A Christmas Story

I went to an Al Anon meeting this morning: Daily Serenity for Women. One of the women shared how her father, the alcoholic, allowed his little boy self out to celebrate his favorite holiday with his family. 

For me it was it's opposite

My father said one night when I was in bed that he was not giving credit for these gifts to a fat white man.

He was Santa Claus.

It was the year I got my first two wheel bike sans training wheels.

My dad told me he put the bike together, and since I said I could ride, I had to stay outside until I taught myself to ride. 

He kicked me out of the house that cold, cloudy day and told me not to return until I could ride it.

I have never forgotten this. I still see the scene as it was, and what the day looked like.

It was cold and lonely. I wondered if this bike was worth the isolation. I thought he'd help me. I thought he'd hold the bike while I balanced on the seat, with my feet on the pedals.

I don't remember how I figured it out. 

I don't remember the rest of the day

No one was outside.

No playmates.

No other families.

My little brother wasn't outside either.

Just me on the dreary day.

I think this is my last and only childhood Christmas memory. 

A Christmas Story 

My Christmas memories are from literature, TV specials, and movies. I still watch Christmas movies: the old black and white classics and their remakes like The Bishop's Wife. I also like the adult or family cartoons. I take myself to the theatre on Christmas sometimes to see a play.

Charlie Brown Peanuts specials kicked off the holiday season when I was a kid.  I'd watch the warmth and loving kindness expressed on these shows and programs.

I don't remember happiness at home. My father blew through like a chilly wind. He was winter. All my happy memories were those times he was absent.

I wished him gone when I later connected my despair to his presence. I wished him gone, but the grown people wished otherwise

He was mean and angry. He was a presence that made me uneasy.

Do I still fear him? Yes. My child self still walks on eggshells. He haunts me still.

My unhappiness didn't matter.

My fear didn't matter.

My enjoyment of the day didn't matter.

I am still the little girl bundled up, trying to ride her bike without training wheels on Brookdale Avenue.

Balance.

How do I balance so I stay upright and don't fall?

My staying upright has nothing to do with my father, yet it's all coming back.

I am my epicenter, not him.

I said I could ride a bike, and by sunset, I could stay upright. I remember my satisfaction and pride.

I did it. All my life, I have had to validate myself. Later, I would hear from others who were watching silently. I don't know how one has the life she has. Some of it is hard work. Some is inherited. Some is circumstantial and unwarranted. A lot of my life came from resistance, patience, and hard work.

I am who I am because I work at it. Life is a project I am fully vested in. I wear it. I am wearing it even those parts I have to patch and restitch and cover with long tops and wear long underwear beneath to stay warm. I am participating in this blessed opportunity.

Life is an opportunity.

When I was an adult I didn't celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving was the day I celebrated. We visited my mother and little sister in LA. It was a lovely tradition. Bilaliyah and I flew to LA, where Mama would be waiting at the airport.

We'd cook and eat and go to the Magic Johnson theatre to the holiday matinee. It was so fun being in the theatre with other Black families. We laughed and smiled and had such a lovely day together.

I remember the warm house. The good smells. The loving servings of just what I needed to sustain me when I stepped back into the reality that was my life at home.

It was awful. I learned my mother’s life was awful too. We conjured heavenly bliss between us each visit which we scooped into Tupperware. I remember thawing it out in the refrigerator months later and noticed it had evaporated.

Happiness can't be contained.

Yet... For that moment together we were safe from harm and could love each other and focus on the good we had with each other. The problems didn't go away but we could bracket what we couldn't control--our spouses. We could bracket them and keep the focus on ourselves and our children and it was lovely.

I think we modeled self-care. No matter what was going on in our individual lives we stepped away from the craziness and found peace with each other. I don't remember when we stopped visiting but those memories are precious.

It was a childhood reenactment. I remember how much fun we had when Daddy was gone. Funny those moments followed me into adulthood. I married my father and found happiness in those spaces he was not.

It was an awful marriage. It was an awful childhood. I cannot remember happiness in any home I had to share with anyone except my children and my mother when I was a child.

Now that I am an adult, I like my solitude. I live alone intentionally. I have peace.

I don't mind visitors, but I want them to leave.

August Wilson's King Hedley II@Lower Bottom Playaz

A Review by Wanda Sabir

King Hedley II is the ninth play in August Wilson's Century Cycle. Set in 1985, it premiered in 1999. The story picks up the lives, loves and secrets stirred in Seven Guitars, set in 1948, which premiered in 1995. Wilson's characters carry the sins of other fathers. The disease of racism and white supremacy colors their world. Wilson's characters are trapped like Truman in a TV show. Everyone is watching. Wilson's characters think the set is real when all they have to do is stop participating in their own destruction. Walk off the set. Leave the tools of the master behind. No one does so here or just outside BAM House on Broadway in Oakland. 

Although it is 1985, it could be 2025. Trump, oops, Reagan, is midway in his presidential reign of terrorism (1981-1989). King Hedley II is a young Black man with a dream who doesn't stand a chance. King, who has recently been released from prison, says the clock is moving backwards: his life was worth $1200 when he was enslaved. Now that he is free, he is only worth $3.00 an hour. $1,200 in 1860 would be worth approximately $46,840 today. Slave wages in Pennsylvania today are $7.25 an hour.[1]

King Hedley (LBP veteran actor Koran Streets) and his friend Mister (actor Kennzeil Love) talk a lot about money-- who has money and how to get more money. Money has value. Black people do not. "During Reagan’s last year in office the African American poverty rate stood at 31.6%, as opposed to 10.1% for whites. Black unemployment remained double that of whites throughout the decade. By 1990, the median income for black families was $21,423, 42% below white households. The Reagan administration did little to address such disparities and in many ways intensified them. Furthermore, the New Right threatened the legal principles and federal policies of the rights revolution and the Great Society. Reagan appointed conservative opponents of affirmative action to lead the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (future Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas) and the Civil Rights Commission while sharply reduced their funding and staffing levels. Federal spending cuts disproportionately affected AFDC, Medicaid, food stamps, school lunch, and job training programs that provided crucial support to African American households.”[2]

King Hedley II, Wilson's ninth reel in his centennial saga on Black life, extends a story started in Seven Guitars, where a funeral is the first scene. There, we meet a vivacious young Ruby, King and Mister's fathers and Elmore, a hustler hopelessly in love with Ruby. Portrayed by Ayodele Nzinga, an older Ruby, King's mother is back. However, too much time is between the two and King doesn't want to have anything to do with the woman who abandoned him. In Artistic Director, Nzinga and Assistant Director Cat Brooks' capable hands, Lower Bottom Playaz's King Hedley II is conception, hope, and dreams of the future. King Hedley II is childbirth: blood, pain and a lingering afterbirth. Where do the dead bury the dead? And do they stay buried?

Nope. Here, the dead walk.

King visits the cemetery often. His ancestors have the answers he seeks. At home, he plants seeds in a garden where he sees growth invisible to most eyes. He sees his potential too and protects its roots. He plants seeds in his wife and pleads with Tonya (actor Niko Buchanan) to bring in the harvest. The young wife loses her husband early on to imprisonment. Hedley returns after seven years, but his absence shifts things between them.  Buchanan's Tonya is clear. She suffers no illusions that King loves a dead woman more than her. She is also clear that Black children, especially Black boys, have no future. She is having none of that in her world. Tonya is the slave mother who smothers her child rather than let it live in bondage. 

Actor Streets' King is angry. Flames roll from his persona like flint ready to explode. He is combustible. When Actor Reginald Wilkins' Elmore walks onto the set and strikes a match King's world blows up. Wilkins' Elmore is also immaculate. He changes his suit often, yet, his persona remains the same. He's cunning and dangerous.

King Hedley II is a reunion of sorts. Ruby is tired now and willing to settle for less...much less. 

Fatherlessness is a theme, but so is motherloss. How does anyone survive such losses when systemic racism makes righteous Black self-determination a pipe dream? When Elmore appears from the past like Esu Legba standing at an intersection, traffic stops—the illusion interrupted.  King has returned from prison after killing a man. He's trying to get his life together. His dream is to open a video store with his friend, Mister. They are selling refrigerators to raise the down payment on the shop. We don't see the refrigerators, but we assume the merchandise is hot. $250 is a lot, so the appliances are moving slowly. The two youngsters are joined by Elmore, a bigger con artist.  At 66, Elmore is 30 years older and has also spent significant time in prison. He, too, has killed a man.

This killing of Black men by Black men seems like a macabre rite of passage into what one wonders? Ruby says early in the play that Elmore is bad news. Run and hide all that is precious to you. He is a gambler who never loses. No one believes her; however, at the end of the play, Elmore’s shadow has dimmed all the lights. Hope has packed and moved along down the street. King Hedley is a sad story, but all Wilson's plays are tragedies. Yet, despite the horror that restricts possibly... Wilson's characters never lose hope. They never squander their joy. They know happiness, no matter how short-lived. That said, King Hedley is nonetheless brutal. Stephanie Johnson's lighting and the chorus in the form of musical interludes and prophetic exhortation do not prepare the audience for its conclusion.

King Hedley II is one of the few Wilson plays that centers a mother's story. In this production, Lower Bottom Playaz Artistic Director, Dr. Ayodele Nzinga brings to the stage a Ruby who has made an awkward peace with circumstances and once again, finds home.  The older Ruby is rather pitiful. Elements of the film Monsters Ball appear in King Hedley II. Monster's Ball is a Medea story, and so is King Hedley.  Ruby exercises no common sense in her choices of men. The second act is where we learn her secret. Ill winds are kicking up ghosts, and a disturbed ghost is not a creature one wants around.

Elmore brings stormy weather. Why stir the dead? Why rattle death's cages? Why destroy a manchild's dreams? If we were to apply intent vs. impact to Elmore's decision, we'd tell him to keep his mouth shut. But Aunt Ester, the sage whose presence in the community was a counterbalance to the evil people participate in, is gone—She is an ancestor now, and no one listens to anyone else, not even to Stool Pigeon (LBP veteran actor Pierre Scott), the resident prophet who conjures and quotes scripture contextualized within current events.

King Hedley investigates violence: interpersonal, communal, and political. It shows how a disenfranchised community can implode on itself given the proper tools. “In 1982 the National Urban League’s annual “State of Black America” report concluded that “[n]ever [since the first report in 1976]…has the state of Black America been more vulnerable. Never in that time have black economic rights been under such powerful attack.’ The stigma of violent crime also hung over African American communities during the Reagan years. Homicide was the leading cause of death for black males between 15 and 24, occurring at a rate six times higher than for other Americans.”[3] Nzinga says in Director’s Program Notes, “This play is for today. It is for the moment in which we sit…holding our [collective] breath, as safety nets are pulled away when the cost of [staying alive] rises. We have seen this movie before…”.

Stool Pigeon, Ruby's neighbor, exhorts God who is present in all the lives on stage. However, King Hedley is a play where choice, not fate, leads to unpleasant outcomes. Yes, the Hill District is in Pittsburgh, America, where Black boys are allowed to clean up after others and expected to be grateful for the opportunity. King is not grateful. He is proud of his heritage and is taught that he can be and do anything he can imagine.  This is dangerous for a young Black boy. King is noble and honorable despite the mistakes he makes. He expects justice and learns there is no justice for him. I love the scene where he, Mister, and Stool Pigeon, talk about personal responsibility and what belongs to God and what belongs to them.

In another scene, King argues with his wife about her pregnancy and why it's important to him. He shares with his wife how seeing his victim's headstone at the cemetery where he visits his late wife troubled him. He says he hadn't thought about all the lives he harmed when he killed another person. King Hedley is also a story about unresolved grief. All the characters are grieving something or someone or both. King realizes and says so to Mister and Stool Pigeon. He says killing another person did not increase his stock value or raise his self-esteem. In fact, when he took another person’s life, it diminished his humanity. It was a moment of reckoning that passed too quickly. In the second act, King is back with vengeance. He is more determined now to start his own business, to be someone he can be proud of.

I think about Tupac's poem, The Rose that Grew from Concrete.[4] Hedley is that flower surrounded by other seeds. The ground is so hard all around him; it’s hard to push up to the light. Aunt Ester's red door features prominently in the set which is an open yard, two tenement apartment buildings, and a garden out front where King is stewarding his garden. The seeds are newly planted, so there isn't much to see yet, but King is excited about the possibility.

Beauty is present. Hope is present. There is an excitement Ruby allows herself to feel before reality crashes in on her. King is also excited. He can see his dream realized.

A flowerbed also shares space with a graveyard--the Babalawo, a term meaning "Father of Secrets," actor Scott’s “Stool Pigeon” casts spells. He is a holy man. Everyone in the "yard" respects him, even though he supposedly ratted on somebody. In African culture, there is no good or bad; things just are what they are. As reality sets in, resignation vies with acceptance, sorrow with hope. Trauma does this to a community.  Characters run away from social and political indignities. However, they eventually must face the situation that frightens them, the circumstances they grieve over. "Why can't we all get along?" Rodney King asked. Why indeed? Elmore has a soul wound he is determined to clean. It doesn’t matter that his recovery will cause great harm.

Most of the elders on the set are carrying secrets. Some secrets need to stay hidden. 

In recovery communities, we learn to examine our motives.  King goes to the graveyard to examine his motives, to talk it out, to let tempers cool. But he runs hot, and Elmore likes to wager. King is also a gambler. Elmore’s revelation upsets a precarious balance.  There is blood as in kinship and blood as in violence. Stool Pigeon says that when the body dies, one is not dead. The older man plants flowers and says blood will guarantee rebirth. 

Wilson’s King Hedley is a layered cake with secrets hidden inside. Perhaps a better analogy is a bible with a hollow center. In prison breaks, it holds a gun. The ending is a stunning tabloid.

The metaphor of circles or spheres of influence is mentioned. The question asked is what if your circle is eclipsed by another's? Ruby's space is not consecrated. She is trying to make amends to her son. He wants to forgive her, and then hesitates. They even dance in Act 2, Scene 4. Perhaps King Hedley is an atonement work? Are the wrongdoers looking for forgiveness, peace?

Relationships are another theme in King Hedley. When King asks Mister why his girlfriend left and took all his furniture, Mister says she wanted him to change. I don't know how the outcome could have been any different in King Hedley, but it is sad. Aunt Ester is the woman people would travel from great distances to tell secrets too. She is dead now. King told secrets to his dead lover. Aunt Ester also helped people who'd done wrong reset their moral clocks. In the absence of her guiding hand, the mortals are clumsy and mess things up.

King is a product of the Hill. He is Aunt Ester's child, too. He is trying to make things right, recover, and make amends for the sins of his fathers. I am rambling. It's a great story. The acting and direction are superb! Wilkins is an amazing Esu Legba crossed with Mephistopheles! Beware y'all.

We wonder what choices Ruby had when she learned she was pregnant. The saga ends, but the characters keep the story alive long after the curtain closes. No theatre company does August Wilson like Lower Bottom Playaz, which means the production directed by Dr. Ayodele Nzinga, LBP Artistic Director, and Ms. Brooks, Assistant Director, is an experience one doesn't want to miss. King Hedley II is closing this weekend: Friday-Saturday, November 28-29, 7 pm, Sunday, November 30, 2 pm downtown Oakland @BAM House, 1540 Broadway. 

For Tickets, visit The Lower Bottom Playaz Box Office

 

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[1] In California, minimum wage will be $16.90 an hour January 1, 2026.

[2] https://courses.lumenlearning.com/suny-ushistory2ay/chapter/african-american-life-in-reagans-america-2/

[3] https://courses.lumenlearning.com/suny-ushistory2ay/chapter/african-american-life-in reagans-america-2/#:~:text=Ronald Reagan's America presented African, nomination in 1984 and 1988.

[4] The Rose that Grew from Concrete

 

Alice Coltrane Tribute@The Freight in Berkeley

The Alice Coltrane Tribute@The Freight and Salvage in Berkeley was amazing. Michelle, her daughter, was musical director. The evening was spirituality uplifting-- a blend of the sacred and secular.  Center stage was a photo of Alice Coltrane or Swamini Turiyasangitananda surrounded by flowers and lights.  Seashells framed her photo. The name Turiyasangitananda translates to "the Transcendental Lord's Highest Song of Bliss." Swamini means teacher. 

The altar was raised. Marigolds were scattered along the stage perimeter with tea lights. On the side of the stage one of the banners from Monumental Eternal@the Hammer Museum, graced the stage. It was nice seeing daughter and mom-ancestor on stage together. 

Destiny Muhammad was also amazing. Remember her Alice Coltrane tribute: Journey in Satchidananda @the Malonga Casquelorde Center for the Arts? Love Destiny's recording too. It would have been nice to have heard Alice's gospel and bluesy influences on the organ. The ensemble was excellent. Besides Destiny, I knew Deszon Claiborne, the drummer. Here is the complete lineup: Michelle Coltrane (Vocals), Lisa E. Harris (Vocals), Arianna Gouveia (Vocals), Shea Welsh (Guitar), Tateng Katindig (Piano), Brian Juarez (Bass), Deszon Claiborne (Drums), Tristan Harrison Cappel (Saxophone / flute), and Destiny Muhammed (Harp).

The encore was "A Love Supreme" which Alice recorded on her album World Galaxy, which was released in 1972.

There were recordings and photos shared during the performance which called Alice Coltrane into the 

Closing song: A Love Supreme adaptation

Tonight A Love Supreme featured spoken word or rap. It was a fitting close to a lovely evening. The family is now focused on the Coltrane home estate. The vision is an art center. 

 https://thecoltranehome.org/about-the-home/mission-and-vision/

AfroSolo@32 Finale

AfroSolo@32 was amazing! Congratulations to all the performers and to Thomas Simpson who has been curating this amazing showcase through the various politcal mine fields and temperate landscapes which wanted Black excellence to vanish. For several seasons now he has featured the work of elders, elders who participate in one of many workshops hosted in San Francisco's Bayview Hunter's Point community.

AfroSolo continues with "Stop, Show and Control," Tuesday, November 4 at the San Francisco Main Library in a program addressing police stops and how to stay safe. 

https://afrosolo.org/events/go-soar-stop-show-and-control/

This 32nd season highlighted the work of Darlene Roberts, Sistas wid Gaps, poet and community activist and organizer of the successful Jazz in Fillmore series. Her poem, a lyrical libation paid homage to the legacy of Black music, the score one of sorrows and success. Dressed closing afternoon in red and black, a fez and beautifully embossed jacket, Ms. Roberts was elegant. Mr. JJ Jackson was also dapper in his suit and bowler hat. However it was his blue beard and matching eyebrows that lent dramatic flare to a wonderful story of finding love. He and Ms. Roberts grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Went to the same schools, but didn't make the connection until they both met here in San Francisco at Thomas's writing group.

JJ Jackson portrayed all the roles from his mother to the pastor and Sunday school teacher who carried stories in her bag. He followed her to another church where he learned of God's love. He was seven and had never felt such a thing before. Though he didn't tell of his journey from then to now, God's love has continued to sustain this elder whose memory of that moment remains.

Ms. Augustene Phillips opened with Kendrick Lamar's SuperBowl Half-time performance "Not Like Us." Her story explored secret codes, initiations and legacies. Lamar's work is clearly linked to an ancestral tributary which only the initiated fully understand.

Like Marvin Gaye and Dr. King, whom Ms. Augustene cited, Lamar too knows what's going on. His performance addressed a rivery or problem--misogyny and sexual abuse: pedophilia. Lamar called his industry peer, Drake, out as he should.

Ms. Augustene didn't address the controversy. She shared how she had to dig deep, that is use her analytical tools to understand his meaning. Plain talk it was not.

I love Lamar's work. I was at Half-time too that Sunday afternoon. I taught Lamar's compositions in a unit on Black Panther, the film. Lamar composed the music and directed the collaboration with other artists. Seehttps://wandasabir.blogspot.com/search?q=Black+panther

Honorable ancestors used their platforms to correct wrongs and absolve the innocent Ms. Augustene said as she listed Lamar's awards like multiple Grammy and NAACP awards and a Pulitzer Prize.

Too often in this society girls and women are sexually abused and no one is held accountable. Right on Lamar! The SuperBowl is perhaps the biggest platform one could use to blast a wrong doer.

"Not like us," Lamar sang as his fans sang along. People who do these things are not like us: we don't stand with them, nor do we let them get away with it. Loved it! https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cz0l5m5m943o

I digress. I'd forgotten this historic moment until Ms. Augustene reminded me, and how happy I was to recall it. This before the current administration was convicted of similar crimes. Nothing changes until we change it. Right?! This is a lesson African Ancestors activated and Lamar continues. Our ancestors live in us! Right on! Brother Lamar.

James Cagney opened with tribute to his mother and father who raised him. Cagney's poetry conjured gardens, steamy kitchens, bubbling pots. We could feel the love all around him...tangible, nurturing. Cagney's work was funny and reminded some of us of experiences fewer and fewer have. Who remembers rotary phones? His sestina about ordering a sandwich with everything except tomatoes was a lovely close to the first part of the program.

This year Thomas didn't participate. Last year, he shared a film version of one of his stories. It was a AI directed collaboration.

Unique Derique closed the program with a wonderful tribute to some of America's tap dance heroes who performed at a time when to be Black and on stage meant a person could only portray characters that affirmed racial stereotypes. Yet these men nonetheless injected dignity into social roles meant to degrade. We watched short clips and archival films. The choreographer opened with a libation and drumming salute at an altar he'd created.

After giving us the history of these artists, Lance McGee as Unique Derique then shared body percussion with us stylistically integrated with juggling, soft shoe and mime.

A high point was audience participation. He threw one of three (maybe four) hats into the audience and asked without words for the lucky person to throw it back so it landed on his head. No one had a good aim. Moving right along, the actor needed help with his chicken percussion, so once again he left the spotlight and headed upstairs where we sat.

He found a really cool guy in the audience to help him with sound. What was cool was his lollipop. It never left his mouth. The chicken routine with an added whirly stick -- you know the plastic tube that sounds like wind when you make a fast circle in the air? It's a fun toy. Anyhoo, it was rather complicated managing a reluctant fowl under one's armpit and the whirly toy too, but after a few tries the two men worked it out to Derique's unique syncopation. 

It was cool. The historian performer shifted elegantly between lecture and demonstration. His finale, a seated hambone which lyrically called into the space the creativity that marks our collective Afrosoul presence in the world then and now, was well, stellar Unique Derique.

Soar(ing) as literal and figurative metaphor was an aspect in all the performances this 32nd annual AfroSolo.

However, I don't think I've ever attended an AfroSolo performance where the ancestors were such a central aspect to the work. From Darlene Roberts to Unique Derique ancestral voices lingered. Invited into the theatre at the start of the program and released at its conclusion. As I write this, I feel them still. Ase!

Applause and announcements:

Thomas Simpson gives closing remarks to applause.

Sojourner Truth's Walk to Freedom, October 1826

 In 1826, Isabella, later renamed Sojourner Truth was promised early freedom in New York if she completed a year's work early. When she did as asked, Dumont, her owner reneged on his promise that spring. That fall, Isabella prayed and says her God told her to pack her things, prepare her baby, Sophia for the journey and leave.

The 29 year old woman did not run. She walked into freedom. Later, the family that sheltered her paid Dumont wages he said he'd lose in the months between October and July 4, 1927. In 1927, New York was going to begin to free enslaved Africans. 

Isabella had made arrangements with Dumont to be freed earlier. The Van Wagener couple also paid Dumont for the baby. This generosity legally set Isabella Van Wagener free. She took her benefactors' name.

I want to celebrate Truth's freedom walk. We don't know the day, but we know the month: October. We claim the entire month. 

"So Tall Within" (2018) author, Gary D. Schmidt is a Michigan native-- Sojourner Truth's final home state, a Newberry Honoree and National Book Award finalist. Ilustrator, Daniel Minter, is a Corretta Scott King and Caldecott award winning artist who lives in Maine.  Minter's artistry is a lovely complement to Schmidt's story of a powerful ancestor, Sojourner Truth, whose faith and belief in God was unparalleled. Written for a young audience, the author stays close to Truth's "Narrative" in the retelling. "So Tall Inside" is reflective yet not traumatizing. It is a beautiful book in multiple ways. 

Key ideas which will resonate with young readers are: slavery is an evil system--it separates a young girl from her family. Other themes are: parental love, self-determination, compassion, trustworthiness, and of course freedom. 

Isabella later Sojourner Truth introduced in "So Tall," has courage and foresight. Her principles and values grew her from within. She is brave. She trusts God. 

Her parents, Mau Mau Bette and her dad, known as Baumfree (Dutch for "tree") because he stood tall and upright, raised their youngest child to obey and do good work.  

Sojourner Truth grew into a woman who was uncompromising in her vision for Black women and Black men. She advocated freedom both from shackled minds and bound hands. She spoke out for full and complete freedom: politically, economically and spiritually-- in the public and private domain. Sex and race had nothing to do with freedom. She exemplified fearlessness. 

You can see the book in this recording. 

An Ancestor Story

Once there was this lady, let's called her Ms. Wanda, whose favorite holiday was Halloween. It had been her favorite since childhood, when she dressed up as Wanda the witch.

Ms. Wanda grew up in San Francisco. She attended John McLaren Elementary School. In first grade, her school had a Halloween parade. Wanda marched with her classmates around the school yard twirling her skirt and waving at her mom, who was there. Later, Wanda and her classmates had cupcakes as the teacher read them a scary story. After dinner, that same evening, Wanda and her brother went trick-or-treating with their mom and friends in the neighborhood. People ran and hid from Wanda, the Witch. She thought it was so funny.  It was her first and last Halloween as a child, but she still loved dressing up in costumes at home and thinking about haunted houses and goblins and brews and spells.

It wasn't until Iya or Mama Wanda was a grown person that she realized her affinity with this masquerade had to do with ancestors. Iya Wanda was interested in her ancestors. Who were the people who were responsible for her existence in this flesh body?  Mama Wanda remembered her Grandmother Rosetta and her Grandfather Henry Joseph, but she didn't know her Grandmother Josephine or her mother's father or their parents. When Iya Wanda got bigger she wanted to know their stories and to visit New Orleans where she was born and where these ancestors lived.

The road to New Orleans was circuitous which means twisty, like Damballah or a snake. In the meantime Iya Wanda learned more about ancestors and how to honor them.

Did you know our ancestors live in us? Well they do. Once the flesh body dies or returns to the earth the soul is everywhere. We can call our honored ancestors and ask for help.

All people who die are not honorable. Some leave work undone. Sometimes their descendants complete tasks for them, not always. In this story we are speaking of honorable ancestors: family members who lived useful lives, people whose good deeds continue to benefit our family and other families in our community.

We call their names out loud and say Ase! Ase means let the words have power.

We want to live honorable lives that improve the world we were born into. We want to leave the world a better place than when we entered it.  This is an honorable goal. Before she got to return to her ancestral birthplace in New Orleans and Logtown Mississippi, Iya Wanda lived for a short while across the street from a cemetery in Oakland on MacArthur Blvd. and 65th Avenue. Yes. Evergreen Mortuary. Later she would learn the history of some of the people buried there and even visit a dear friend, Sister Makinya when she died many years later.

Cousin Wanda didn't know that New Orleans, her birthplace, was known for its cemeteries. A city below sea-level, New Orleans buries its dead above ground so the cemeteries are little cities. New Orleans is also a city known for its African Spirituality. Vodun is a religion captive Africans created in this new world. It blended their indigenous rites with the captors' Christian faith. African ancestral reverence traveled here, to the Americas, with these people from Dahomey, today called Benin. A major slave port, Africans were brought to Louisiana from many countries.

These are Cousin Wanda's early ancestors, but her family's story might have begun in Georgia or Alabama. This Diaspora woman has roots in southern Mississippi, Pearl River County, where the NASA test site sits.  There is a family cemetery in Pearlington. She and a friend took flowers there as they read names from tombstones. Many headstones were crumbled or broken. Vandals had desecrated this holy place. Her Cousin Thelma and her Auntie Henrietta were with Iya Wanda that day and knew many of the names without legible markers. Cousin Thelma also knew where Grandmother Josephine's remains were. Auntie Henrietta showed her niece where her two children were buried. 

Ancestral remains or bones occupy multiple physical locations outside Pearl River County, Iya Wanda learned that day. Some ancestors' are laid to rest in military cemeteries. These ancestors were US soldiers who fought for freedom.

It's a good thing spirit is everywhere. It's also good that ancestors live in you and me, which means wherever we go, there they are.

The more Wanda learned about her ancestors, the more excited she became, and she shared this excitement with her daughters.

She made an ancestor altar in her living room next to a big window. On the altar she has photos of ancestors, plus a bowl of water, candles, shells, a shaker, flowers, dolls and other special objects. Under the altar on the floor she has holy water from travels to Zimbabwe, Ethiopia, Tanzania-Zanzibar and Ghana. There are also shells and rock salt for protection. Nearby there are books and a binder full of obituaries. The pilgrim or traveler keeps the binder open to the page with her Grandmother Josephine and Great Aunt Tootsie's photos. Her Cousin Mary told Wanda stories about these two women when she'd visit her in Bay St. Louis.

Cousin Wanda, Mama Wanda, Iya Wanda's name means "wanderer." It is the perfect name for this curious woman who wants to know her history, who loves secrets of her past.

There are two comfortable chairs in front of the altar. Mama Wanda sits with her ancestors often. It is a calming place. Every morning she greets her ancestors by shaking a rattle and saying a prayer as she sprays special water that has been prayed over. Her ancestral altar became too full so she made another altar. Iya Wanda got a bit carried away and has altars in most rooms in her house on her dresser, book shelves, kitchen counter, kitchen table...most flat surfaces near a window there are candles, moon water, dolls, African shakers, heritage stamps, coins, gourds, books, trinkets from travels.

While in Bahia, Brazil, Iya Wanda picked up special artifacts representing African Spirituality. Esu-Legba guards the front door. There is water and a candle too. Photos taken in Senegal at a shrine or mosque to an African Saint, Cheikh Amadou Bamba also greets those who enter. He was a warrior who protested with prayer and freed his country from French invaders. Another photo of a fisherman seated at Elmina Dungeon in Ghana, protects the entrance to Iya Wanda's home too.

Ancestors have a special place in this elder's heart, which is why she enjoys Halloween. Even if children dressed to trick or treat do not know the origin story of Halloween or the stories of cultures that honor their dead, Halloween still counts.

One year TaSin and her mom, Iya Wanda, visited a Dia de Los Muertos celebration in Michoacán, a state in west-central Mexico, known for its ceremonies honoring the dead. The two of them took a crowded bus from Guanajuato, where TaSin was staying while attending an art college. It was raining when they arrived, but people put up tents and prepared meals to honor their dead at the cemetery.

The mother and daughter walked quietly among the devout worshippers, paying homage to their beloved family who were now angels watching over the living. Laughter and conversations sprinkled the air too. Later at other ceremonies at home and in the Diaspora, this scene would remind Iya Wanda of the importance of sacred remembrance.

While in Madagascar during another journey, mother and daughter learned of a ceremony where families removed their loved ones from their tombs or family crypts to unwrap and rewrap their bones. It's called Famadihana, or the Turning of the Bones, a Malagasy tradition that takes place between July and October every five to seven years.

There is music and food, drinking and dancing. It's a big party for the dead. It is an expensive ceremony that doesn't happen as often as it once did. Sadly, when families do not share these practices with the youth, eventually no one remembers how to perform the rite. TaSin and her mom used to talk about returning to witness it.

Be curious. Ask your parents what their ancestors liked to eat, what they did for fun. Remember what your parents enjoy now so once their flesh body returns to the earth, you will be able to honor them with your hands and feet.

Halloween is an affirmation or acknowledgement that there is life after life. Life after life isn't scary or spooky. That's the trick.

All Saints Day follows Halloween. It is a Christian Day set aside to formally honor the ancestors. Families and communities light candles, pray and give thanks to the Ancestors and the Spirit that guides us all. Some call this spirit, God or Goddess. No matter its name, the Ase or life force that moves through you and me connects all life, human and sentient beings. We are one. Nothing really dies. Life is a continuous cycle. What we plant today grows tomorrow even when we can't see how far our seeds have traveled or what lives our deeds or seeds have touched.

Make an altar for your honored ancestors. Share a piece of candy with them when you return from trick or treating. Sit at your altar and tell your ancestors about Halloween.

Ancestors love stories. Make a habit of visiting often. You don't have to talk. You can sit still and take 4 slow breaths in as you count 1-2-3-4. Hold your breath on 4 and breathe out 4-3-2-1. Do this 4 times. You might want to put one hand on your heart and the other hand just below your navel.

You can sing a song. You can draw a picture. You can share a meal, especially if it's a meal your ancestor liked while in its flesh body.

The realms or spaces between here and there are close.

Iya Wanda is now a grandmother. Since her younger grandsons were born, she's been trick-or-treating with them.

First it was Legend. Then it was Legend and Wise. Now it's Legend, Wise, and Hero. One year, the boys' mom and dad were superheroes. How cool is that?!

Maybe one day, Grandmother Wanda might be persuaded to dress up as Wanda the witch.

For old times' sake. Hum.

Happy Halloween, Beloved Ancestors! Ase.

Tauhi Awards 2025

The Tauhi Awards at Eastside Arts Alliance was a phenomenal event hosted by Paradise Free Jah Love. I walked in as he was pouring water for Casper Banjo. What a lovely man and artist. He was know for his brick wall imagery. I used to see him on AC Transit. We'd ride together. He attended my daughter, TaSin Sabir's curated art shows when she was a student at the California College of Arts and Crafts (now CCA).

When I met Paradise, he was known as Richard Moore. We immediately bonded around spoken words or poetry. He'd studied at Xavier University. He was a basketball star whom I believed also played professionally overseas.

Later, when I met him, he was caregiver for his grandmother at the Senior Center on Adeline where Sister Makinya Kouate organized many community teach-ins, most involving heath practices for longevity.

Saturday, October 18, found Paradise in regal finery: white brocade with matching shoes. Even his face mask glittered. Honored were pioneering cultural warriors like Naru, Karen Mims, Leon Williams, Korise, Gene Howell, Jr., and others who layed deep institutional foundations for the ground so many walk on today. 

What I enjoyed most were the Ancestral role call that proceeded the honorees. I knew most of the inductees. Present in the audience were Reginal Locket's daughter and mother. I recalled Reginald as the unofficial Poet Laureate of Oakland, California. He published Words Upon the Waters, A Poetic Response to Hurricane Katrina 20 years ago. This book and the fundraiser and art auction ar LA Pena Cultural Center raised funds for Katrinia Survivors. We collaborated with the director of the Center for Independent Living who joined us at the fundraiser. Our focus was on the more vulnerable survivors, people with disabilities and the elderly. Assistive technologies such as walkers, wheelchairs, etc., were shipped to Texas and Louisiana where many were relocated. Many poets honored at the Tahuti Awards participated like Lee Williams.

Lee was at our update. Every year for ten years we hosted an update. Many survivors relocated to California. Many of these survivors were in Northern California. The San Francisco Bay View Newspaper has a columnist who kept us up-to-date as her husband tried to rebuild so his family could return home. I had students who were survivors; however, everyone suffered loss.

Given the fact that I am a New Orleans native my new work shared at the Awards ceremony spoke of the Great Flood, Maafa Hurricane Katrina.

Paradise gave me special honor. My award says:

The Tahudi Awards (for Community Service, welcomes) Wanda Sabir. She who Moves with Purpose

Poetry Celebration, MAAFA, West Oakland to West Africa into The International Black Writer's & Artists and Bay Area Black Hall of Fame, October 18, 2025.

I was also a member of Black Poets with Attitude, an all women spoken word ensemble that featured Avotcja, Abimbola Adama and Beverly Jarrett. 

I hosted Café Poetry at La Pena Cultural Center the last Wednesday of the month for at least ten years. Paradise hosted fourth Wednesdays and offered me the fifth Wednesdays. I took it. During my tenure I invited special guests from my college classes at Contra Costa College and later Laney College and elsewhere. I was a Road Scholar and my office was the back seat of my Dodge Colt. 

Piri Thomas mentored me as did the poets in Black Poets with Attitudes. I remember when Beverly Jarrett told me I had a unique writing voice. I hadn't known our words sing silently from the page. I was writing for the Montclarion at that time and I'd get published yet not always see the article(s). She read the article which she said sounded like me and then she looked at the by-line and it was me. 

I thought that both funny and amazing. Beverly had also steered me towards a job at the Volunteer Center of Alameda County. She knew I believed in service to the community and thought it perfect.

I don't remember who told me about the internship program at Peralta Community Colleges, but that was how I became a teacher there. I still taught at Contra Costa. Later I would teach at Chabot and even Holy Names College. I was teaching at a different college for every day of the work week which sometimes included weekends. 

I had two dependents to support. Funny how when a person divorces, the custodial parent foots the majority bill while the parent with the often greater income only provides a pittance. Where is the justice in that.

I just loved reflecting on our cultural ancestors. I don't know if Michael Lange or Slim was mentioned before I arrived. I also didn't hear Kamau Seitu's name called. I would perform with the African Rhythm Ensemble's open mic at Sade's Kafre's on Sunday afternoon in West Oakland. 

I remember the bassist, Al, asking me what I wanted him to play. I'd never thought about what key I wanted to accompany me. 

When Leon Williams and I performed together I let him offer suggestions. I think I later developed a language to describe what I wanted. Charles Blackwell would hear certain melodies when I shared work with him and I would write his suggestions on the poem in parentheticals so I'd remember if such an opportunity presented itself.

Ah, memories. Paradise is so generous. I will never forget how he helped me with the African American Celebration through Poetry. He put out a call and Black poets came. This is how I met Darlene Richards, President of the International Black Writers and Artists local in San Francisco. I also loved the other Black Writers organization. I remember we'd have poetry readings where food was served and the businesses wouldn't appreciate our residency without patronage. Most of us were hand to mouth, so our tenure was short lived. 

Bookstores were better and libraries the best. Gene and I hosted a writing workshop at the West Oakland Library. I hosted family literacy summer writing workshops there too. 

The Tahuti Awards ceremony was a success. I hadn't been to Eastside Arts Alliance in years. There is a large housing complex at the center of the block the street narrowed with two lanes. As I walked from 22nd Avenue I had to walk in the street. People were playing with a pitbull unleashed. There was feces in the center of the sidewalk. I crossed to the other side of the street as I returned. Broken glass was along the curb. I pit a quarter in the meter which swallowed without a belch. 

I couldn't get into my car until the light on East 12th was red. I was in a dangerous zone. Cars racing uphill too close for comfort. 

Brother Tahuti had my back and other ancestors my side. Together they got me safely home. Ase.