Aretha says: R-E-S-P-E-C-T

The month of October is dedicated to something called Black History Month. Hmm. I have conflicting thoughts about the concept. Sometimes, I think it's a laudable pursuit, at other times, I feel like it's totally pointless. In all the time I've been here, I've always consciously refrained from taking part in any of the festivities, but this year, in the vane of trying new things etc, I thought I'd go along to a spoken word/poetry slam at the Museum of London. It ended up being very good, even though there wasn't masses of eye candy to feast on (tee hee!!). Why are all the men born short these days? Anyway, moving right along...


Breis, who works in English and Yoruba, both accompanied and accapella, was an amazing performance poet. He had this song where he pieced together snippets of 80s children's TV (kind of like a retrospective), but it was set to real high life music. It was like rapping to a Fela/Sonny Ade/Lagbaja/Black eyed Peas sound track. Hard to explain, but very entertaining. It's also quite funny, because America (the new flatmate) and I owe him a fiver each. We didn't have any cash on us, because queueing at the cash point would have made us late for the show, and we didn't think we'd be buying anything, anyway. But by the time he was done, we had to have his CD, so he gave us a copy each and said we could pay him back whenever his next gig is. We were like, are you sure? And he was like, are you sure, cos it's you owing me! So now we have fivers sewn into the lining of our handbags, so that if we spot him from a mile off, we can mow him down and pay. God forbid that we should be those two chicks who scammed some dude unintentionally!


Then there was Xena Edwards, who sang in Xosa and shared a new poem she's been working on. You could feel her through her work. With her looking like she was on the verge of tears, it was a very moving experience to watch her baring her soul. And she had this funny little instrument as well, which mesmerised you as she played.


Kat Francois made us all laugh with her parodies of the tube in rush hour. Her poems were accessible and funny, and she did these really cool voice manipulations to give life to her performance. She was funny, and I loved, loved, loved her work, but some stuff she did got me thinking. Or as Carrie Bradshaw would say, I couldn't help but wonder...


The only thing that I find a bit naff about all these Black History Month things, is the predictable way in which people use it as a license to level insult at other cultures. There were many anit-white jibes thrown out from the stage, which let's be honest, if the tables were turned, and a white person threw out those kind of jokes, we'd be calling them racist and boycotting their services. Granted, they were jokes, and they were funny, but I'm not sure that it's right to eat our cake and have it, in the respect game. We can't get people to walk on eggshells around us, and then the moment we get a chance, insult them with things that we wouldn't be willing to accept. D'you see what I mean? Only last week, that lady in the Tory party was sacked for a racist comment someone made about her picture. If a white comedian joked about a black person, it would be the world's greatest catastrophe. Yet, our comedians take the mick out of white people all the time, as she did at this event.


Without meaning to sound like I have my priorities screwed up (which I don't), I think it's something that needs to be adressed. Do unto others as you'd have others do unto you...Yes, we have different cultures, and by virtue of that, I know there are things we'll never understand about each other. There are ways in which we have different opinions about things. There are ways in which every group thinks their society/community is slightly superior to others. No one's denying that. My darling Canadian flatmates never got why I had to oil my scalp in the winter. They thought it was gross, whereas, for my tropical body, it was the only thing I could to to make sure I survived a dry minus 40C winter with a strand of hair left in my head, but there you go! I never got why they called their parents friends or tutors by their first name and not aunty/uncle or Mr/Miss/Mrs - I thought it was the height of rudeness, but like I said, there you go! Sure, we're different and all, but if we can't take disrespect, then we shouldn't be so quick to give it! Does anyone else feel like this, or is it just me?



So anyway, while we're on the subject of poetry, here is a poem by someone whose work I love. She's a good friend, and she just captures the meaning of things so well. You can visit her blog to see more. Enjoy!



And Almost At Peace

Don't wonder about me.
Don't mystify your mind with
the dark smoke of my psyche.
And should you decide to take
a swim in the deep dark water
of my personality at dawn,
you will drown, happily,
in the seduction of my melancholy.
But beware, here be sunshine
reflecting off this cavern's gleaming depths.
The energy of happy serenity is a fix I crave.
I waive the right to inhabit this place.
But it's warm and it's home
And every terrible moment is nontheless
comforting in its familiarity.
The question quickly comes: Am I
a single star in this place,
or another dark and glittering diamond?
Deep shit I know, this desire for expression
always verges on the dramatic.
In my cavern, it's silent.
I live, alone. And almost at peace.



See? Told you it was wonderful! Xx