The Art of Self Adornment – Henna
I snapped this in Marrakkesh; our guide pointed to the small crowd in a nonchalant way at the same time trying to be informative as a zookeeper is informative about the mating rituals of monkeys. It was his tone, the undertone if you will, describing this thing that women do – henna. These women were in line mind you; their henna hand art was for sale. I wanted desperately to let the rest of the group go on while I got mine done, but this would have been gender-line crossing heresy. Our guide would have never understood my desire to do this womanly thing. It would have been embarrasing (not to me…).
Missing Morocco
I miss Morocco. The breadth and call five times a day. The men who almost look like me, their hair like mine. I miss the push of the street, the meat, the vegetables, the village dust. I miss the mint tea, the no protein for breakfast but perhaps a little yoghurt and an egg. I miss the rose water in our riad, the fear/excitement of not knowing a language (are you Berber?)
Black History Month – Busting Jim Crow Tennis
My great uncle is famous for losing. It was a big loss and a historical win at the same time. He lost to this man – Don Budge grand slam champ in 1940. Uncle Jimmy was the ATA tennis champ at the time. I wonder what it is like to be a famous loser/winner? Jim Crow tennis got busted that day. I don't know much about any of this from my own family. What I do know is Jimmy and my grandmother Aileen were brothers and sisters. I know my Dad and Jimmy's son Willis were practically best friends/brothers since they eventually ended up together (read raised) by my great grandmother Ruby McDaniel. I know my father used to talk a bit about tennis and golf in LA and not being so impressed with being around crackers and all of that. Tough talk I know. Life is complicated. Life isn't what it seems it should be. I read recently in an excerpt from an eBook on blacks and tennis that Jimmy was sent from LA to Northern California on a statutory rape charge – getting a 15 year old White girl pregnant. This is the kind of stuff you read about because no one in your family is going to talk this type of stuff out loud. Still – losing makes you stronger. I am proud of this winning loser!
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,761915,00.html
Black History Month – Celebrating Our Warrior Women
I took this picture while during research at Arlington Memorial, the site of the Women in Military Service for America memorial. I found this beautiful warrior glaring, thinking. I don't know where she is, I don't know where she was going. I imagine her in a helicopter enroute to a mission with her comrades, or perhaps a training mission waiting to jump from the plane or not. I do know this. At the time of this photo, she was on active duty and her beautiful image is on display representing women's contributions to the U.S. Military. Thank you for your service!
Black History Month – Buffalo Soldier Baseball
Family history had been a mystery to me prior to me "data mining" for my latest project "Moving Behind Moses – A poem celebrating African American Women's Contributions to the United States Military". My father didn't talk much about his father, other than he left his mother. My father was actually raised by his grandmother in 1930's Los Angeles (think victory garden and picking greens from the railroad tracks for eats.) My mother always talked about her father "pappa". He was a career military officer – all I knew of him was a black and white picture in uniform that all of my aunts and uncles have. I never met him. He was an old man when my mom was born. My grandmother left my grandfather for a Filipino farmer in Salinas, California. My mother was essentially raised by her sisters. The Collier family had always held their heads metaphorically high – their father being a Buffalo Soldier – an officer in the 10th calvary, this was the equivalent of being a professional (albeit military) man. A big deal. My uncle Sarge has dedicated his life to keeping the legacy of the Buffalo Soldier alive, as well as keeping himself alive. His activities in meetings and dedications across the country over the last few decades is stunning. So it was a natural next step to talk to my mother to see if she would talk to her brother to talk to me about family history and military life. My mother said Uncle Sarge was the one to talk about family history; he probably had pictures I might be interested in for my research project. The attached was in his photo album, a picture of his uncle (my great uncle) in company M (circa 1911). I am still confused since I read online my uncle was in the 10th calvary, 1911. The photography clearly has 9th calvary hand written on the bottom.
Further intrigued, my creative research for my book led me to an anthology "Buffalo Soldiers in the west – A Black Soldiers Anthology" edited by Bruce A. Glasrud and Michael M. Searles. As written in the chapter Community of Soldiers, "by the late nineteenth century, athletics also became an entry to community activities, allowing blacks to engage with whites in positive ways…Overall, athletic events between white and black teams created a venue for interrelations between white and black, whether civilian or military, that was mostly positive. There were other results. In at least one instance, a black defeat of white teams led a white military officer to argue that blacks should not be allowed to compete (especially against whites) because it was unseemly for an inferior race to defeat a superior race." page 219
To Uncle Chick Collier – I celebrate you and your glove this Black History Month!