Oh, so I’m assuming you’ve read it?
Posted on | October 13, 2008 | No Comments
We’ve been through so many cities and I haven’t had access to the internet often. So I’m recapping two weeks later. To catch you up… 
To complete our Detroit experience…
Before heading out, Pippi got a new veggie oil tank and we had a cage created for us at a welding spot at 555 Studios by a dude that saw the show two nights before and wanted to offer us that service for free. While we waited for finishing touches on it, a few of us went into the Detroit Summer offices in the same building. Diana tells us Hurricane Ike is coming and if we wanted to be safe, we should get out now. Off we go – to Ann Arbor.
We clankity clank into “A Taste of University of Michigan” with our new caged tank blocking Sugarcube’s swinging doors. As acorns fell, banging loudly on the roof of the bus, the rain picked up, and new students walked around the parking lot getting free food from various ethnic restaurant vendors, we unloaded the set.
At the University of Michigan we had our first night in a hotel. I had started a conversation with Huey weeks early with, “I’m not high maintenance or anything…” But seriously, knowing we were going to be staying in a hotel got me excited! I’m not hard to please…
It is here in Ann Arbor that we watch hours and hours of television to see the damage Hurricane Ike was wreaking on areas of the Midwest we’d just left, and watched as the stock market crashed with a need of $86 billion to bail companies out. (It’d drop dramatically as we went on through the Midwest.)
It is also in Anna Arbor that I read and finish Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s Infidel. I hadn’t heard of her or the book, but some friends suggested it to me before leaving for the tour. I’d seen “Water,” looking at the lives of Hindu women and their fate after the death of their husbands. Now I was reading one woman’s relationship with her faith – Islam. 
Amer, our gracious host, sees I am reading and asks me what I think about it. I admitted that I was disturbed by the preface, written by some white dude who clearly has issues with the religion and praises Ali’s forthcoming “indictment” of Islam. It had rubbed me the wrong way and I’d read excerpts of his preface to the Hurricane Season crew. It said on the cover that it was a best-seller and I couldn’t help but think that that was because of Americans’ brainwashing by our media, and a desire to have someone from “inside” agree with “our” representation of the faith. Amer begins telling me why he doesn’t like the book. I ask, “Oh, so I’m assuming you’ve read it?” “No. But I’ve heard her speak and read other things she’s written.”
As completely objective as I am when it comes to the religions of others (except Christianity, and since I grew up in it feel I can say what I think about that faith without apology), I felt myself reacting to what I felt was a defense of the treatment of women in Islam by a Muslim man. I told him I was actually more interested in hearing what other Muslim women, particularly women who have not denounced their faith and are critical of the treatment of women, speak on Ayaan Hirsi Ali. “Fair,” he said. I could have hugged him for that backing down. I was extremely sensitive after having read her story and having seen “Water.”
Being a part of Hurricane Season, knowing that the creators are both women, hearing the words of women through the performance, working with the most forward-thinking women whose love – not anger or hate – has them act… I am seeing Toni Blackman’s words in another light. She’d told me that women are going to save hip hop. And I can’t help but think, “women are going to save the world.” I am guilty of constantly having male names on the tips of my tongue when talking about thought and societal transformation. This tour is having me look for the sheroes whose names will come easily when I go to speak on changing the world.
Tags: Ann Arbor > Ayaan Hirsi Ali > Detroit > Detroit Summer > Hurricane Ike > Lindsay > sugarcube > Toni Blackman
I’m not Homeless, I’m Just Roughing it!
Posted on | October 4, 2008 | No Comments
Yeah… That was Huey’s hair-brained description of my outfits these days: “I’m not Homeless, I’m Just Roughing it!” Of course, she wanted to turn it into a t-shirt slogan.. .
Seriously, I walk off the bus some days, look down at my clothes and think, “Goodness, if anyone saw me like this at home, they’d ask me what’s wrong!” It’s bad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still sexy. *wink* But I haven’t had to wear an outfit this many times since rocking a uniform in boarding school. And even THEN, I had like 15 polo and button-down white shirts and like 8 dark blue pants or skirts. It’s all good though, when I get to Cali to visit my family – I’m going on a Ross shopping spree!
I am so behind on catching you all up on what’s been going on during the tour. But another big shout out to all of you who are keeping track of us using this blog. Getting your feedback (via text and e-mail since I still don’t know how to allow you to do it on Wordpress) has made us all smile from ear to ear and laugh at our own ridiculousness.
One thing is for sure though, we couldn’t have picked a better time in human history to go on tour with HURRICANE SEASON. It’s a conversation about our economy, our government, our educational system, the prison industrial complex, our addictions to technology and oil, the unusually grizzly weather all over the world… and our apathy. On the flip side – the Finale, Naima and Alixa give us strength, remind us of our greatness and send us out to do the much needed work.
But when we have access to a television, we watch MSNBC, CNN or for fun – FOX NEWS! Yes, the best example of freedom of speech ever exemplified, outside of the NY Post… and our good old friends over at WKKK (if you get my drift). We just sit with our mouths open watching all the back and forth that the media is creating while Lord only knows what is actually happening elsewhere in the world, elsewhere in middle America, elsewhere in our homes, elsewhere in our relationships…
Pippi asked me the day after we left NYC if I had applied for an absentee ballot. When I went to vote in the Democratic primaries I wasn’t listed at my local voting booth. So I filled out some other document, thinking, “Of course I’m in there, I was listed as a registered voter in 2004 when I last voted. And I haven’t moved!”) Today, I got a video from my boy Onician. It was really a good one for people like me who need to be cajoled into doing things. (Watch the video!)
So I go to the site that gives info your voter registration and lo’ and behold! I registered myself 8 years ago as an Independent! How did I not remember that?! When it came time for me to really define where I best fit along party lines 8 years ago I was most honest. *sigh*
Now I know, I can vote for the candidate of my choice November 4th in the general election. I got scared when I read on New York State’s Board of Elections Page that: “MAIL REGISTRATION – Sec. 5-210(3)
Applications must be postmarked not later than October 10th and received by a board of elections not later than October 15th to be eligible to vote in the General Election.” And went on to read that I can print and send a New York State absentee ballot and mail it to my county board postmarked by “not later than the day before election and received no later than the 7 day after election.” I think I will have it sent to Arcata, California – to whomever’s home we’ll be staying in for that tour stop.
Whew! I am cutting it extremely close. But it will get mailed today – I promise. Please, make sure you take care of whatever you need to. NOW!
Okay, now back to our regularly scheduled blogging! lol
Next tour stops, through to Cali, in case you are trying to come out to see us and Sugarcube:
MINNEAPOLIS Pi Bar
10.04.08 | 9:00 PM
Minneapolis, MN
This is not a Hurricane Season show. Alixa+Naima will be kicking some explosive and inspiring poetry alongside Black Blondie, Black Audience, and Carpscale Orchestra at the Pi Bar, 2532 25th Ave S, Minneapolis. $5, 21+
SEATTLE Langston Hughes Center
10.12.08 | 6:30 pm
Seattle, WA
104 17th Ave S
PORTLAND Pacific Northwest College of Art
10.15.08 | 6:30 PM
Portland, OR
Pacific Northwest College of Art
1241 NW Johnson St., Portland, OR
ARCATA Humboldt State University —-where I’ll be getting my absentee ballot!
10.19.08 | 6:30 PM
Arcata, CA
Humboldt State University
OAKLAND-BERKELEY La Pena
10.24.08 to 10.25.08
7:00 pm
Oakland / Berkeley, CA
3105 Shattuck Ave
SAN FRANCISCO Cell Space
10.30.08 | 7:00 pm
San Francisco, CA
2050 Bryant St
SAN JOSE MACLA
11.02.08 | 6:30 PM
San Jose, CA
MACLA
510 South First Street
SANTA CRUZ UC Santa Cruz
11.05.08 | 6:30 PM
Santa Cruz, CA
UC Santa Cruz
LOS ANGELES SPARC
11.08.08 | 7:00 pm
Los Angeles, CA
SPARC
See you somewhere soon! Tell a friend.
“Water No Get Enemy” AKA Get to Work!
Posted on | September 29, 2008 | No Comments
We decided to continue on to Detroit with Sugarcube skipping first gear. With a plan to have her worked on as soon as we got to Detroit, we opted not to cancel that show. On our way, we read STITCHED squares.
*Slight sidenote: [For those who are unfamiliar with STITCHED, it is a project Naima and Alixa started in the wake of Hurricane Katrina where participants in their shows and workshops receive a small square of fabric and Sharpies to write their Stories, Testimonies, Intentions, Truths, Confessions, Healing, Expression, and/or Dreams. In each city of HURRICANE SEASON we invite audience members to write about unnatural disasters they have experienced or been witness to, personal or societal, or to share a solution to the unnatural disasters that plague humanity.]
Squares done during intermission of HURRICANE SEASON in Cincinnati:
“Pain is fear leaving your body. Or so I have been told.” (Blue with white polka dots and purple sharpie)
“I feel inspired to stand with courage, to fight for calm and peace after personal storms, as well as the pain shared with those who’ve experienced them outwardly. Powerful performance. Very real and heartfelt.” (Lime green square)
“The smallest footprints going the right direction make a huge impact.” (Blue square with white polka dots and a Sharpie drawing with a sneaker lifting off of a puddle of water)
“The water that lives in me has boiled for so long / tonight I feel connected and less alone” (Blue with white polka dots and red sharpie)
We pick up Summerlynn at the Detroit airport. We arrive three hours after her flight. She has been a national booking coordinator for HURRICANE SEASON and will be traveling with the crew from Detroit through Chicago. She is the youngest crew, extremely resourceful, and fun to have to have around. Since we have not yet gotten seatbelts for Sugarcube, and it’s brightly painted with a swerve that appears a drunk driver was piloting it, we barely stop while coming around the airport arrivals section, yelling, “Run and hop in Summerlynn! We’re not stopping!”
We ride around the general area of our three day home, lost around Martin Luther King Blvd. Why is it that the MLK Blvds of the nation all seem to have stories of victory on one side of the coin and utter despair on the other?… Eventually we find our way and clankity-clank-clank our way to the front door. It is here we meet the homies from the Allied Media Project and Detroit Summer – allies who are building gardens in abandoned lots, pulling together national conferences on media for activism, and addressing the issue of building true leadership amongst the youth.
Summerlynn (as yet to be nicknamed), Huey and I head off to find snacks. We are in what is know in Detroit as Cass Corridor. Blocks away from Wayne State, this area was devastated by the riots of 1967 (started when an after-hours spot called The Blind Pig was raided), then crack cocaine, then displacement due to the destruction of public housing. It is evident as we take a short walk to Marcus Market. The few people who are out after dark seem to be walking in a fog, a heartbreaking, drug and alcohol-induced stupor. I feel my body stiffen and I am suffering something awful. That familiar feeling when you see your people in pain and you are not, and feel helpless to alleviate theirs. That pain. I don’t know if it is fear leaving my body. More like and aching.
We enter the market and grab every sweet, unhealthy, bubbly drink we can put our hands on. Nearly twenty dollars in liquids. And Huey puts us on… to Baileys and Rice Dream Chocolate Milk. That night, with our chocolaty drinks up to toast I imagine that the anticipation of feeling the wet, yet warm brownness going down may be more similar to that of the folks scattered nearby waiting for their next fix. And I am humbled.
It rains something awful as we unpack the set at the Furniture Factory. The clankity-clank-clank is embarrassing and unbearable. The spot is beautiful, converted from an antique furniture shop, it is now a theatre with lots of open space and kitchen area perfect for entertaining. Huey has the job of putting on music while we set up and breakdown the set, and I tell her, “Please don’t play Fela! You usually play it when we are breaking down the set and it makes me feel like I am on a chain gang or something now when I hear it!” We all laugh. If she plays “Water No Get Enemy” it’s like saying, “Get to work!” on the HURRICANE SEASON tour!
It is at this show with Centro Obrero, Black Star Community Book Store, and Detroit Summers Live Arts Media Project (LAMP) that we put the Solution-Cipher in the middle of the show. It is one of the most moving. Here, the community expressed the importance of eating vegetation from community gardens to bring down the carbon emission (aka your carbon footprint) because it’s no longer coming from 2,000 miles away, burning countless tons of fossil fuels to get to you, and often community gardens are organic.
People who live near the Furniture Factory, who came to the show, had never known the beauty that hid within that ‘ole antique shop’s walls. Akbar, the owner, was excited about the possibility of having the community’s most artistic and trustworthy people seeing the space. Huey’s father was in attendance; he has lived in Detroit for many years. Many activists and artists had come from far and wide (inc. Canada). And Malik, owner of Black Star Community Book Store, a veteran activist and seasoned participant in the movement, says to Naima and Alixa, “I have never experienced something so profound…”
My sentiments exactly.
We wake up the next day to break down. On comes Fela… “Water!!! No get enemy!”
I shower and get ready to see my friends from high school: Amirah, JaTorya, and Shalaun! I haven’t seen them in over 7 years and it’s the first time I am seeing JaTorya’s small son. Her daughter – a younger version of her. I have a moment… my girls are mothers and wives!!! Goodness we are grown. We go out for ladies night – dinner and a movie, Red Lobster’s All-you-can-eat-shrimp night and A Family That Preys Together.
The following morning, Huey and Summerlynn went off to a church to interview people who work and frequent a breakfast program for the documentary. Jenny (our hostess), myself, Naima, Alixa, and Ra (student at the University of Michigan, from Johannesburg, South Africa who is an artist-in-residence that creates zines around hip hop, art, and social justice…whew! Yes, that’s Ra!) go to meet with 90+ year-old Grace Lee Boggs. Outside of my grandfather and a lady from back home – Ms. Blackney – I don’t personally know any older activists/community organizers who have given their lives to the movement, offered every last breath to the education of the youth. Until Mrs. Lee Boggs.
She had an intention that we – HURRICANE SEASON crew – talk with her about how to make this tour something that will take each community to the next level. She believes that Climbing PoeTree’s methods are the answer. We have been waiting for. And like Mrs. Jahanbegloo, Mrs. Lee Boggs believes we need to be very intentional regarding this presidential election. It was truly inspiring to hear her express her admiration for what we are up to and put it perspective for us. This is a Freedom Ride.
Tags: Climbing PoeTree > Detroit > Detroit Summer > Grace Lee Boggs > Kyla > on the road > STITCHED > sugarcube > Summerlynn
The Liberated Master of the Universe
Posted on | September 29, 2008 | No Comments
Naming is an important. Naming a child, naming a school or scholarship fund. 
Naming a pet or an event. And before leaving Yellow Springs we had the pleasure of meeting Pegah’s parents – Iranian immigrants whose commitment to revolution brought them to the states. Her mother has the most inspiring revolutionary name I’ve ever heard – Azadeh Jahanbegloo. Or, The Liberated Master of the Universe. She is a professor and explained that she has had a number of students who have named their daughters Azadeh – after her.
She and her husband were a part of the Iranian revolution over 30 years ago. Mrs. Jahanbegloo is extremely passionate about humanity, freedom, equality, and the institutions that impact or influence those things. She believes that there will be a revolution in the United States if Barack Obama is not declared our next president on November 5th (since we know something will be off until after midnight). Though all of us in the HURRICANE SEASON crew have admitted to our belief that that be so, it is in our lifetimes that we’ve seen a stolen election, and the apathy of the following one. We have a bit of cynicism over the passion with which this millenial generation has, and the extent to which we’d be willing to go if such belief is not actualized.
I am beginning to take a closer look at what our generation considers a movement. If it isn’t e-mailed, posted as a bulletin or on Facebook, if it isn’t text messaged, or made into a music video how effective is it? Pretty much ineffective. Word of mouth is now word of cyberspace. And though it means we can get a message out faster, with little to no misinterpretation in its spreading – how many will actually step out of their homes, change their shopping habits, turn off their televisions or radios, travel a distance to make a difference? How many? It is possible to stop this system in one day. One. Yet we have not been collective in our energies or efforts to make any one demand plainly evident to the dominant paradigm… ahhhhh! soap box…
Another world is possible – I keep that as a mantra when feeling overwhelmed or disheartened by my own train of thought. Tetris told me that the Zapatistas (a revolutionary group of indigenous people in Mexico who in 1/1/94 had an uprising against the oppressive, internationally-owned Mexican government) have built a movement through poetry. Subcomandante Marcos delivers speeches to the people and the Mexican government in poetry! (Can you see Bush spitting anything lyrical?!) Named after Emilio Zapata, I’m told the leadership is 50/50 male to female. Though I know I romanticize indigenous people all the time, believing that the “old ways” were better ways – I know when hearing the Zapatistas’ story and their current actions that another world truly is possible. (Great resource: Left Turn Magazine for more info)
This mantra becomes even more evident when Tetris and I begin looking at a treehouse book. It’s a book of “grown people” treehouses, some with extremely elaborate hook ups, others remind me of the dope treehouses of the rich kids in my childhood. She says she wants to build one one day. And after witnessing the creation of the set for HURRICANE SEASON, I know it’s simply a matter of her finding the time to do it!
Pippi for the first time ever, drops the transmission pan. Our very own Grease Guru is turning into a true to life Grease Mechanic! After the parts are put back together, Huey jumps in the driver’s seat for the first time and pushes on the gas… pushes on the gas… pushes on the gas… lol The thing isn’t catching into first gear. We pull over and subsequently reverse all the way back into Pegah’s yard. Another unexpected night in Yellow Springs.
Oh, The Pain!
Posted on | September 29, 2008 | No Comments
Mama Lou loves corn. She likes popcorn, fritos, cornmeal, cornbread, bugles, corn on the cob… you name it. So when we left Cincinnati with bags of microwaveable popcorn it wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was when Mama Lou and Pippi tried to convince me that dried seaweed tastes like chips – with that “delicate crunch”! Ha! I’m good. I’d rather the seaweed used to wrap sushi rolls like the ones we made ourselves when we touched down in Yellow Springs with Pegah and Amanda – our brilliant hostesses.
Our group dinners in these cities are always filled with thought-provoking conversation. I am practicing listening, and I’ve learned so much about myself – in terms of what I feel I can offer to conversations, when I simply want to “look good,” and when I feel the need to defend or attack an idea, concept, or belief. Hearing Tetris share about growing up between Colombia and Massachusetts, living without her mother or father for years, starting school not knowing the language and having a younger sibling that she wanted to protect made me envy her perspective and understanding. “In Colombia, we are forced to be politicized early; it is the nature of living in Colombia. We are bombarded by the politics of America and therefore understand US politics in a way that its own citizens don’t.” Though I am truly as proud of my ancestors and predecessors who are so completely of this land (e.g. my beloved g-dad, Octavia Butler, the Lumbi – my indigenous ancestry, Toni Morrison) as I am critical of their placement here, and displacement, I do not have the “outside looking in” perspective that would provide what I believe is a much more creative (or spiritual) way of living life itself. Somewhere in the conversation someone said: “In this country it’s more about hope than it is about faith.” Ashe, I say to myself. Hope makes one close their eyes tight with hands pressed firmly together, head tilted back in some sort of prayer. Faith is the action – I believe – one takes after hope. You move with faith. People sit on their asses, with remote in hand, 100 lbs overweight hoping a “lose-weight-while-sitting-in-that-same-recliner-and-watching-your-favorite-sitcom-diet (or contraption)” commercial will come on at 2AM. People walk around the track before having to take their children to school, with a few new friends, 100 lbs overweight with faith that the pounds will begin to disappear. I am no longer interested in working with people who are hopeful.
Haitian children seeking dry land after Ike
Those who move in faith remind me of a line that is repeated in HURRICANE SEASON: “We have NO time to philosophize peace.”
Amanda tells us that there’s a sunflower field in Yellow Springs. She said that through the course of the day, the head of the sunflower faces the sunshine, slowly facing east, above, west, and below again. We tell Huey she’s gotta go set up the camera and record this transition of the sunflower heads in real time, and fast-forward it for the documentary. She declined. (lol)
The next night we decide to use the fire pit and grill in Pegah’s backyard to prepare our dinner. Amanda’s son, Austin comes over. He’s a vibrant six-year-old. He asks each of us to follow him to the backyard. He comes back in at some point to report that Tetris has discovered a swarm of bees. She comes in. She’s been stung. A bee got inside her pant leg and stung her. We are all shouting out home remedies we know to manage bee stings. I’ve never been stung by a bee before – I ALWAYS run no matter what folks have told me – but I saw an aloe vera plant on a table and suggest they put some on her quickly reddening thigh. I’m told she was brave and moved the log that was home for the bees, far away from the fire pit. Austin coaxes me to go out and sit with him as Tetris goes back to building the fire. I sit on a stump as he shines a flashlight so his mother can locate wood for the fire, and Tetris fans the flame. Suddenly Austin starts shouting something incomprehensible. “Ahhhhhh!!!!” He’s screaming and running toward the house. His mother runs to him and is asking, “What is it Austin?! What’s wrong?!” “A beeeeeeeeeeeee! A bee stung me!!!!!! Ahhhhhhh!” Amanda picks him up and he’s stiff as a board. He’s grabbing right under his belt buckle, at his hip bone. As I watch at a distance, still on my stump, not wanting to get in the way, I feel a pinch on my left arm. I wipe my sleeve and sure enough – there’s a bee attached, holding on for dear life or stuck. I jump up and quietly walk to the house too. As folks run out of the back door to see why Austin is screaming, I’m walking in telling them, “We both just got stung.” It hurts like hell and wish I were six and could warrant the same leniency to scream at the top of my lungs. I hear him yell, “Oh, the pain!” And we all are fighting the urge to burst out laughing. Then he says, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” His mom says, “You should stop talking and take a deep breath in, then out. In, then out.” Then I hear him say, “I need some aloe vera!” Hilarious!
We wind up cooking on the small grill close to the house’s back door and on the stove. Pippi goes to work on some portabella mushrooms, while Huey works on the turkey burger meat. I taste a grilled mushroom and could immediately understand the moniker, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! Once it was all done, Pippi asks if we want our bread toasted or not, and I think, “The girl just made mushrooms tastier than a juicy steak, can breathe and juggle fire, is a mechanic, and is now asking if I want my buns toasted…” “Lindsay,” I say, “I’ll marry you!”
That night we watched Water directed by Deepa Mehta. Extraordinary! A film about the life Indian (from India) widows and the life they are supposed to lead as Hindus, set during the time of the rise of Gandhi. We learned that people protested the film and threatened her life for wanting to tell this story in her way. It took five years before she could begin shooting again. It is the last in a trilogy that I can’t wait to see parts one and two of.
This is the first of many confrontations I’ll have with religion.
The Tipping Pointizzle
Posted on | September 21, 2008 | No Comments
Okay. So I’m in Chicago. Sitting at my aunt’s house (whom I have only met once before this at my high school reunion 11 years ago). I am taking a break from my HURRICANE SEASON homies. I have two blogs between this one and the last one that covers what has been happening on the tour. However, I wanted to share about this now.
I am just reading The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell – late, I know. But while reading Chapter 2: The Law of the Few, I realized what a connector I am and the connectors I am surrounded by. Seriously, I know folks that are committed to seeing a different world in their lifetimes and are taking actions toward that end.
Case in point, Sparlha Swa. A singer, an intellect, a sexpot, a divine spirit guide, a friend, a lover of afro-beat. Wait, wait, wait… you need some background. In my community Fela Kuti (originator of afro-beat) is a God of sorts. A party featuring afro-beat is one where you know folks are going to sweat, one where you need to where sneakers and sweatbands. It’s going to be a party where folks are going to be smiling and shaking a tailfeather versus posted (as my boy Akintola would say) like a flamingo with a glass in hand and shades. I’ve enjoyed those parties, but it’s only now that I’m learning about the music’s history and who in the hell Fela Kuti is.
Okay, back on track. How would I describe Sparlha Swa?… A star in the making. A Sade, Celia Cruz, Miriam Makeba. And she has now been called by NY Times, “Smashing…” in her part in Fela! on Broadway. Read more about the show here: http://theater2.nytimes.com/2008/09/05/theater/reviews/05fela.html?pagewanted=2
She… is pursuing her dreams. And I am sooooo excited for her. If you are in NYC and haven’t seen this musical with the world-renowned band Antibalas performing live… ahhhh – you are asleep!
And then… if you didn’t know, HURRICANE SEASON is about more than the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, more than natural and unnatural disasters, more than water, more than environmental protection, more than displacement and housing rights, more than criminalization, the so-called war on drugs, and the prison industrialization complex – though all are included. The major threads include water and the oak tree. From the moment you enter the show as an audience member until you leave, you are a part of the journey – offering water as your contribution and as a metaphor.
The crew drinks tap water, our bus runs on recycled vegetable oil from restaurants throughout the country, we eat mostly… hummus/houmas/smashed chickpeas/mushed garbanzo beans… (Huey has this idea for a t-shirt that reads: I AM NOT ANTI-HUMMUS, I AM PRO-CHOICE for those of us who do the vegetarian-thing with respect for our veggie friends, but who want a turkey sandwich every once in a while… HILARIOUS!)
So when I get this e-mail that my girl Crystal Clarity – artist, educator, dancer, lover/fighter, spiritual warrior – has finished the mural she was working on this summer with students and see what it is, I just nodded in that universal “knowing”.
Not only did she help paint Sugarcube (as you can see in this picture), she helped paint a mural educating folks about NY’s tap water. *sigh*
Then… while explaining how the entire crew got together to Mama Edali (the godess mom of Naima & Alixa here in Chicago, with a home called – NIRVANA!), I realized how I was connected to all of them.
Naima (Mama Lou) and Alixa (Tetris) I met through Kahlil Almustafa in 2002. Kyla (Huey) I met through Naima and Alixa in 2006. And Lindsay – get this – went to school with my brother in 3rd grade, and her dad is my dentist! Synchronicity…
I have had my eyes opened to many things while on this trip. One being – reach out to your extensive community when you are out to fulfill on your dreams (Mylinia.com is the best resource for this in my opinion). What you want, or need, is probably only a call, letter, or e-mail away. In my case, maybe simply a blog.
artwork by Lichiban Blossom
I’ll reach back into Detroit and our Chicago shows in the blog. But for now, I’m going to watch as many back to back episodes of Law & Order as I can catch tonight on my aunt’s couch and figure out how I can manage to get back to Chicago and my family during Obama’s inauguration (though he’ll be in DC, there’s going to be one helluva party here in Chicago)!
I wonder what we’ve gotta do to tip “that” point!
Peace and love.
Tags: Barack Obama > Crystal Clarity > Hurricane Season > Kyla > Lichiban > Mylinia > Sparlha Swa > sugarcube
A GROWN MAN CRYING IN PUBLIC
Posted on | September 16, 2008 | No Comments
FIRST OFF: Love, love, love to: rolando, jennifer, sparlha, tyrone, ayinde, jamel, atiba, cj, jullien, julia, caitlin, and kelli for reaching out!
Cincinnati continued…
HURRICANE SEASON is a pretty hi-tech multi-media piece. It has visual collages, and audio testimonials interspersed with Climbing PoeTree’s poems, full-bodied Cat’s Cradle, and stick dancing. It’s all perfectly timed. And when/if there are any technical difficulties, it is extremely difficult to hold up the show. Therefore, when the projector begins overheating, and screen goes blank during the show in Cincinnati – I can feel Naima & Alixa’s anxiety as I stand in the back of Bi-Okoto Dance and Drum Theater.
For those of you who haven’t seen it, HURRICANE SEASON, is a call for transformation – for self, for community, for humanity. Pre-intermission is heavy – with a focus on environmental injustice, policing and criminalization, and land rights & displacement. Post-intermission is focused on solutions people and communities world-wide have created and practiced. So when during intermission a young man who had helped us to unload and build the set has what appears to be an emotional break down, Pippi comforts him. He was guided outside and offered water. He threw the cup back as if a beer mug in a saloon, but instead of chugging, the water pours out the corners of his mouth and down his clothes. Pippi later says, “When you see a grown man crying in public, you’ve gotta take notice.” She later goes on, “Man, I need training for how to deal with folks in crisis and with mental health issues – I’m a magnet for them!!!” Tetris recounts, “That poor man…”
At the completion of the show, members of the audience have candles lit and I ask them to make a wish. I urge folks to take their time and formulate a wish that would be significant for them to make, urgent, meaningful and to avoid rushing through it. 
Once I blew out my candle I watched as each person blew theirs out, silently praying that it not occur to them as an unimportant exercise, but the first action in what I hope will be a life of acting after professing intention. And ultimately, we were left with three flames still burning, spread through the room. It was three women – each representing for me a generation. And elder sat in the front. She had paid what is the maximum amount asked of folks to donate – twenty dollars. She had purchased merchandise. She had signed the mailing list. She had come from the suggestion of a friend in California. And her eyes were open, watching as the wax melted down the sides of her candle. The second was our host, Suriah, a twenty-something new mother, committed to organizing. Her eyes were closed and she held her candle’s base with both hands. The third, a nine year old girl. She had asked about the set, the bus, and was visibly excited before the show. As each of their flames lit up their face, and others remained virtually in darkness, tears began to form at the rim of my eyes. “Of course,” I think, and smile, “of course it’d be this way.” What feels like an uncomfortable silence is bearable when the elder blows out her candle. When Suriah blows hers out, I turn to the little girl with a smile on my face. She has her eyes closed, then opens them and looks to the ceiling. Then she looks around and closes her eyes again – almost afraid to see if others were looking at her. And I breathe a breath of strength, directing it to her. She opens her eyes, blows – darkness.
The next day, before going back to Bi-Okoto to break down the set, Huey, Pippi and I watch early episodes from a season of In Living Color. I was one of those kids who loved to watch the Fly Girls, thought Fire Marshall Bill was hilarious, learned what I thought was a Jamaican accent from “Ay Mon”, and for whom “Men on Film” was a guilty pleasure. 
Speaking of contradictions – we have this running joke on the tour. Huey’s creation of course. If you are on a blind date, or a first date, and either they don’t look the way you thought or it’s just not going so well, you can always all of a sudden fake a peanut allergy. Begin a fake shallow breathing and say, “Oh my goodness, do you smell peanuts? There has to be peanuts in here or something made with it! I am deathly allergic to peanuts! I have to go… no no, I don’t need help getting home… I can’t talk about …” and start a fake shortness of breath, and run out. It’s so hilarious when something is happening we don’t like or are uninterested in and someone breaks out saying, “Uh oh… I… think… I… smell peanuts!” and run like hell. I have done it once when Huey started playing Fela Kuti as we began breaking down the set – she is always playing Fela when we have to do that manual labor and I told her she is going to make it so that every time I hear Fela I start looking for grunt work. (lol)
The set includes these bamboo stalks that are 8′ long and 5″ in diameter. You can carry 3 max at a time – and you have to have skills and strength to pull that off. 
Each has a name etched into it to identify its role, its place in HURRICANE SEASON. Some hold screens, some are the base of the water zampona, candler holder, and cloud chamber, one holds the projector. I would smile each time I was asked to hand someone James Baldwin or Harriet Tubman. On our bus ride to Yellow Springs – a rest stop for some days – I asked Naima (Mama Lou) to share all of their names. They are James Baldwin, Harriet Tubman, Frida Kahlo, Audre Lorde, Janet Cyril, Sitting Bull, Eunice Brie (Yvonne Etaghene’s recently passed g-ma), Nina Simone, Octavia Butler, and Sojourner Truth. So ILL!!! Naming- words in general – are suddenly illuminated for me, and I begin pondering how our next destination came to be known as Yellow Springs.
I (HEART) MY HATERS
Posted on | September 16, 2008 | No Comments
Naima (aka Mama Lou) and Alixa (aka Tetris) are extraordinary women.
Background:
I met Naima and Alixa at the African Arts Festival after having seen them briefly on a BET commercial. Kahlil Almustafa introduced me and he apparently had MAD respect for them. Then I would see them at various events throughout the city. A couple years later, my friend Sparlha started our Full Moon Circle – my lunar sisters include: Julie, Sparlha, Crystal, Naima, Alixa, Samara, Grace, Maria, Wizdom, and Heather. It was in this circle that our beautiful spiritual bond was discovered. The rest, as they say, is history.
The Hurricane Season tour stopped in Cleveland. It was in Pilgrim Congregational Church. Yeah – a church. With “White Jesus” in the main sanctuary and everything. We debated as we unloaded about the meaning of the word “pilgrim” and its connotations.
Kyla (aka Huey formerly Bobby Fischer or Fisch) went to Notre Dame College (not to be confused with Univ) and interviewed students for the HURRICANE SEASON documentary. She found that it’s hard for these young people – our future – to define their community. Nope, they didn’t immediately claim “LGBT community”, “people of color”, “organizers/activist community,” “WASP”, nada. Huey expressed in her post-shoot talk-back that she senses a sort of apathy, with our youth having an expectation that information is to be fed to them versus initiating the search for knowledge oneself. Her solution: “[We need to] relearn them children to think!”
*sidebar* it’s at this point that I get an e-mail from the person I thought was all set to sublet my apartment that says she’s “had some time to think” and isn’t going to sublet my apartment, and apologizes for “any inconvenience [she] may have caused” versus apologizing for the inconvenience she IS causing. At this point I’m a wreck and not really interested in what epiphanies anyone’s experiencing. *end sidebar*
Huey goes on to make what she believes will be best sellers for t-shirt slogans: “I (heart) my white friends.” “I (heart) my haters.” “I am a youtube millionaire.” I go on to tell her that millions just ain’t what they used to be…
Before leaving Cleveland we are told to go to this market. Whew! I swear in all the best ways it reminded me of an open market in some other country – the fruit and veggies all sold stand after stand with the same prices and different faces behind them. I thought that if I lived in Cleveland, I’d shop regularly at the WESTSIDE MARKET (besides it’s closeness to my regular party cry) and would probably shop with the grocer whose personality I liked the best. As we wait to get our falafels, Huey backs up and knocks some little kid down (whose head is right at the crack of her buttocks) with her badoonkadoonk! This kid looks up and all you see is the whites of his eyes. A woman who appears to be his grandmother says, “That’s all right, he’s strong!” more for him than for us. I’m trying not to die laughing, as he sticks his ring pop back in his mouth and continues on his way. I tried to create a new nickname for Kyla based on this experience, but couldn’t think of anything… alas… Huey is definitely more fitting.
We pull into Cincinnati later in the evening. With our foam bench covers/beds, we walk through downtown to Hakiym and Suriah’s home – a four floor walk up. Folks on the block are asking if we are having a slumber party, the more bold are asking if they can come. 
After a *ahem* cipher, we got into a conversation that included the Georgians (not ATL, but near the former Soviet Union), kissing White Jesus, the mythology of Santa Claus, Burning Man, the mythology of the man on the moon, which people still believes is true versus the Truth of it being a Hollywood/government play on the American people, the safety of personal items in a car in the city versus what I deem the woods, Swedish police having to go to a type of University to become police and the love its citizens have for them, and our trip being The Real-er World – complete with the Columbian artist and activist (Alixa) & the biracial artist and activist (Naima) who are in love , the tech savvy one from the Midwest who moonlights as an itunes deejay (Kyla), the white fire twirler with the locks from a weller-to-do family out of California (Lindsay), and lastly, the Kwanzaa celebrating-monolingual-Black girl with too much “swag” to do things that are clearly more kind to the earth, like… um… composting toilets (where you pee or poop in a bucket, cover it with leaves, and it gets taken out when it’s full to the compost to eventually become fertilizer for the vegetables in the garden after being turned over for hella long)… yeah, that would be me (Sallome). Folks didn’t like my breakdown of them. But, ahhh, who cares?! It’d be the MTV spin on it anyway.
We are eating popcorn and Alixa & Naima tell us that the indigenous would pop popcorn and offer it as a peace offering. We all giggle over the resounding simplicity of that gesture, while considering how beautiful it is. I start conjuring up all my memories of popcorn sharing – and each is matched with smiles, buttery hands slightly touching while cupping small portions of the fluffy good stuff. Note to self, I think, bring popcorn to all house-warmings, potlucks, brainstorming sessions, and conflict-resolution ciphers. Messiah – Suriah and Hakiym’s 5-month old – starts scooting toward the popcorn. ” And how cool it would be,” I say aloud, “if Messiah learned to crawl out of his overwhelming desire to be a part of the cipher?!”
This is also the night Kyla is renamed Huey – since she goes way beyond the strategy of a Bobby Fischer and has demonstrated her sociopolitical, economic, and cultural analysis. We wanted something to munch on (at 3AM) and were told that nothing in Cincinnati is open at that time…. EXCEPT the gas station. Suriah and Hakiym warn us of the “long line” that will probably be out there. Tetris exclaims, “We worked so hard for this tour… We are in a vegetable run bus for crying out loud! Don’t go to the Shell!” 
We tell her we aren’t going to buy anything, just check out the line. On our way there Huey says, “As she said that, I had this memory of me walking down the BP aisle, hearing that gas station music,” she is bobbing her head slowly from side to side with the most hilarious walk, “picking up the cranberry juice she finished yesterday, and the tortilla chips y’all killed!” I am crying laughing so hard. And the internal dialogue begins regarding what a walking/talking contradiction I am.
The gas station scene in Cincinnati is a blog in itself. Initially, there was solely one man pacing back and forth across a parking area. He is completely freaky. I see a police car pulling up, to get “snacks” too I presume. I say to Kyla, “Yay! The police will save us!” Kyla reminds me of Timothy Thomas – mentioned in HURRICANE SEASON – a 19-year old brother who was pulled over and due to his fear behind a warrant he had around a traffic violation, ran. Unarmed, a father of a small child, he was murdered. I am considering the piece in HURRICANE SEASON in my imagination when the officer driving the police car shouts to a brother standing behind me, “He, how ya doing?” “Oh, hey!” he says, “I’m good…. good.” His blackface grin pulls goose bumps to the surface of my forearms. I turn away abruptly. “Yeah, yeah,” he goes on, “can’t complain.” He then begins swinging his arms as a small child would do when being asked about school while wanting to run to play with Legos. As they drive away, Kyla and I hear him say, “Muthafuckas,” behind us. I turn around to see his smile has changed to lips turned in to clutch his teeth. “I hate those muthafuckas! Always wanna fuck with me!” He is speaking to no one and everyone. And I want to scream.
Huey and I choose to sleep on the loft bed (about 8 feet off the floor in a rectangle that’s about 5′x8)’. We take the air mattress – as it’s a perfect fit – and try to blow it up. After taking DD batteries from their 5 month old baby’s swing, another baby contraption, and out of the bus, we decide “that thang just ain’t gon’ get blown up tonight!” After resting our heads for about 15 minutes the possessed air mattress blower-upper starts making some crazy sounds and I try to turn it off in my half awake state and instead throw it to Huey. She miraculously is able to get the batteries out – after waking up the entire house – and discovers they are so hot to the touch “They almost blew up!” she exclaims.
It makes sense to me – the brewing frustration I had around Timothy Thomas, and Sean Bell, and Amadou Diallo, and my girl Jamilah Seifullah (who was given a ticket for walking between NYC subway train cars and gives her entire measly teacher’s salary to ensure that her students have afterschool and Saturday programming), and my girl Crystal Clarity (who was given a ticket for having her foot on the pedal of her bike while on the NYC subway and works with youth to create murals all over the city), and my aunt and cousin who were beaten by San Francisco police officers after attempting to save a neighbor from domestic violence, and Emmett Till, and Abner Louima, and… though no one knew – I cried myself to sleep.
Cincinnati continues… in the next blog.
Where is Sugarcube, now?!
Posted on | September 9, 2008 | No Comments
DETROIT Furniture Factory 09.12.08 | 7:00 pm Detroit, MI 4126 3rd St ANN ARBOR William H. Trotter Multicultural Center 09.15.08 | 6:30 PM Ann Arbor , MI University of Michigan CHICAGO, IL Center on Halsted 09.18.08 to 09.19.08 | 7:00 pm Chicago, IL 3656 N Halsted URBANA University of Illinois 09.24.08 | 6:30 PM Urbana, IL University of Illinois IOWA CITY The Wesley Center 09.27.08 | 7:00 PM Iowa City, IA 120 N. Dubuque St. MILWAUKEE Black Historical Society 09.30.08 | 6:30 pm Milwaukee, WI 2620 W. Center St. MADISON Goodman Community Center 10.02.08 | 6:30 PM Madison, WI Goodman Community Center 149 Waubesa St. MINNEAPOLIS 10.04.08 | 7:00 PM Minneapolis, MN TENTATIVE SEATTLE Langston Hughes Center 10.12.08 | 6:30 pm Seattle, WA 104 17th Ave S PORTLAND Portland Northwest College of Art (PNCA) 10.16.08 | 6:30 PM Portland, OR ARCATA Humboldt State University 10.18.08 | 7:00 PM Arcata, CA Humboldt State University OAKLAND-BERKELEY La Pena 10.24.08 to 10.25.08 7:00 pm Oakland / Berkeley, CA 3105 Shattuck Ave SAN FRANCISCO Cell Space 10.30.08 | 7:00 pm San Francisco, CA 2050 Bryant St SAN JOSE MACLA 11.02.08 | 6:30 PM San Jose, CA MACLA 510 South First Street SANTA CRUZ UC Santa Cruz 11.05.08 | 6:30 PM Santa Cruz, CA UC Santa Cruz LOS ANGELES 11.08.08 | 7:00 pm Los Angeles, CA Stay tuned for venue ALBUQUERQUE 11.15.08 | 7:00 pm Albuquerque, NM Stay tuned for venue AUSTIN 11.19.08 | 6:30 PM Austin, TX Stay tuned for venue HOUSTON 11.22.08 | 7:00 pm Houston, TX Stay tuned for venue NEW ORLEANS 11.26.08 | 6:30 PM New Orleans, LA Stay tuned for venue TALLAHASSEE 12.02.08 Tallahassee, FL TENTATIVE ATLANTA 12.05.08 | 7:00 PM Atlanta, GA Stay tuned for venue ASHEVILLE 12.09.08 Asheville, NC TENTATIVE WASHINGTON DC 12.13.08 | 7:00 PM Washington DC, DC Stay tuned for venue
A WOMAN COVERED IN GREASE – IT’S SO HOT!
Posted on | September 7, 2008 | No Comments
We are on our way to Pittsburgh… no wait! We are swerving our way to Pittsburgh, and it is evident that unless we figure out Sugarcube’s problem, we’re going to kill ourselves and others on the highway. So we stop at Blue Mountain Travel Lodge – complete with a Roy Rodgers and an ice cream bar!
We’ve already deduced that it could be the weight we are carrying (five women, cinder blocks for the set, the weight of the full set itself, merchandise, our personal travel needs, and our newly crafted seating – which is also a compartmentalized storage unit AND folds out into a bed thanks to Pippi), it could be some aspect of our steering (we’re in a 1990 Ford E350 Diesel; Pippi likes to say, “Ford International 7.3 Liter Diesel!”), it could be our tires… who the hell knows?! But we have to figure it out or cancel Pittsburgh. Etta is our activist coordinator and location scout in Pittsburgh and she calls up Johan – the mechanic saviour. Together, at 9pm, they drive the 2 hours and 45 minutes to get to us in the middle of Pennsylvania. As we wait, we pull out the bed and all five of us lay head to foot in a tentative slumber.
Fisch and I secretly plan our escape back to New York – sharing what we’d take and what we’d leave behind (me – I’d take my Samsonite fanny pack with my brand new Blackberry, Playboy lip gloss that’s a gift from Raquel, my i-pod, tea bags, ultra fine point Sharpie, tampons, to do lists, id, and debit cards; Fisch – she’d take her brand new MacBook in it’s cardboard box).
We laughed it off, knowing that hitchhiking as single Black females back to New York is far more dangerous than eating like Naima and Alixa, using grey water bathrooms with their friends, and unloading and loading sets is challenging.
Johan says it’s our right front wheel bearing and sway bar bushings (whatever the hell that is!), and tells us to get some sleep – we’ll try to find an open car parts place in the morning – LABOR DAY!
Alixa and Naima go off to find a place near this rest stop to pitch a tent, now that we’ve got two extra people who have driven so far out to save us we have to do a bit of camping. When they return they tell us, “Your suite awaits, second tree on your right!” Amazingly, it can fit two full sized air mattresses, and we rest our heads for 3 hours.
Up again. We’ve seen three different shifts at dear ‘ole Blue Mountain Travel Lodge. And we’re off to get wheel bearings in a place called Shippensburg, Pennsylvania (40°2′58″N, 77°31′26″W). Johan and Etta drive behind us as we sway to and fro trying to stay below 45 or above 55 to avoid the most dangerous side to side action. As we drive through some of the most beautiful farm country we see plenty of Amish folks.
It makes me think about how little I know about the Hasidic Jews I see so much of in Brooklyn, and that I don’t know anything about the Amish outside of how much they remind me of the Hasidic Jews.
We get the part, Johan and Pippi do the damn thing and off we are to Pittsburgh, still swaying – yet telling each other, ”Oh, yeah, it’s a little better. Can’t you tell the difference?” I’m in the back with my internal dialogue saying – “HELL NO!”
Grey Box Theatre. It’s complete with Gina and Doug (who I’ve nicknamed Christopher Robin due to his stories of his life sounding like adventures with Winnie the Pooh and he’s nicknamed me Bomba since my new way of cursing has been shortened to a bastardized version of a West Indian bad word). We have our first home cooked meal – compliments of Bekezela. Alixa exclaims, “These are the best chick peas I’ve had my whole life!” And truth be told, I wasn’t sure if it was that I was starving or was happy for warm food – but they were slamming! The place is cool, but the best part about Pittsburgh for me was the woman who lives above the theatre. She appears to be a normal, youthful white lady, but she’s got tools and equipment cleaning gum off the corner of the joint. At first I thought she worked for the theatre, but then I saw her plastic cup of red wine left chilling on the sidewalk… Doug and Gina tell us that the woman has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder AND… insomnia! So she spends her nights making sure this one corner is immaculate. Deep… I told them I’d love for her to come visit Brooklyn.
Awe… Brooklyn. Right as I am greeting folks from Pittsburgh to HURRICANE SEASON, I am hit with this overwhelming feeling of nostalgia for my beloved Brooklyn. I started dreaming about the Halal spot on Bedford and Fulton, since I’d been eating pita, hummus and avocado for two days.
Some dude tells Pippi, “A woman covered in grease, it’s so HOT!” We pack the bus in record time – 3 1/2 hours – GO TETRIS GO! And we sleep to get ready to head to our next stop – Cleveland, Ohio – where great food, loving friends, and our first performance of HURRICANE SEASON in a church awaits!
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About Sallomé Hralima
Sallomé is an idea mogul and dream executor making sure those on the periphery have the opportunity to live purpose-filled lives, experiencing themselves as people who make a difference. Often working, she is in a constant state of training and development, brainstorming and sharing.
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