How To Be Black This Week

My given name is Nyree Taratibu-Daima Emory. My mother gave me this name and I like it. Actually, I like it alot. (The chick who fitted me for eye-glasses...her name was Millicent.

(beat)

Like I said, I like my name...a lot.

You know what I really like about it? Whenever I hear "Wow. That's pretty. Where is that from?" and I hit them with "New Zealand". HA!! Take THAT!(Insert the "Wow. That's not African?" look here.) I tend to follow it up with the story of "Nyree Dawn Porter", whom which every Nyree born within the last 35 years is familiar.
She's an actress...and long story short...my Moms bit her name. I'm not mad at it.

Now, the Taratibu-Daima part, well, we can blame that on a pot-smoking, post-'Nam vet loveable cat I like to call my father. My paternal aunt Maurica was seeing an African, and since black people were fresh off of the Civil Rights movement, my father wanted me to have an African name. And he was high. So mystery African pulled "Taratibu-Daima" out his ass, and had my father not been out banging some chick that lived in Parkchester while my mother was pushing me out (true story..I met her. But that's another post...) there's a chance that my first name would be "Taratibu-Damia". And I'm pretty sure he would have held me up in the air butt-ass naked as an infant and said, "Taratibu-Daima. Behold...the only thing greater than yourself." (Like I said, he smoked a lot of pot back in the day, I'm sure it would have happened.)

Now "Taratibu-Daima" actually does mean something. "Everlasting Peace", or so I was told. Every African I've asked has never heard of these words...stating "must be a dialect I'm not familiar with." So it could very well mean, "Neice of American Bootie Call", but I prefer to be optimistic.

Why all the set-up Nye? This is why.

Sunday night, I started watching "Roots" on TV One. Now, I'm pretty sure you've seen it...and so did I...however, I was four years old. The only images I could remember were the following:

1)Kunta in a net.
2)Kunta eating some white stuff out of his hands.
3)Kunta dancing on a ship.
4)Kunta being whipped till he said his name was "Toby".
5)Louis Gosset Jr.'s bad teeth.
6)James Evans getting his foot chopped off.

So I get through night one and the whole thing is pretty familiar, right? Kunta gets caught and strapped on to a ship, preparing for the Middle Passage. I know all this. It's fine. I'm used to it. However, I'm now at an age where I can understand complex English. So the images are familiar, however, the dialouge? Brand fucking new.
For instance, the heartwarming Middle Passage phrase, "we use the nigger wenches for crew relief". ("Nigger wench" translated for modern times is "Nappy Headed Ho", just so you're aware. Ahem.)

So anyway, I watch the whole episode, and I'm bothered, but it's the usual "bothered". Nothing I'm unaccustomed to. Then I come to work and have to deal with this Don Imus shit.

I'm not going to get into it, but the asshole lost his MSNBC gig behind it. Good. Great. However, I had a day long email discussion that spilled over into an evening discussion at home that lead right into the second night of "Roots"...which I refused to watch. I wanted something light. That's right. "Dancing With The Stars."

Now, Laila Ali goes first, and she's good. Not as great as she's been before, but good. She gets shitty marks. I'm subconciously screaming "racism", but keeping it cool. I just dealt with slave raping and Imus in the last 24hrs. Don't take it personally Nye.

BUT THEN... Clyde Drexler gets shitty marks. I mean, he gets a "4"...which is un-fucking-heard of!!! So now, I'm just WAITING on Billy Ray Cyrus right, because this man moves as if he's autistic. And during the pasa doble... he does exactly what I thought he was going to do. He silently counts...he fucks up his foot work...flailing arms like a dying chicken od'ing on a gram of coke. So I think...OK. He's going to get shitty marks to...and that motherfucker gets "7"'s across the board!! So I turn to TV One. Fuck this...I'm watching "Roots".

And so I did. And the replay to catch everything I miss. And I get some more goodies...like "Breeding Wenches", "Nigger Gossip" and a few great groveling scenes that sorta went like "No boss! Toby be a good nigger for massa! You see! Toby be a good nigga boss!" with big wide grins on James Evans. JAMES EVANS kid! That's like seeing your father on the ground begging and shit...ooh, I'm mad.

So the next day, I grab my copy of "Voices From Slavery" and start reading some narratives on my way to work. And I can't lie, though I did come across some where the former slaves were treated well...I skimmed them. Who wants to hear about how "Massa sho was good. Us had plenty to eat, and new shoes every winter."? Not me. That just pissed me off, more so than the narratives about those who got whipped and had salt rubbed in the wounds...then left in the sun. (No lie.)
I was probably pissed because these slaves had no idea they weren't being treated well no matter how many shoes they got..because, um...hello... they were SLAVES.

So I'm on the Metro North and I'm hot and everytime I see someone trying to peek at my book title, I close it so my fellow passenger gets a good look at the title. That's fucking right.

I'm walking through Grand Central Station, and no longer do I see the random faces in the crowd that I ignore every morning. Suddenly, I'm fully fucking aware that I'm a decendant of slaves (who couldn't do shit about it), walking amongst decendants of slave owners. And I get angrier. Because NOW, I'm thinking, this sense of entitlement whites have is begat from their former status as slave owners and on a very elementary level, most still believe that shit. So now... I'm a lip curl and moan away from growling.

I get to work...and my next door neighbor says, "What's up Yo?" and he's not black.
Nothing new. It happens every day, but today, I HEAR it...and dig my nails into my flesh to prevent myself from going in his office and saying in my best Bobby DeNiro, "OHHH!...Paisan. You mouilan now? Then stop talking like us already! Fuggetabout it!!".

But I don't. Nor do I leave my office much. Especially so I don't have to talk to th co-worker who shared her family had "so much more" until the slaves on the plantation revolted. To which I replied, "Well, maybe if ya'll treated them better, they wouldn't have revolted." She laughed. I wasn't trying to be funny.

Back home...at 8pm. The next installment of "Roots".

Now in this one, Kunta has all the "run" beat out of him. He's old. He's broken. His daughter "Kizzy" (which means "stay put" in Mandika) is taught to read by Sandy Dunkin, and helps her man escape. Dude gets caught, confesses Kizzy forged a slave pass and Kizzy gets sold off. That bitch didn't even unpack and Massa rapes her while Helen Willis cleans her wounds. Kizzy then becomes...guess what? An "angry black woman", while her coon-ass son Chicken George dances and smiles.

At this point, I'm just sick. Yeah, men had it hard, but the women. DAMN. We were getting raped left and right and had no choice.

So I thought about it ya'll.

Like I said, I like my name. What if...at some point, some dude from, I don't know,
Kazakstan snatched me up on my way to work, strapped my ass to the bottom of a boat for three months, in which I was raped on a regular, forbade me to speak English, called me "Binti" and kept on raping me till I got knocked up. Then put me to work...
everyday...all day. Or just made me a "breeder". Or my owner's "Nigger wench"?

I used to hear about all of the mess going on in Africa and say, "Thank God for slavery" as a joke. I now realize that saying that, is a slap in the face to every woman in my maternal linage, from my mother...all the way up to that one young girl who survived being snatched away from her family in Africa, being raped repeatedly on a boat for well over three months, and then raped some more. She was so...unbelievable strong ...because she fucking SURVIVED it. Wow.

So from this day forth, you will not hear the word "Nigger" escape my lips. Nor will I tolorate mockery of my people from anyone else. ESPECIALLY my own. I hold my own more accountable than any other race. Oh...and if I hear "the N word", I will politely ask the person to say "Nigger" or nothing at all. If you are just using it to reference with no harm intended, there should be no shame in saying it. Should there?

And no, I'm not all of a sudden hating white people guys. They have nothing to do with the bullshit their ancestors put my ancestors through, so we can call it even and move on from this point. And I'm not an "angry black woman" either. It happened. I'm sure the Japanese, Irish and the Jews can meditate on what happened with their people as well and be quite pissed off too. Quite. Sure, the recovery time varies, but injustice has been done. So let's just say I'm a little more...aware now. And it feels fucking great.

So like I said, I love my name. It think it fits me. My parents gave me my name, and I'm very proud of it....(even if it does mean "New Zealand African American Bootie Call". Ha. Ha.) I'm also fully aware that I'm a hybrid of two or more cultures...be it by rape or consent. No need to be angry about it... because, hell, I'm here. And that's not because of Massa being in the slave quarter...that's because Charles and Loretta got hot in the pants, got busy and decided to ignore the "Roe Vs. Wade" verdict. (THANKS AGAIN!!)

Part Four is tonight. Check it out if you get a chance.

...Or at LEAST vote for Clyde Drexler....cuz that Billy Ray Cirus pasa doble was bullshit.

-Nye