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At 18, one year after my family moved to Atlanta, I moved out and began university while working part-time. I did both for 4 years, before realizing I was tired of slaving in school and at work. I had already purchased my first house and I was eligible for a loan against my equity. I took it and opened my first business, a record shop. As early as I can remember, I was never that impressed with America, never wanted to considered an American and determined not to fight for her defense. As early as the age of 10 I had my first and only significant African-American teacher, Ms. Moats. It was at this early age that I was introduced to people like Harriet Tubman, Marcus Garvey, W.E. Dubois, etc. She turned out to be the only teacher in my career of schooling that took any interest in tapping into our potentials as young Africans whose future would possibly impact the Africa's resurrection, against the tide of apparent destruction. Though I would never hear of such people again, until I sought them out during my search for truths & rights, that seed of African pride took root and would patiently wait until I could nurture and grow it later on in life. In my own environment, no longer subject to the opinion of a boss or professor, I began my growth into a young man. By this time I had taken to wearing locks, simply as a statement of resistance against a wicked shitstem, but not yet a covenant. Though I didn't quite know where I was heading, I knew what I didn't want my own children to endure the physical and psychological limitations of life in America. It was becoming all too clear that I was an exception to the rule, a rare case of privilege in a society that makes it their business to distract the minds of our intelligentsia with bogus aspirations or sterilize the fertile minds of our young with television & mis-education geared at teaching everything abominable in the sight of the Most High. I sought my higher education from our present day griots, Reggae artists who have served as the messengers to Jah children, scattered abroad. From them I began to hear a resounding call for repatriation. Africa began to look like the alternative to a sinking ship, a much needed place of refuge for the Black man. It was with those simple notions that I first entertained the thought of repatriating, much like any romanticist embarks upon a new romance. With the relative success of my first business and my desire to escape the AIDS epidemic, I choose a wife and began a family. For a short spell of maybe 2 years, after making my first trip to Ghana in '97, I lost focus and got caught up with the idea of providing my family with the comforts only available in America. However, with the birth of my first child I was struck with an urgency to do better than falling into the same cycle of pursuing the American nightmare. I redoubled my efforts and returned to Ghana, renting a home for my family, then returning to America to finalize matters and bring them home, home at last! It is eight years since my arrival and I am now 36, giving thanks daily, even though I do so without my beloved family. The reality of repatriation took us all by surprise and took its toll on my relationship with my wife, who returned to America with the youth. That, with many other sacrifices, has been a part of my journey, harsh though they may seem, they have all played pivotal roles in conditioning I for greater works. I now realize that repatriation, though once looked upon as merely an alternative, was really the only choice I had. I recognize, due to the nature of my trod, narrow being the Way, opposition must present itself in all its wicked faces, from low and high places, with hopes of deterring my spirit and finding in my person, yet another soul for it to consume in Hades. I sight all challenges as minuscule by comparison to the upcoming, greater challenge of resisting the mark of the beast. I accept my trials and tribulations with respect to their necessity for my grooming, as I seek to be a better man, father, servant, guide and whatever other title I must assume during my life journey. And though I endure the hardships of life's disappointments, I also bask in the glory of Mama Africa. It is unfortunate that I must spend so much time warning people about the manholes in the road, but it is necessary to balance most people's lopsided view of Africa. Though some think it is worse than it is, most think it is simply the land of milk and honey, awaiting their return. Well, it is that too, but only after you have pealed back the layers. Having paid some dues I now get to enjoy milk placed in coconuts by the Most High, H.I.M.self, I sup honey from the hive and I have held gold that looks like a dutty rock, sourced almost from the surface of the land. I live in the heavens and wake up in the clouds, with the air as crystal as a mountain spring. Only now have I got a glimpse of the rewards in store for those of us who answer the call. And though it is not my objective to convince anyone of the need to heed this call, I share my experiences trusting they will serve to guide those on this journey to a more direct route to their respective destination, minus some of the obstastcles. If I could change anything, I would change none, but I am working diligently on changing much. With time I expect my evolution to result in the manifestation of many word-sounds uttered time and time again in the songs we sung by the rivers of Babylon.
Who am I?
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Born in Brooklyn, NY, to parents of Trinidadian descent, I
hailed, the first and only son of Bob and Eslanda. In their care I was
afforded every bit of their love and devotion.
It was their firm stance that kept I out of the many traps laid for the average
African born in America. This meant that I actually went to school,
received good grades and went on to the university. It also meant that I was
subjected to 936 days of Sunday school and countless other church related
events, during the 18 years I remained in their custody. Though I detested
both school and church, retrospectively, nothing could have better prepared I
for my calling.