Brother, you discredit everything I say, him think so lowly of me. You dismiss me as a negro with not much to say nor offer yet there I see you, a sorry site in a cradle of white. Blindly you are led to believe you’re one of them, an acceptable one amongst them, ignorantly you see me as a threat, you are sunken in whiteness, on full display for Becky and her friends to see you, use you and when the time comes, dispose you. So whilst I may have little, I have me, me who will not crumble at the site of a white man, me who will not open my palms to receive scraps from a white woman, me who will not kneel down to white dreams. Oh, you say I’m lazy and I should be slaving myself away, yet what do you have that I wish to have? Better toys, better suits, better friends? I beg you not! They think of you so low because what you are to them is not what you are and they know it! And you know it! So there you lay in your white ray of light, thinking you have one above on me, yet anxiety paralyses you, success hurts your back, fear pumps your muscles, I envied you once, then I tasted what you had and spat it out in a hurry. Count me out, I do not wish it no mo, keep it, for I will be ready to receive you when you get up outa there. Brother, don’t look me up and down, don’t you know I am the real deal in this sarong. Unlike you brother, I am not on full display for them, to them you are a site of wonder, a commodity to be consumed, to be adorned, valued till expire comes. Why do you allow yourself to be scrunched up, limited, half missing, half smiling? Can’t you see you’re not whole, do you not wish to be whole, all ears, all eyes, all legs all body, all mind. Yet I see half missing, whites see it as beauty, I see it as a tragedy, a sorry site, preciously lost.
Before I begin I would like you to hold hands with the person next.
Rant time: So a few days ago I went to cut my hair. Ok, I've had it with Jamaican barbers! Zero and I mean nada, costumer service! So I walk in all happy and shet, needless to say I say "hello" first, why you cannot say a simple hello to your customer when she walks in is beyond me. Continue. As is the protocol I sit and wait my turn. 10minutes pass, no word, no attention, no nothing. 20 minutes? nop, then at 30 I start questioning myself. Why am I putting up with this? I am a costumer for fuck sakes! At 35 past I found my courage, my waiting to exhale moment #know your Whitney. So I Get up in an exaggerated way, barber's lookin' at me, woman in the corner doing some other woman's hair is lookin' at me too. I give em a, "what the fuck you lookin' at", look. Then the barber has the nerve to tell me, as he notices that I'm unpleased that "he'll only be a minute". What??? Now you find your voice after I've been waiting for your ass for 35minutes? Really! I say nothing, I simply pick up my bag and walk away. I leave them weak and dishevelled because I've been going to this barber for some time and every time I go there I get the same dismissive energy, but today he got a taste of his own medicine and I don't think he was ready. Then I walk to another barber shop, bare in mind I don't particularly want to go to an African barber shop because although I love my people, African barbers talk too much and you have a higher change of getting a funny hairline when an African man cuts your hair. So I walk into this new one and low and behold, he's got an attitude! As if I'm a mudafuckin' inconvenience to his day, as if I'm a fly in his midst buzzing around to his annoyance, he slowly gazes up. So I ask him how long he'll be and this dude decides to purposely take a moment before he answers me, trust me if you're black you know that heifer was disrespecting me, it wasn't just about him taking a moment to answer me, it's the context, the mood and the body language that would show up his intention. So after screwing his face like he's just shat himself, he says "30minutes", upon hearing that I simply just walk away to find another barber. I presume I leave him feeling angry or sad because he's little power game didn't work. So I get to the next barber and this dude is on the phone. I'm stood there thinking this cannot be! If it weren't for the gracious lady (Jamaican so I thought from her accent) I was 3seconds away from walking away again. In the end I got my hair cut at this barber who was previously on the phone. Wasn't happy with the haircut, usually for £10 I get my beard trimmed too but this heifer didn't even bother. Instead he gave me a fairly passable 1, lucky I have dreads and only cut the sides of my hair. 3different barbers and they all had zero concept of costumer service. As if this fool on the phone couldn't say to the person on the other line "just hold on a second", then say to me "I'll only be a minute, be with you soon". Honestly I am appalled by the Jamaican barber community, if there is such a thing, though judging by the way they behave it seems they've all agreed on how to universally treat their costumers. I mean, let's keep it real, I don't think when a white dude goes to cut his hair he has to jump over that many huddles. Sort it out Jermaine, Marcus! Don't take your anger on me because you're doing a job you don't love, biatch!
On a bus to me friend’s house and a Jamaican man in his mid-40's approaches and sits beside me. He then asks where I am from and upon replying he gives me a compliment which I gladly receive. Once the rapport has been built, the man proceeds, he begins to rant about nonsense and being that I have been practising meditation I nod along in agreement. 10minutes into his rant, a feminine guy gets on the bus, Clive (Jamaican man's name) kisses his teeth and starts telling me about his hate for feminine guys, (for my amusement I shall be referring to Clive as Clivelina). He then asks me if I am feminine, I reply "I have feminine and masculine traits in my personality, yourself?" This "yourself” question triggers an uproar from Clivelina, it sets him on fire (this gurl truly was on fire), he replies "how can you ask me such a stupid question, of course I'm not, I've got 2 kids man, you shouldn't even ask me such dumb question". I then ask, "so do you have a short temper?" He abruptly replies by saying "no actually, most of my friends say I'm a calm person". Hmm, am sure you are. So. One, you are talking with no sense of direction about something/nothing like a true queen would. Two, a dude who happens to love tight jeans and foundation, fabulously gets on the bus and that sets you off. Queenish behaviour. So by now I have gathered all the information I need to assume, that Clivelina is an angry queen in disguise. What seals the deal is when the bus driver stops for a lengthy time (as is the case on London transport) and Clivelina starts to complain about missing x-factor. Lesson for today is to have compassion for those not able to face their fears. A TRUE STORY!
p.s.The pictures are from a fantastic performer Le Gateau Chocolat. Sorry to disappoint you, it is not Clive the queen in disguise.