s Historic Year http://bit.ly/8XR1jO

MEET AN AFRICAN VILLAGE MAN WHO WRITES GREAT AFRICAN VILLAGE NOVELS AND POEMS-BAYO ADEBOWALE!

June 26, 2010

from 234next.com

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One of the author’s works was adapted into a Tunde Kelani Film, ‘The Narrow Path ’ Photo: AKINTAYO
The writings of a village man
By Akintayo Abodunrin
June 20, 2010 01:16AM
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Novelist Bayo Adebowale dabbled into poetry some years ago with ‘Village Harvest’, a collection of poems. He has since published ‘A Night of Incantations and Other Poems’ and ‘African Melody’.

“There is no strict demarcation between prose and poetry,” he states while explaining why he took up poetry. “If you are writing prose and poetry, you are virtually writing on the same plane; using almost the same diction. So, poetry can be prosaic and prose can be poetic. If I want to express my ideas in a compact form, I dabble into poetry but if I want to expand what I’m writing, I dabble into prose.”

An interesting feature of ‘A Nights of Incantations’ is its exposition on incantations, an aspect of Yoruba tradition. The poet highlights malevolent, benevolent and propitiatory incantations in the work and explains his action.

“All the three are aspects of our culture and tradition. When you are angry and you think you have an enemy, you can recite incantation that will bring down God’s anger on him.

“In the same token, if you find yourself in a difficult situation and you want to escape, you can recite incantations that will save you. When you burn roots and leaves of trees to cure yourself, you propitiate with them and you recite special incantations for that.”

He adds that the collection has sections on curses, desperation, voting and protest because, “It’s part of the culture of the people to curse. If you feel wronged by your detractor or your foe, you can curse him. When you curse, it’s a general phenomenon, not just in Africa but in other parts of the world. When you say may the devil take you, may you go into perdition or things like that in anger, it’s part of the culture. It is common to find people cursing their enemies. Those who have caused harm or brought unhappiness into their life.”

But is it Christ-like to curse?

“Don’t you think that even in the holy Bible we have things like that? Why is Jerusalem cursed? ‘If I forget Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its cunning.’ Have you forgotten ‘woe unto you that betray the son of man? All these woe are curses in the Bible, they are reflected in Christian liturgy so you cannot say these things are not evident in the Holy Bible. Even in churches you curse the enemy. You bring fire down upon your enemy. May the enemy be consumed by the fire of the Holy Ghost. I have gone to services in churches where they devoted a large part of their prayer to cursing the enemy. ”

The Virgin

‘The Virgin’ published in 1985 is Adebowale’s first novel and arguably his most popular. Two villages go to war over Awero, the major character who loses her virginity contrary to tradition. Though virginity appears somewhat trifle for villages to war over, the former Deputy Rector, The Polytechnic, Ibadan, insists that “The cause of the matrimonial problems of nowadays can be traced to virginity. The lack of trust in your wife, the suspicion the wife has of the husband can be traced to virginity. If your wife did not come to your house as a virgin, it will continue to haunt you throughout your matrimonial life. But if you met your wife a virgin, you will have implicit trust and confidence in her that if she can keep herself like that, I should trust her to a large extent. Mistrust and suspicion can be traced to virginity so it is relevant even nowadays.”

He also discloses how the novel was first adapted into the short film, ‘The White Handkerchief’, and later the feature film, ‘The Narrow Path’, by Tunde Kelani’s Mainframe Productions.

“It was Tunde Kelani who came to tell me that they are interested in the story. He told me what will change and what will remain. He told me the title will change and that the ending would also change because in the novel, Awero did not commit suicide but she did in the film. He said the impact will not be felt by viewers if she walks away. If she commits suicide, they will know that there is a good reason for war.”

The self-confessed writing addict who took up the art in 1963 also reveals what made him adopt the tack he did in ‘Out of His Mind’, his second novel. “It’s not everything that you tell your wife in real life. It’s not that you want to harm her but out of consideration for her flexible mind. You say instead of disturbing my wife, let me get over it. I can always tell her later. It’s the same with Alamu. They were newly married and he didn’t want anything that will upset the lady, hoping that sooner or later he would sort the problem. In any case, if he divulged the secret to the wife, there would be no story to tell again. The suspense will not be there again.”

Starting out

“I started with short stories and I have over 100 published short stories. It might interest you to note that my novels are adapted from my short stories. ‘The Virgin’ is from a short story ‘The Wedding Day’. I expanded another short story, ‘Burden of a Secret’ into ‘Out Of His Mind’. It’s the same with the short story ‘Lonely Days’ and the novel also so titled. I have been expanding on my short stories.

“Right now, I’m on another one, ‘Beyond Control’ and it is also adapted from one of my short stories titled ‘Tanko’s Exit’. There is not much difference in the technique of writing short stories and novels because they are all prose so I find it convenient. It is only that you have to be more compact, straight to the point in short stories whereas in the novel you have the liberty to expand and to explain certain process.”

Inspiration and influences

Adebowale was inspired to write by reading literary works. “I started telling myself this is something I could do too. I began by criticising the works of writers I read, and then I started writing.” Though the works of authors including Edgar Allan Poe, Ernest Hemingway, Alex Dumas, Charles Dickens, Chinua Achebe and Cyprian Ekwensi among others influenced him, his primary influence, “is my background as a village man.”

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Posted by Olajide on Jun 25 2010
Having been taught by Dr Adebowale while I was at The Polytechnic, Ibadan I believe he has the prowess as exemplified in his novel. He is a man to celebrated always.

>BAYO ADEBOWALE-"THE WRITINGS OF A VILLAGE MAN" BY AKINTAYO ABODURIN IN NEXT ON SUNDAY NEWSPAPER,JUNE 2010

June 26, 2010

>from 234next.com

One of the author’s works was adapted into a Tunde Kelani Film, ‘The Narrow Path ’ Photo: AKINTAYO

The writings of a village man

Print print Email email Share Share


Novelist Bayo Adebowale dabbled into poetry some years ago with ‘Village Harvest’, a collection of poems. He has since published ‘A Night of Incantations and Other Poems’ and ‘African Melody’.
Lead Image

“There is no strict demarcation between prose and poetry,” he states while explaining why he took up poetry. “If you are writing prose and poetry, you are virtually writing on the same plane; using almost the same diction. So, poetry can be prosaic and prose can be poetic. If I want to express my ideas in a compact form, I dabble into poetry but if I want to expand what I’m writing, I dabble into prose.”

An interesting feature of ‘A Nights of Incantations’ is its exposition on incantations, an aspect of Yoruba tradition. The poet highlights malevolent, benevolent and propitiatory incantations in the work and explains his action.
“All the three are aspects of our culture and tradition. When you are angry and you think you have an enemy, you can recite incantation that will bring down God’s anger on him.
“In the same token, if you find yourself in a difficult situation and you want to escape, you can recite incantations that will save you. When you burn roots and leaves of trees to cure yourself, you propitiate with them and you recite special incantations for that.”
He adds that the collection has sections on curses, desperation, voting and protest because, “It’s part of the culture of the people to curse. If you feel wronged by your detractor or your foe, you can curse him. When you curse, it’s a general phenomenon, not just in Africa but in other parts of the world. When you say may the devil take you, may you go into perdition or things like that in anger, it’s part of the culture. It is common to find people cursing their enemies. Those who have caused harm or brought unhappiness into their life.”
But is it Christ-like to curse?
“Don’t you think that even in the holy Bible we have things like that? Why is Jerusalem cursed? ‘If I forget Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its cunning.’ Have you forgotten ‘woe unto you that betray the son of man? All these woe are curses in the Bible, they are reflected in Christian liturgy so you cannot say these things are not evident in the Holy Bible. Even in churches you curse the enemy. You bring fire down upon your enemy. May the enemy be consumed by the fire of the Holy Ghost. I have gone to services in churches where they devoted a large part of their prayer to cursing the enemy. ”
The Virgin
‘The Virgin’ published in 1985 is Adebowale’s first novel and arguably his most popular. Two villages go to war over Awero, the major character who loses her virginity contrary to tradition. Though virginity appears somewhat trifle for villages to war over, the former Deputy Rector, The Polytechnic, Ibadan, insists that “The cause of the matrimonial problems of nowadays can be traced to virginity. The lack of trust in your wife, the suspicion the wife has of the husband can be traced to virginity. If your wife did not come to your house as a virgin, it will continue to haunt you throughout your matrimonial life. But if you met your wife a virgin, you will have implicit trust and confidence in her that if she can keep herself like that, I should trust her to a large extent. Mistrust and suspicion can be traced to virginity so it is relevant even nowadays.”
He also discloses how the novel was first adapted into the short film, ‘The White Handkerchief’, and later the feature film, ‘The Narrow Path’, by Tunde Kelani’s Mainframe Productions.
“It was Tunde Kelani who came to tell me that they are interested in the story. He told me what will change and what will remain. He told me the title will change and that the ending would also change because in the novel, Awero did not commit suicide but she did in the film. He said the impact will not be felt by viewers if she walks away. If she commits suicide, they will know that there is a good reason for war.”
The self-confessed writing addict who took up the art in 1963 also reveals what made him adopt the tack he did in ‘Out of His Mind’, his second novel. “It’s not everything that you tell your wife in real life. It’s not that you want to harm her but out of consideration for her flexible mind. You say instead of disturbing my wife, let me get over it. I can always tell her later. It’s the same with Alamu. They were newly married and he didn’t want anything that will upset the lady, hoping that sooner or later he would sort the problem. In any case, if he divulged the secret to the wife, there would be no story to tell again. The suspense will not be there again.”
Starting out
“I started with short stories and I have over 100 published short stories. It might interest you to note that my novels are adapted from my short stories. ‘The Virgin’ is from a short story ‘The Wedding Day’. I expanded another short story, ‘Burden of a Secret’ into ‘Out Of His Mind’. It’s the same with the short story ‘Lonely Days’ and the novel also so titled. I have been expanding on my short stories.
“Right now, I’m on another one, ‘Beyond Control’ and it is also adapted from one of my short stories titled ‘Tanko’s Exit’. There is not much difference in the technique of writing short stories and novels because they are all prose so I find it convenient. It is only that you have to be more compact, straight to the point in short stories whereas in the novel you have the liberty to expand and to explain certain process.”
Inspiration and influences
Adebowale was inspired to write by reading literary works. “I started telling myself this is something I could do too. I began by criticising the works of writers I read, and then I started writing.” Though the works of authors including Edgar Allan Poe, Ernest Hemingway, Alex Dumas, Charles Dickens, Chinua Achebe and Cyprian Ekwensi among others influenced him, his primary influence, “is my background as a village man.”
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reader comments (1)

Posted by Olajide on Jun 25 2010
Having been taught by Dr Adebowale while I was at The Polytechnic, Ibadan I believe he has the prowess as exemplified in his novel. He is a man to celebrated always.

The virgin (Egret romance & thrillers)

Out of His Mind

HOW TO SAVE NIGERIAN LANGUAGES BY THIS DAY NEWSPAPER,NIGERIA,JUNE 2010

June 24, 2010

from allafrica.com
original one -This Day newspaper

This Day (Lagos)
Nigeria: Saving the Local Languages

21 June 2010

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editorial

Lagos — One of the strongest effects of western civilization is the gradual but steady erosion of the culture of the people, especially of former colonies. There is no where this has been demonstrated more than in the language of the people.

With western education came the fad of speaking the “whiteman’s language”. In Nigeria for instance, the ability to speak the English language was then, the most ready proof of “belonging” to a social class, high and above the local platform of those considered as mere natives. School children were then forbidden from speaking their local languages in the classroom. Offenders were punished for speaking vernacular. Over the years, this malaise has worsened.

Today, fewer and fewer people are able to speak, let alone write their native languages. If some indigenous languages have suffered poor orthographical development, that should not affect the ability to speak it. But modern day children, especially those in the urban centres now consider their mother tongue as a linguistic anathema.

This and other issues inform former Executive Secretary of National Universities Commission (NUC), Professor Munzali Jibril’s warning that unless deliberate measures are taken to preserve and promote Nigerian languages, they stand the risk of going extinct. Already, some languages have “died”, with nobody speaking them anymore.

According to Prof. Jibril, 45 per cent of the world’s population speak only five languages: Chinese, English, Hindi, Spanish and Russian, just as the top 100 languages of the world are spoken by 95 per cent of the world’s people. The remaining five per cent speak over 6,000 languages, with some languages having just about 100 or even less speakers. This, to say the least, is worrisome.

That Nigerian languages are dying is no longer news. The present generation of children are hardly able to understand or communicate in their mother tongues. The craze for the English Language has long become a kind of status symbol. This is even worse among the children of the elite and urban dwellers. Worse still, is the adoption of pidgin English in most cities as the unofficial lingua franca. The blame for this loss is largely on the parents, some of whom are also unable to speak their native languages, and so find it difficult to train their children in their native tongues. Left unchecked, what that means is that generation after generation in such family lineage will miss out on the mother tongue, with the grave and telling effect of a steady but gradual disconnect with the native language.

It is in a bid to rescue the languages from extinction that the Federal Ministry of Education introduced the policy of ensuring that at least, one or two major Nigerian languages are taught in schools. Almost two decades after, this has not quite improved the health of native languages. Prof Babatunde Fafunwa, former Education minister had also directed, at the time, that teachers should give instructions in native languages as a way of building and developing the local languages. But most of the languages are shallow and poorly developed. That has restricted their use as medium of instruction. Worse still, several words in the English Language have no exact equivalent in the native language. For example it may not be easy to find the Yoruba or Igbo equivalent of the word “Chlorine” or “mega watts”?
Relevant Links

* West Africa
* Nigeria

But despite the challenges, Nigerian languages can be revived, at least in the spoken form, until more scholarly attention is devoted to their orthographical development. The place to kick-start this is at the home. Children in their early formative years have Tabula Rasa brain, literally meaning blank memory, on which parents must make initial linguistic imprints.

This is achievable even before the children attain school age. Conscious efforts must be made by parents to speak their native languages to their children, who in turn will grow to cherish the language and pass same on to their children, thereby sustaining the life of the languages. The regulated exposure of the children to Language lessons in the school is not enough to achieve the resuscitation of Nigerian languages. Parents must embrace the habit of speaking the local languages to the children. And the time is now.

“SOMEBODY BLEW UP AMERICA” BY AMIRI BARAKA-A GREAT BLACK POEM ON 9/11

June 19, 2010

from http://www.amiribaraka.com/blew.htm

SOMEBODY BLEW UP AMERICA
(All thinking people
oppose terrorism
both domestic
& international…
But one should not
be used
To cover the other)

They say its some terrorist, some
barbaric
A Rab, in
Afghanistan
It wasn’t our American terrorists
It wasn’t the Klan or the Skin heads
Or the them that blows up nigger
Churches, or reincarnates us on Death Row
It wasn’t Trent Lott
Or David Duke or Giuliani
Or Schundler, Helms retiring

It wasn’t
the gonorrhea in costume
the white sheet diseases
That have murdered black people
Terrorized reason and sanity
Most of humanity, as they pleases

They say (who say? Who do the saying
Who is them paying
Who tell the lies
Who in disguise
Who had the slaves
Who got the bux out the Bucks

Who got fat from plantations
Who genocided Indians
Tried to waste the Black nation

Who live on Wall Street
The first plantation
Who cut your nuts off
Who rape your ma
Who lynched your pa

Who got the tar, who got the feathers
Who had the match, who set the fires
Who killed and hired
Who say they God & still be the Devil

Who the biggest only
Who the most goodest
Who do Jesus resemble

Who created everything
Who the smartest
Who the greatest
Who the richest
Who say you ugly and they the goodlookingest

Who define art
Who define science

Who made the bombs
Who made the guns

Who bought the slaves, who sold them

Who called you them names
Who say Dahmer wasn’t insane

Who/ Who / Who/

Who stole Puerto Rico
Who stole the Indies, the Philipines, Manhattan
Australia & The Hebrides
Who forced opium on the Chinese

Who own them buildings
Who got the money
Who think you funny
Who locked you up
Who own the papers

Who owned the slave ship
Who run the army

Who the fake president
Who the ruler
Who the banker

Who/ Who/ Who/

Who own the mine
Who twist your mind
Who got bread
Who need peace
Who you think need war

Who own the oil
Who do no toil
Who own the soil
Who is not a nigger
Who is so great ain’t nobody bigger

Who own this city

Who own the air
Who own the water

Who own your crib
Who rob and steal and cheat and murder
and make lies the truth
Who call you uncouth

Who live in the biggest house
Who do the biggest crime
Who go on vacation anytime

Who killed the most niggers
Who killed the most Jews
Who killed the most Italians
Who killed the most Irish
Who killed the most Africans
Who killed the most Japanese
Who killed the most Latinos

Who/Who/Who

Who own the ocean

Who own the airplanes
Who own the malls
Who own television
Who own radio

Who own what ain’t even known to be owned
Who own the owners that ain’t the real owners

Who own the suburbs
Who suck the cities
Who make the laws

Who made Bush president
Who believe the confederate flag need to be flying
Who talk about democracy and be lying
WHO/ WHO/ WHOWHO/

Who the Beast in Revelations
Who 666
Who decide
Jesus get crucified

Who the Devil on the real side
Who got rich from Armenian genocide

Who the biggest terrorist
Who change the bible
Who killed the most people
Who do the most evil
Who don’t worry about survival

Who have the colonies
Who stole the most land
Who rule the world
Who say they good but only do evil
Who the biggest executioner

Who/Who/Who ^^^

Who own the oil
Who want more oil
Who told you what you think that later you find out a lie
Who/ Who/ ???

Who fount Bin Laden, maybe they Satan
Who pay the CIA,
Who knew the bomb was gonna blow
Who know why the terrorists
Learned to fly in Florida, San Diego

Who know why Five Israelis was filming the explosion
And cracking they sides at the notion

Who need fossil fuel when the sun ain’t goin’ nowhere

Who make the credit cards
Who get the biggest tax cut
Who walked out of the Conference
Against Racism
Who killed Malcolm, Kennedy & his Brother
Who killed Dr King, Who would want such a thing?
Are they linked to the murder of Lincoln?

Who invaded Grenada
Who made money from apartheid
Who keep the Irish a colony
Who overthrow Chile and Nicaragua later

Who killed David Sibeko, Chris Hani,
the same ones who killed Biko, Cabral,
Neruda, Allende, Che Guevara, Sandino,

Who killed Kabila, the ones who wasted Lumumba, Mondlane , Betty Shabazz, Princess Margaret, Ralph Featherstone, Little Bobby

Who locked up Mandela, Dhoruba, Geronimo,
Assata, Mumia,Garvey, Dashiell Hammett, Alphaeus Hutton

Who killed Huey Newton, Fred Hampton,
MedgarEvers, Mikey Smith, Walter Rodney,
Was it the ones who tried to poison Fidel
Who tried to keep the Vietnamese Oppressed

Who put a price on Lenin’s head

Who put the Jews in ovens,
and who helped them do it
Who said “America First”
and ok’d the yellow stars
WHO/WHO/ ^^

Who killed Rosa Luxembourg, Liebneckt
Who murdered the Rosenbergs
And all the good people iced,
tortured , assassinated, vanished

Who got rich from Algeria, Libya, Haiti,
Iran, Iraq, Saudi, Kuwait, Lebanon,
Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Palestine,

Who cut off peoples hands in the Congo
Who invented Aids Who put the germs
In the Indians’ blankets
Who thought up “The Trail of Tears”

Who blew up the Maine
& started the Spanish American War
Who got Sharon back in Power
Who backed Batista, Hitler, Bilbo,
Chiang kai Chek who WHO W H O/

Who decided Affirmative Action had to go
Reconstruction, The New Deal, The New
Frontier, The Great Society,

Who do Tom Ass Clarence Work for
Who doo doo come out the Colon’s mouth
Who know what kind of Skeeza is a Condoleeza
Who pay Connelly to be a wooden negro
Who give Genius Awards to Homo Locus
Subsidere

Who overthrew Nkrumah, Bishop,
Who poison Robeson,
who try to put DuBois in Jail
Who frame Rap Jamil al Amin, Who frame the Rosenbergs, Garvey,
The Scottsboro Boys, The Hollywood Ten

Who set the Reichstag Fire

Who knew the World Trade Center was gonna get bombed
Who told 4000 Israeli workers at the Twin Towers
To stay home that day
Why did Sharon stay away ?
/
Who,Who, Who/
explosion of Owl the newspaper say
the devil face cd be seen Who WHO Who WHO

Who make money from war
Who make dough from fear and lies
Who want the world like it is
Who want the world to be ruled by imperialism and national oppression and terror
violence, and hunger and poverty.

Who is the ruler of Hell?
Who is the most powerful

Who you know ever
Seen God?

But everybody seen
The Devil

Like an Owl exploding
In your life in your brain in your self
Like an Owl who know the devil
All night, all day if you listen, Like an Owl
Exploding in fire. We hear the questions rise
In terrible flame like the whistle of a crazy dog

Like the acid vomit of the fire of Hell
Who and Who and WHO (+) who who ^
Whoooo and Whooooooooooooooooooooo!

AMIRI B 10/01

© Amiri Baraka

>"SOMEBODY BLEW UP AMERICA" BY AMIRI BARAKA-A TRULY BLACK REVOLUTIONARY POEM ABOUT 9/11!

June 19, 2010

>http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=BIB-05-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1560252383&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr
Somebody Blew Up America & Other Poems

Black radical enigma.(The Essence of Reparations, Somebody Blew Up America and Other Poems, Amiri Baraka: The Politics and Art of a Black Intellectual, … Review): An article from: Monthly Review

Somebody Blew Up America.

Somebody Blew Up America

Amiri Baraka

biobiobiobiobiobiobio

      SOMEBODY BLEW UP AMERICA

         (All thinking people   oppose terrorism   both domestic   & international…   But one should not    be used   To cover the other)
      They say its some terrorist, some         barbaric                          A Rab, in   AfghanistanIt wasn’t our American terroristsIt wasn’t the Klan or the Skin headsOr the them that blows up niggerChurches, or reincarnates us on Death RowIt wasn’t Trent LottOr David Duke or GiulianiOr Schundler, Helms retiring
      It wasn’tthe gonorrhea in costumethe white sheet diseasesThat have murdered black peopleTerrorized reason and sanityMost of  humanity, as they pleases
      They say (who say? Who do the sayingWho is them payingWho tell the liesWho in disguiseWho had the slavesWho got the bux out the Bucks
      Who got fat from plantationsWho genocided IndiansTried to waste the  Black nation
      Who live on Wall Street   The first plantationWho cut your nuts offWho rape your maWho lynched your pa
      Who got the tar, who got the feathersWho had the match, who set the firesWho killed and hiredWho say they God & still be  the Devil
      Who the biggest onlyWho the  most goodestWho do Jesus resemble
      Who created everythingWho  the smartestWho  the greatestWho  the richestWho say you ugly and they  the goodlookingest
      Who define artWho define science
      Who made the bombsWho made the guns
      Who bought the  slaves, who sold them
      Who called you them namesWho say Dahmer wasn’t insane        Who/  Who /  Who/
      Who stole Puerto RicoWho stole the Indies, the Philipines, Manhattan   Australia & The HebridesWho forced opium on the Chinese
      Who own them buildingsWho got the moneyWho think you funnyWho locked you upWho own the papers
      Who owned the slave shipWho run the army
      Who  the  fake presidentWho  the rulerWho  the banker                  Who/ Who/ Who/
      Who own the mineWho twist your mindWho  got breadWho need peaceWho you think need war
      Who own the oilWho do no toilWho own the soilWho is not a niggerWho is so great ain’t nobody bigger
      Who own  this city
      Who own the airWho own the water
      Who own your cribWho rob and steal and cheat and murder       and make lies the truthWho call you uncouth
      Who live in the biggest houseWho do the biggest crimeWho go on vacation anytime
      Who killed the most niggersWho killed the most JewsWho killed the most ItaliansWho killed the most IrishWho killed the most AfricansWho killed the most JapaneseWho killed the most Latinos
       Who/Who/Who
      Who own the ocean
      Who own the airplanesWho own the mallsWho own  televisionWho own  radio
      Who own what ain’t even known to be ownedWho own the owners that ain’t the real owners
      Who own the suburbsWho suck the citiesWho make the laws
      Who  made  Bush  presidentWho believe the confederate flag need to be flyingWho talk about democracy and be lying    WHO/ WHO/ WHOWHO/
      Who  the Beast in RevelationsWho  666Who decide   Jesus get crucified
      Who  the Devil on the real sideWho got rich from Armenian genocide
      Who  the biggest terroristWho change the bibleWho killed the most peopleWho do the most evilWho don’t worry about survival
      Who have the coloniesWho stole the most landWho rule the worldWho say they good but only do evilWho  the biggest executioner
         Who/Who/Who     ^^^
      Who own the oilWho want more oilWho told you what you think that later you find out a lieWho/ Who/ ???
      Who fount Bin Laden, maybe they SatanWho pay the CIA,Who knew the bomb was gonna blowWho know why the  terrorists   Learned to fly in Florida, San Diego
      Who know why Five Israelis was filming the explosion   And cracking they sides at the notion
      Who need fossil fuel when the sun ain’t goin’ nowhere
      Who make the credit cardsWho get the biggest tax cutWho walked out of the Conference   Against RacismWho killed Malcolm, Kennedy & his BrotherWho killed Dr King, Who would want such a thing?   Are they linked to the murder of Lincoln?
      Who invaded GrenadaWho made money from apartheidWho keep the Irish a colonyWho overthrow Chile and Nicaragua later
      Who killed David Sibeko,  Chris Hani,    the same ones who killed Biko, Cabral,       Neruda, Allende, Che Guevara, Sandino,
      Who killed Kabila,  the ones who wasted Lumumba, Mondlane , Betty Shabazz, Princess Margaret, Ralph Featherstone, Little Bobby
      Who locked up Mandela, Dhoruba, Geronimo,Assata, Mumia,Garvey, Dashiell Hammett, Alphaeus Hutton
      Who killed Huey Newton, Fred Hampton,    MedgarEvers, Mikey Smith, Walter Rodney,Was it the ones who tried to poison FidelWho tried to keep the Vietnamese Oppressed
      Who put a price on Lenin’s head
      Who put the Jews in ovens,     and who helped them   do itWho said “America First”        and ok’d  the yellow stars                                                WHO/WHO/ ^^ Who killed Rosa Luxembourg, LiebnecktWho murdered the Rosenbergs   And all the good people iced,   tortured , assassinated, vanished
      Who got rich from Algeria, Libya, Haiti,   Iran, Iraq, Saudi, Kuwait, Lebanon,   Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Palestine,
      Who cut off peoples hands in the CongoWho invented Aids Who put the germs   In the Indians’ blanketsWho thought up “The Trail of Tears”
      Who blew up the Maine& started the Spanish American WarWho got Sharon back in PowerWho backed Batista, Hitler, Bilbo,      Chiang kai Chek                       who WHO   W H O/
      Who decided Affirmative Action had to go  Reconstruction, The New Deal, The New  Frontier, The Great Society,
      Who do Tom Ass Clarence Work forWho doo doo come out the Colon’s mouthWho know what kind of Skeeza is a CondoleezaWho pay Connelly to be a wooden negroWho give Genius Awards to Homo Locus       Subsidere
      Who overthrew Nkrumah,  Bishop,Who poison Robeson,        who try to put DuBois in JailWho frame Rap Jamil al Amin, Who frame the Rosenbergs, Garvey,         The Scottsboro Boys,      The Hollywood Ten 
      Who set the Reichstag Fire
      Who knew the World Trade Center was gonna get bombedWho told 4000 Israeli workers at the Twin Towers   To stay home that dayWhy did Sharon stay away                    ?                                          /Who,Who, Who/                         explosion of Owl the newspaper saythe devil face cd be seen       Who  WHO     Who WHO
      Who make money from warWho make  dough from fear and liesWho want the world like it isWho want the world to be ruled by imperialism and national oppression and terror   violence, and hunger and poverty.
      Who is the ruler of Hell?Who is the most powerful 
      Who you know everSeen God?
      But everybody seenThe Devil 
      Like an Owl explodingIn your life in your brain in your selfLike an Owl who know the devilAll night, all day if you listen, Like an OwlExploding in fire. We hear the questions riseIn terrible flame like the whistle of a crazy dog
      Like the acid vomit of the fire of HellWho and Who and WHO (+) who who ^    Whoooo and Whooooooooooooooooooooo! 
                                   AMIRI B  10/01

© Amiri Baraka

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Amiri BarakaAmiri Baraka

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In Motion: Amiri Baraka [VHS]

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Selected Plays and Prose of Amiri Baraka / LeRoi Jones

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MALIA OBAMA-A BLACK BEAUTY IN HER OWN RIGHT-PROUDLY WEARS HER AFRICAN BRAIDS-AND SOMETIMES WOOLLY HAIRSTYLES!-WHETHER IN THE BLACK HOUSE,IN CHURCH, OR WHEN VISITING AFRICA!!

June 14, 2010

>"BEAUTIFUL TO BE BLACK"-A POEM BY SISTER CHARA NYASHIA SANJO

June 11, 2010

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from yeyeolade.wordpress.com


“BEAUTIFUL TO BE BLACK” A POEM BY SISTER CHARA NYASHIA SANJO,SUBMITTED BY KYA TO “BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL”

By Yeye Akilimali Funua Olade

“BEAUTIFUL TO BE BLACK”
“It’s beautiful to be black.”
It is the color of strength and pride.
I will say it out loud. I don’t have to hide.
I love me, and the color that I represent.
Look at me, there is nothing like it.
What you see is not an illusion.
It’s a gift from GOD, don’t ever confuse it.
“It’s beautiful to be black.”
It is the color of fame and envy.
If I wasn’t black, I wouldn’t be me.
Black is the color of power and authority.
It is so outstanding, thank you LORD for blessing me.
I’ll shout it to the world, I’m proud of what I am.
Those who are in vain will never understand.
“It’s beautiful to be black”
It is the color of confidence and style.
I have been blessed, by my ancestor from the Nile.
I am scenic from the inside out.
These verses are true, I don’t have any doubt.
There is no one who can change my mind.
Black has been beautiful since the begging of time.
“It’s beautiful to be black.”
It is the color of honor and grace.
This is one thing that cannot be taken away.
By Chara NyAshia Sanjo

4 Responses to ““BEAUTIFUL TO BE BLACK” A POEM BY SISTER CHARA NYASHIA SANJO,SUBMITTED BY KYA TO “BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL””

  1. The face of Afrika Says:
    It is beautiful to be black indeed! I hope you don’t mind if I use your poem on my blog, dedicated to celebrate the beauty of African people and of the African continent. Please check the Website http://www.thefaceofafrika.com/ and contact us at thefaceofafrika@googlemail.com
  2. jameka little Says:
    love the poem it describes me and the way that i feel, it’s very intresting to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  3. khadijah Says:
    i love the poem i hope it will inspire many
    can i use your poem for my group “black is beautiful?”http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=BIB-05-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1436325048&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr
  4. daijahenry Says:
    i love the poem and i hope other people do to and i hope they love to be black
    8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
  5. from mirrorsofexpression.com

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