AA

So truth be told, I'm a writer but I never try to because I'm afraid.  Truth be told, I'm a poet, and a designer but again I never try because I'm afraid.  If I tell you how many pieces I've written in my head, I'd be a millionaire.  I think a lot, speak a bunch but not really what I dream.  My mind thinks about things constantly.  Like how I would rebuttal an issue or the many issues I'm passionate about.  I think about how to make things.  I pull them apart in my mind, can unfold an object and rebuild it, find the problems and redo it again.  I think about poetic pieces and different topics to write about.  Honestly, there's nothing more than saying I just don't do it because of fear.

 

See growing up, I wasn't the artistic one in my family.  All three of my brothers could draw and I mean draw well.  They each had their own style but there were good.  I remember a piece my oldest brother did of a horse and you could see the definition of it's muscles.  It was simply done in black ink but what made it extraordinary was that it was done out of 1000's of small black dots, basically pointillism.  You wouldn't know from first glance but getting close to it, you could see his execution, it was amazing!  To the point that it got framed and hung in our home.  Then my second brother, he's the "artsy" one.  He is the "Renaissance Man", he draws and really well, think Avatar but with far more worlds and characters,(Avatar should have been his creation truthfully speaking, he's that good - shameless plug: Absolutely!!!) he sculpts, he writes, he designs, he's flipping ridiculous!  And my third brother, he draws as well, really good with landscapes and child like comics.  So yes, they all had some sort of artistic expression and were really good at it.  They didn't all pursue this as a career but for what it's worth, they are gifted.  

 

As for me, I wasn't the drawer.  My sculptures were truly like the menial gifts a child makes for their mother, and my drawing was solely of simple geometric shapes on my notebooks, lol.  I laugh looking back because that's not where my forte laid.  I love art, but more over pursued it with instruments and even then, I wasn't all that amazing and had to give them both up before anything could really come of it.  I did learn to draw portraits in middle school and that was fun.  For some reason I did alright at that and knew if I had a chance, maybe that would have gone somewhere but again, I let that go.  So as you see my artistic expression wasn't really anything to be doted.  However, though I didn't focus on the arts, I pursued science and I pursued it hard core.  I knew at an early age that I wanted to be a doctor so even before I hit high school I made sure to get into the right classes to set myself up to make my dream come true.  I did everything to the point of taking 2 math courses one year because that was what I thought I wanted.  I still remember my senior year classes because I didn't take the easy route, I wanted to achieve and so I did what any achiever would do and loaded myself up with AP courses: English, Calculus, Physics, and Chemistry.  Note, I would have added Biology if I could but my schedule wouldn't permit it.

 

Anyhow, this was me, the science driven achiever or so I thought.  What does any of this have to do with art, well here's how.  When I went to college, within my first semester I was bored.  Science, though fascinating bored me.  What I enjoyed was communication and I joined clubs like gospel choir, dance, etc.  I joined things that fed into my artistic side and that made me happy but I never thought about pursuing a degree in it, plus because of my background my parents were not going to have it.  It just wasn't what children of West African parents did.  Believe me, it was a battle not worth fighting.  Sadly, I continued in science to the point of convincing myself that studying genetics and going into research would help... though I really liked genetics, I was lying to myself and God knew it.  So what did He do... He literally left me in a place where I could no longer continue college because of family and financial problems.  I came back home not knowing what to do and what to make of my life.  I really hit a brick wall and this time, there was no way around it at all.

 

I worked for over 2 years with no direction and somehow in this time my artistic desires started to arise.  I began writing poetry more.  It started in high school because of one of my English teachers but I continued, secretly while going through college.  I began singing in a Christian group and we would travel to different churches, events, and venues and I l loved it.  I even started a dance ministry for the youth in my church.  Then I remember being at my younger cousin's house one day and she was flipping through a bridal magazine fantasizing about her wedding day and what dress to wear.  As she picked a dress that she liked, out of nowhere I told her why that dress wouldn't be flattering for her body type and what dress would look better on her.  She understanding and simultaneously perplexed simply looked at me and asked why I wasn't in fashion.  That question was the beginning of my reintroduction to the arts. 

 

Such a simple question but I didn't have an answer.  I couldn't give a reason to why I wasn't pursuing fashion.  I was always particular about what I wore and knew what I wanted even at a young age.  I remember dragging my mother from store to store looking for the perfect 8th grade banquet outfit.  I didn't want to be like everyone else.  I wanted espadrilles and a linen outfit.  I think back at times where I wanted something specific, not so much out there but just my own, I had a need to express myself differently and was not satisfied until I accomplished it.  I remember designing my senior prom dress in my mind.  I could see the soft purple color, the mini train, and the flowing chiffon but being disappointed because I couldn't get it made.  So when that question arose, I didn't have an answer better yet, I didn't have an excuse.  What did I do after that?  I decided to pursue my passion and go to school for fashion.  What a 180 degree turn from being a genetic doctor.  Funny though, my mother was down for my cause.  So I moved to Florida and pursued my degree in fashion design and graduated. 

 

See this is all interesting because I now, over a decade later am still just getting to a place to understand and accept more so that I am artistic.  Yes, I have my geeky side and I love that to but exploring my artsy side hasn't been easy.  I've tried keeping it structured and many a times down play it as well.  I tell myself and many others that I like that business side of fashion.  I like the behind the scenes, which I do.  I tell people that I am more business minded, which is partially true because I do see strategies and systems.  I've kept myself in this nice neat box which fits me, my family, my culture, and sadly enough society to believe that I am more business savvy then artistic when the reality is that I am both.  But truthfully speaking, I love the artistic side of me.  It brings me peace.  I'm at home when I'm creating and sewing.  I'm at home writing, journaling, or writing poetry.  It does something to me.  I love expressing myself in an artistic manner. 

 

I've not wanted to come clean with this or really admit this to myself because like I said before "I'm not the artistic one in my family."  However that statement is rendering itself to be a lie and God is patiently showing me this.  Even now as I write, I have memories of me watching TLC and HGTV because I loved seeing the design process, whether it would be a make over of a person or the interior of a home.  It really spoke to me.  I wondered where this artistic person came from in me but it's quite easy to trace, see every year when I was in elementary school and even into middle school my mother would sew a one of a kind dress for picture day and every year I received plenty of compliments from the other kids mothers who just adored my dress and were shockingly surprised upon asking where I got it at, I would reply that my mother made it. 

 

My mother was a great seamstress and still is.  You see, my mother not only sews but she also knits, crochets, does needle point and macramé as well.  And she has a great green thumb.  This drawing to being artistic is not just a matriarchal aspect but it also comes from my father.  He is not so much the drawer by my dad is more of a technical artisan.  He created and designed the blueprints for our house back in Cameroon.  All the furniture in our house in Africa, he designed and got made and just like my mom, he's an amazing gardener as well.  He would grow everything and together because of them, I understood the execution, creativity, and function of a farm.  Plus it helps that both of my parents are excellent cooks.  Whenever my father got a new maid, he would teach her how to cook and not just any meals but traditional Cameroonian meals, which is no small feat, and other things alike.  So this artisan, isn't as far fetched from me as I thought it would be.

 

It's crazy that it took this long for me to realize this but like it says better late than never.  As I grow in my artistic abilities what I have had to learn is that I can create whatever it is I want to create and not have to be like everyone else.  So designing and making jewelry out of Ankara fabric, creating interior home goods, writing poetry, and just writing however I feel is what is great about this because there is no specific formula to art.  That's what makes it art.  It can take on an organic function all its own self.  But what I find to be the greatest thing is that it is a reflection of God because He is the best artist I know.  Just look at the world around us from savannah, to the mountains, to outer space.  It's all art and it's all good.  So though my fear has definitely kept me back from sometime now, I think I'm ready to finally come out of my artistic closet and just say that I am an artist and there is nothing wrong with that.  I feel like I'm at an AA(Artist Anonymous) meeting: "Hi, my name is Fulei and I'm an artist."

 



Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!

Genesis 1:31a

Bundled

So it has definitely been awhile since I last posted anything.  I was in the middle of writing a piece on the Trayvon Martin case and paused and since then have not picked it back up to continue.  A lot has happened in this nation in the past few months and more and more stories have been coming to the forefront concerning race relations.  In different arenas, socioeconomic brackets, and every day living.  I feel as though the Trayvon Martin case opened up a can or worms that has been slowly festering and rotting underneath the hot sun and then slipped into a secret pantry for no one to find but unfortunately for the owner, the ugly truth has revealed itself for what it is... plain ugly and still here.

 

My friends and I have been really digging into what it means to be black in America.  Now this is in itself a loaded question because there are so many takes to what that means and it's easy to become jaded, cynical, and hard hearted to what this means.  In looking at this topic alone you can take it from so many angles, you can look at it from the perspective of music and where the industry is, you can use entertainment and see what has happened there, you can speak from terms of education or lack there of, and you can speak from sectors concerning business, job seeking, to welfare, or even from the stance of being a man versus being a woman.  In the end, there is no one angle to see black life in America and that is where the problem lies as well as the answer is found. 

 

In our deep engaging conversations, we as black women have been racking our brains discussing what happened to the black family, why is it that we are still dealing with an overwhelming sense of racism even in its undercurrents, why race is so different in the north than in the south versus Midwest to west, why our are children not being taught and on and on and on it goes.  And in discussing picking each others brains and challenging one another on our different premises and understanding, an epiphany happened.  We finally understood concerning race relations, the state of Black America, and all that has, was, and is taking place CANNOT be categorized into one bundle.  That is what has happened to us.  We blacks have been bundled together as a group and in that we have been generalized and stereotyped to the point that TV execs have created a formula on how to sell "black life" to the masses and make money off of it, yet in reality there may be some minutia of truth but the majority of what we are fed is not "BLACK LIFE"! 

 

We as blacks have to also accept our responsibility and understand that we have given into the notion of what slavery, colonialism, and the so called American dream has fed us.  That we are not good enough to be known individually or separately because of our ethnic backgrounds.  That black is just that black.  We have  been force fed the lies of Willie Lynch  but have yet to really understand that all this is a lie and not who we are.  I know I am going to catch flack for saying that and I understand that it sounds like I am teaching separatism but the reality is I believe we each as "black people" with our unique and beautiful cultures should have a right to stand up for each of our cultures and backgrounds.  That we should not be blanketed into a general group just because of our skin tone.  In doing so, I feel as though this nation is missing out on a beautiful kaleidoscope that is "Black America". 

 

When we do this we are inevitably saying that who you are and where you come from and whatever rich history you have means nothing.  We've relegated ourselves to just being the same.  My girlfriend explained it best, "...we live in a society where conformity is normal.  And whoever doesn't conform is abnormal.  We want to just be "normal" like everybody else... but that is crazy talk.  Nobody is normal..."  In essence we are not normal and one step further nor are we the same and honestly that is a beautiful thing.  Why should we conform, why should we be normal?  What's the beauty in not acknowledging the very thing that makes you, you and culturally for blacks that's what we have been taught because when you conform you are easily controlled and manipulated.  And we have seen the effects of this for years. 

 

I don't know about you but I love learning about my Haitian friends and their culture and the nuances of how they grew up.  I love learning about my Afro-latinos who look as black as me but speak Spanish fluently, which makes me do a double take and how they enjoy their rich history.  I love learning about my Zimbabwean friend and what it was like growing up in the southern region of Africa and how there is an abundance of land just waiting to be cultivated.  And even too really digging into my African American friend who's family is from the Midwest and the deep south and how that creates such a unique culture; whose family grew up in the midst of segregation and the Jim Crow laws and the steel mill boom.  All of these facets and beautiful stories of rich history get lost when we decide that we are just black.

 

My desire is for everyone's story to be told, for the Trayvon Martin's to be vindicated and not stereotyped just because he was black.  For black life to be valued because it is a life period.  I want to see the cultural differences between Cameroonians and Ethiopians, Haitians and Afro-latinos, Northern and Midwestern Black Americans.  It's when we are able to see our differences that then and only then are we able to really unite and become one.  Yes, there are going to be certain things that cross culturally no matter who you are living black in America but there is so much diversity, knowledge, beauty, and healing waiting to distributed only if we stop insisting that there is something wrong with having a different background and just saying we are all black.  We then fall into the same sin as saying, "I'm colorblind, I don't see color."  The reality is here in America, you WILL always see color, that has been ingrained into the very foundation of this country.  Just read the original constitution of this land if you don't believe me.  The truth is and hear me directly with no mistakes, There is Nothing Wrong With Color!!!  It is what makes us unique and it creates such a beautiful canvas, a mosaic that makes you take time to see the whole picture but look at each magnificent piece and stand in awe of God and His beautiful majesty.

 

The state of Black America is simple, we each individually and culturally want to be seen, understood, and valued and honestly there is nothing wrong with that.  Jesus sees each of us and honors us each in who we are and we are all beautifully different.  Black America it's time we embrace this and use this to really make our voices heard as well as unite under the banner of Jesus's love.

 

9 After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb. They were clothed in white robes and held palm branches in their hands. 10 And they were shouting with a great roar, “Salvation comes from our God who sits on the throne and from the Lamb!”  Rev. 9:9,10

 

We have to see we are different to see we are one.

Reminisce

So I had the most interesting happen to me when I was talking to my roommate about my time in middle and high school, I broke down and started to cry.  Wow, you have to understand, I never broke down before the way I did this night and ever shed tears about my past.  It was interesting, yet refreshing and heart breaking all in one. 

 

When I started at my school in the 4th grade and stayed there til I graduated, it was hell on earth for me.  It really wasn't the pleasant view we like to think of when we remember school or the pretty pictures and great times we had when looking back in our year books.  No, for me my experience was very rough and hard.  The sad thing is that it started off hard for me at a young age as well.  It started off when I was in 4th grade. 

 

Before this time, I was in a private school in Maryland up until 3rd grade and really I had no problems there.  Didn't feel left out.  Had my friends, knew I was different but it was all good.  It was quite accepting.  Then I moved to NJ and that changed.  I went to a very prestigious school.  One that was named after the state college in Jersey and there is where I started to feel what I like to call the gap or invisible distance.  I remember how lavish students were.  I remember imparticularly this one girl who reminded me of Cher from Clueless who would coordinate her outfits with her best friend, color code them and make sure that there were no repeats.  Then I remembered the opportunities and different clubs that there were in order to foster growth, intellect and education.  It was a bit of a mixed place. 

 

Then there was a child celebrity, who if I mentioned, everyone would know I went to school with as well as her younger brother.  It was a truly different world for me.  It was honestly different.  I didn't particularly fit in but I wasn't outright ostracized either.  There it was a balancing act if anything but it was when I moved to my new Christian private school that next year that all hell broke loose for me and things would never be the same.  Within a few days of me starting there, I was nervous, wanted to just figure out my surroundings and take my time to adapt but unfortunately for me I was thrown into the mix without consent and with no choice.

 

My teacher decided to be funny and make a slick comment about my name and from there the verbal abuse, teasing and bullying began.  Her actions gave permission for all my other class mates to make fun of me.  To me, this was a shock and I was totally taken back because up until this time, I never had anyone make fun of my name and I was fine with my name. After this incident and many teasings to come, I hated my name.  I began to not like certain things about myself.  I didn't like telling people I was from Cameroon.  I didn't want to publicly eat my Cameroonian food.  I didn't want to be seen as different.  I didn't want to talk differently.  I wanted to fit in.  I wanted to belong.  Unfortunately for me still until I graduated, I never quite did fit in.  I got along, got by and made it on the edge of just being accepted. 

 

School was very rough.  Having people tease me all the time for my name.  Having a girl question me because of how proper I spoke and made me feel as though something was wrong with me because I didn't speak slang.  I wasn't miss popular, I had to constantly stand up for myself.  I had no one to defend me and I had no one to relate to.  I was forced to become a part of African American culture though I was Cameroonian.  I was forced into living in surburbia.  I barely had any black people yet alone Africans who I was able to connect or relate to in my neighborhood.  Then I was forced into a church were diversity was one interracial couple and my family.  All the diversity I was used to was snatched away from me.  I was different and this time, I felt I was different.

 

School became a place of having to wear a mask.  Having to be strong, having to look like I had it all together.  It became competition.  I had to do well especially as a black girl, better yet an African black girl.  I had to prove I wasn't stupid and that I was able to cut it because all the other pretty, popular black girls were.  I never until my senior year wore my hair out, I always rocked braids but that wasn't the desirable thing.  I didn't have long legs or indian in me to have long flowy hair.  I wasn't a girly girl, I didn't care for the color pink or carry a purse with me.  I liked to be outside and run around.  I liked to keep up with the guys and eat well.  I had an appetite.  What can I say.  I didn't do the prim thing but I could speak well.  I didn't care about barbie's but I enjoyed action figures & sports.  I was cultured.  I knew about America and Africa and Europe.  I loved science and gym, yet this was all thrown back in my face many times over.

 

See I learned quickly, that in order to be accepted you could be smart but you had to be sexy, you could speak well but had to be a class clown as well, you could not like sports but you had to be artistic, you could love sports but you had to be girly.  It was a balancing act and if you didn't fit it, then you were out of luck and that's where I found myself even among the blacks.  I was different, really different and that didn't work so well.  Not in my white Christian school, not in white suburbia, not even in church.  Nope, that didn't work.  

 

For all the oxymorons that I seemed to have exhibited, life became hard for me.  I began to understand, that I wasn't pretty enough.  I had the attributes, I had the body parts but my strong personality and refusal to back down didn't bode to well.  I just didn't understand why people kept picking on me.  I, for the life of me couldn't understand.  I didn't understand why my proper speech was a problem for both blacks and whites as well.  I just didn't get it.  I couldn't understand why my parents choice of lifestyle didn't farewell with others.  We didn't live in some mansion yet it was a problem to know that I had a maid.  We didn't drive the fanciest cars but it was an issue that I traveled to Africa every summer.  The contradictions made life nearly impossible to live with.  

 

What I remember so clearly was feeling alone.  Was feeling like I had no one to talk to.  Was feeling like I had no one to relate to.  Was feeling like I had no one to defend me.  In all my time there at the school, no one did defend.  Well at least not a peer.  The only person I remember ever standing up for me was my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Episcopo.  She was spanish and she was amazing.  She saw me for me and helped spur me on.  She came to my side when she saw the bullying and teasing I was constantly going through and did something about it.  She took me in for myself and never questioned it but gently molded it to see greatness come out.  She was Amazing and still to this day it brings me great joy thingking about her.  She showed me Jesus.  She showed me she cared and for that I am forever grateful. 

 

See when I was recounting this story to my roommate, I started to cry because this is what I remembered.  I remembered out of my entire schooling career one teacher who made a difference.  It hurt and it still hurts to think that no one had my back or stood up for me.  It hurt to know how alone I was.  It still does, I'm not going to lie.  It hurts to see a little girl not understand why her being different was such a problem and to see her have to constantly defend herself.  Why wasn't anyone there for her?  I honestly don't know.  But it did help her seek Jesus.  It helped her really foster a relationship with Jesus.  Maybe that's why no one was there.

 

I still don't have answers.  High school was not the glory days that people make it out to be.  It really wasn't for me.  If anything those 'friends' I had in high school I don't even talk to.  Once graduation came, institutional ties were broken and severed and life moved on.  Middle and high school to me where a facade, an empty shell of broken experiences.  They did nothing but perpetuate the ignorance and hurt that being different seems to attach itself to in this country.  And worst of all being in a Christian school, as great as the education was the real learning experience was heart breaking.  I can't say that I met people whom I have such a deep connection with.  Nope. I would be lying.  I can't say that there are life time friendships that were fostered.  Nope, I'd be lying again.  What I can say is that I learned.  I learned to let go and trust in God.  I learned that truly God wasn't joking when He said that 'my people perish for lack of knowledge.'  The very place that was supposed to foster hope, bring unity and acceptance did just the opposite.

 

I've never been the person when looking back wished I was back in middle school or high school.  I look back at my life and thank God that I made it through such a rough time in my life.  A time that literally almost took my life.  I look back at the experiences and say 'Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!  His faithful love endures forever." Ps. 118:1

 

There is healing that needs to take place and I know that but at least for the first time in my life I can be quite honest about this point in time in my life.  It definitely wasn't fun.  It wasn't pleasant.  I don't have to greatest memories of school but in it all God is good because I made it through and I have a relationship with Jesus that I wouldn't trade for the world.