Earlier this week, I had to sunbathe from the comfort of my couch as I struggled to recover from illness, but by Friday, after work meant a trip down to the Southbank for sunset by the river. Saturday was a beautiful walk through Ladbroke Grove & Portobello Road where I met and fell in love with an antique treasure chest (it sent me subliminal messages from the street).

Great timing, because I’m moving home and will be procuring lots of bits and bobs as Alan and I make our mark on our new abode. Yes, we are setting up our very own love shack. We’ve passed the year mark, both require a change of address and so the stars aligned for new chapters. Bring it on. But this raised a new question….

When you’re not married, what do you celebrate as an anniversary? The day you met? We can vaguely remember this. Your first date? A bit of iCal magic helped work this out. When you became an item? I have no idea when this was, haven’t done the whole will you be my girlfriend malarchy since primary school. The first date doesn’t feel like a solid enough moment, but I’m up for finding ways to get him to buy me gifts!

Today has been as lovely as yesterday, Sunday lunch in a pub garden, stroll through Liverpool Street to grab some red velvet cake from one of my favourite bakeries and a horrific chance encounter with one of my auties, her husband and mother. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if it wasn’t their first meeting with Alan. Along with a lot of hugging and grinning and shouts of joy, they managed to sneak in the usual “When are you getting married?” “Don’t waste time!” and some extra bits in Yoruba for my ears only. Gee, what fun.

Anyhoo, tonight is a chillax, watch Star Trek and eat leftovers night. I’ve managed to convince Alan of the benefits of eba with egusi stew, but his latest combo of egusi stew and hard dough bread took it to levels I hadn’t ever thought about.

Roll on October…I’m ready for ya!

The basic premise was this, prejudice is when you actively dislike or discriminate against someone based on any facet you choose. Everybody is prejudiced, we have all been brought up disliking one group or another because they smell, eat funny food, look funny, are dumb, are thieves [insert any old rubbish reason here] etc. Racism however is the application of prejudice within the context of race or ethnicity, such that you can impact on the other group, socio-economically. This means you can disenpower them and prevent access to education, housing, employment and social mobility.

This is interesting, I have a strong affinity for this definition of racism because in so many ways it feels tangible. Do I care if you like me? Not particularly. Do I care if you can stop me from eating and feeding my family? Hell yes.

I’ve often seen the above view of racism used as an excuse for why non-whites can’t be racist, because we don’t hold the position of power, we cannot disenpower others. Not sure I agree with that. In many ways, I see regular examples of racist behaviour that don’t seem to meet acceptable lines of racial division.

For example, I would argue that in the UK, the domination of the black hair and black food industries by asian and Turkish shop owners is an example of racism as defined above. On my parent’s high street, a Ghanaian grocer was driven out of business when 6 other shop owners (2 off licences, 2 butchers, 1 grocer and 1 newsagent) who all belonged to the same Pakistani family, started to stock his produce and using their collective buying power, slashed their prices to drive him out of business. He fought for 2 years. As soon as he closed, they all increased their prices again.

The same model is replicated all over the world, where one group has the benefit of scale, or political influence they use that advantage to economically disempower another racial group, thereby being racist.

There are two strange places I want to take this now, the first is the recent riots in England. I spent quite a while trying to find all the various links and articles I read about this to post here and have decided against it. Let me speak with my own voice.

I hate the police. Harsh but true. Not often the position taken by educated, armchair liberals such as myself but its true. I am under no illusion that they are here to protect and serve so long as its politically, financially and culturally beneficial to them or some elected official. ‘The police’ is not my police. I have been stopped by police in my car and felt the indignance of being treated like a dickhead, I’ve witnessed countless examples of bullying and abuse of position by the police. I also happen to live in Tottenham, about 200 yards away from where the riots kicked off on that fateful Saturday in August. Did I see any of it? No. I stayed in my house and prayed for peace.

My feelings of disappointment in this case however, are aimed at the rioters. The disenfranchised, the disenpowered, the forgotten, the destroyers, the hooligans, the enforcers of racism. Yes. I believe that the rioters, allowed themselves to be the tools of racism, they destroyed livelihoods, homes and businesses often on their own doorsteps. Looting from JD Sports, or the off-licence was not a victimless crime, it meant a shop couldn’t open, any staff who worked there are probably not compensated for that. People were burned out of their homes, just so they can become victims themselves, anything they had managed to achieve, or acquire, stamped out and turned to ashes. The riots did far more direct damage to ethnic minorities in one week, than the ConDem coalition could have hoped for in a year.

Marginalised communities allowed themselves to become agents of racism, and it’s a blurred colour line here, in this scenario we can include the poor whites, blacks and asians as victims of overt racist activity.

The second scenario I want to discuss is the attack on blacks in Libya. In the west, our news broadcasts talk often of “Gaddafi loyalists”, they don’t ever discuss paid mercenaries. They talk about rebel groups clamping down and launching successful attacks, but are only just slowly (and really quietly) starting to mention brutality, random racist attacks, looting, rape and torture of black people ‘suspected’ of being Gaddafi fighters.

In Libya right now, we have a UN backed attack on any dark skinned person living in that country. They have no rights, their property is being taken away from them, they are being degraded. Other north African countries (such as Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt) are watching with some amusement, they’ve long wanted to rid themselves of the black pest and their persistent attempts to get to Europe anyway. Now the Libyans have a ‘legitimate’ reason and means to do as they wish, to denegrate, and take racism to new heights, all in the name of a tyrant who isn’t himself dark skinned. This is racism, but it doesn’t feel like many people want to call it that, the only voices are the usual suspects, activists and social commentators, but are not having much affect, there is too much to gain for the west.

In Part 1 of this post, I talked about how Cress-Welsing’s book The Isis Papers had set my mind all a-flutter in agreement and disagreement about who I was and how I relate to other races. In Part 2, I then contextualised this around ideas of shared history or experience with black people around the world, and expressed my disdain with how easy we find it to homogenise and round everything up so we can give it a name, but actually find that any accounts of history are only ever the perspective of a group or individual, they do not always represent reality and are definitely not the whole truth.

When I apply my identity and awareness of my history and the history around me, I end up with views on present day politics as expressed above. It’s not cleanly divided along a racial line, because I’m black, I don’t default on excuses for black people. Because I’m educated, I don’t subscribe to silly ideas of how great this wonderful democratic land I live in is….it’s clearly not. But ultimately, because I choose to see and continue to look for my truth, I will always call things as I see them.

I’m not in the business of making others comfortable, I’m just in the business of me.

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Our history

Maybe a slight mis-representation here but I’ll explain why.

I recently read a blog post (Nelson Mandela is African-American?) which talks about how children in a summer camp in the USA believed that Nelson Mandela (and therefore all black people) is African-American. What was worse according to the person making the comment, was that his colleague also had this same assertion, or at least didn’t see a problem with the idea that black or African was essentially interchangeable with African-American. The author of that post was discussing political correctness, but it got me thinking about how much of the history of race relations in the USA stands for the history of race relations across the world.

A good friend of mine pointed me in the direction of a Henry Louis Gates Jr. three-part documentary aired in the US earlier this year called Black in Latin America which, explores the experience of blacks brought over from Africa during the slave trade to the Americas, in countries other than the USA. It’s an interesting documentary, worth watching (if you can ignore Mr Gates and his annoying manner).

Not many people would know that Brazil has the second largest population of black people in the world, after Nigeria. I.e. not only were five times as many slaves trafficked to South America as North, but only one country in Africa has more black people in it than Brazil! That little fact blew me away.

To then encapsulate all that, I’ve just finished reading a book called Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin. If you were brought up in the US school system, apparently this is a junior-high textbook (be interesting to know if this is true). Griffin, a white liberalist who ended up being a key activist in the 60s & 70s, changed his skin colour using drugs and make-up, to travel the southern states of the US and experience first hand what it was like to be a black man.

Needless to say, articles he published about his experience led to him and his family being made outcasts and the victims of hate mail, threats and dummy lynchings. The thing about this guy which intrigued me in his epilogue written much later after the original publication of the book, is that he basically got it.

Although it was patronising at first that he felt he could ‘black-up’ and integrate with black society, it was also revealing that he succeeded. He wasn’t writing sympathetically about the experiences of a black man, he was realising them and contextualising the attrocity of his experience in his reality as a white man. He fought to see things from the white point of view, but it didn’t always work.

His experience after the study was that white people saw him as someone who could tell them what to do about blacks, and blacks saw him as someone who could actually relate to, and speak for their experience.

Whilst Griffin’s book is again possibly an example of how US race relations are considered to be the complete ‘black’ experience, I feel like it practically validates Cress-Welsing’s theory on racism being a tool used by whites to secure their genetic survival. He talks about white folk who are kind, do seemingly good things, but when it comes to black people, they have a duality, a part of their character that doesn’t see a human in a black person, but sees a threat, an animal, a thing.

I’m not trying to justify this (my regular readers should know me better), but what Griffin describes in some ways is an example of Cress-Welsing’s theory, when applied to the context of the horrible things that happened to black people on American soil during, and since the years of slavery.

Where this somewhat shaky justification totally falls flat however, is in explaining how the white European adventurers got on ships sailing far and wide with no fear, and then out of so called genetic fear committed acts of genocide, rape, theft and devastation upon countless communities all around the globe. If you have little to no awareness of another group of people, are your first instincts really to to kill and pillage?

Another element from Griffin’s book which stood out to me, is that the discussion was not limited to racist southerners. He also mentions liberals and white activists who turned against black people because they felt that self-determination for African-Americans was an affront against them. Ungrateful black people turning against the white saviours.

Sound familiar? It’s the modern story of post-colonisation. The story of every country in Africa. The story of Australia’s aborigines. I know people who see the symptoms of racial inequality all over the world (riots, poverty, joblessness, vagrancy, crime) as examples of how ungrateful the repressed community is, after everything the benevolent others have done for them. The famine crisis in the horn of Africa is seen by many to be another example of why Africans can’t rule themselves, how despite years of Red Cross adverts of flies in their mouth children, ‘these people’ just don’t seem to be able to get their act together.

So yet again, we come back to a relevant example that broadens Griffin’s experiences beyond the USA.

Do I have a coherent argument to make here? Probably not. And that’s half the problem, coherence is hindered by all the various theories, all the real experiences (each with their own biases), all the political correctness and incorrectness. Our history, my history, your history is only ever a series of events defined by our respective exposures to life. No mater how widely (or not) a person explores, they come no closer to have a solid view on why people do what people do.

My conclusion? It’s tragic. Our history is tragic. Not only do we constantly tend to either homogenise our classifications of each other and our ‘shared history’, we also seem stuck in this idea of us and them, and how ‘they’ is never us. We never quite get to the point in the discussion of race where a classification truly represents an experience in a meaningful way.

In Gates’ documentary, he seems angry that black people in Latin American countries often choose to label themselves anything but black, but the American idea that ‘one-drop’ defines you really doesn’t work either. Especially in the case of Latin America where all the other drops combined outnumber the one.

So let’s just say its a big bowl of alphabet soup, you’ll never count all 26 letters, nor will it ever stop bugging you that you have two w’s and 5 b’s.

As the grand title suggests, there are a few key ‘elements’ that continuously surround our every-day whether we actively recognise these or not. Sometimes, you read something, or something happens and you realise that no matter what you do, some facts can’t be avoided. I don’t believe I deal with this any better than anyone else, on the contrary, I often find myself humbled by what I feel, because it doesn’t necessarily make me feel good about myself.

I’ve decided to break this into a three-part post because I think the themes are linked. I’ll warn you now, there isn’t much of my usual gaiety. I’m tackling some difficult race issues and I hope I can make some sense of what’s being a hot topic for me of late.

My identity

Earlier this year, I started reading The Isis Papers by Frances Cress-Welsing. Now, this is not a book for the faint hearted. If you want comfortable reading, you need not apply here. I’ll start with confessing that I have not managed to make it to the end of the book. I look at it, and it looks back at me.

Cress-Welsing is a psychologist. She has spent years working with people, exploring the various psychosis of the mind that plague modern society. The title of the book is named after Isis the Egyptian godess who, upon discovering the murder of her brother/husband Osiris, searched the land for his parts and brought him back to life, thereby restoring him to his rightful place. Isis represents truth, justice, right. With this book, Cress-Welsing wants everyone to recognise the truth of race relations as she sees it.

There are some things in the book which I agree with, many others which I fight with, even more which just leaves me confused and crestfallen. One of these is what Cress-Welsing sees as a simple truth: Racism is borne out of an inherent need for white genetic survival. In other words, in order for whites to survive, black people (i.e. non-whites) must be crushed and their ability to dilute or eradicate the white race must be prevented.

In many ways it makes sense that genetic survival is at the heart of racism, it could explain its simultaneous existence in so many parts of the world. It could explain how the African kingdoms through history allowed themselves to be infiltrated and destroyed; they simply didn’t have the same fear, so they didn’t act accordingly. They saw no threats as they were dominant.

The affect this book has had on my thoughts around identity is interesting. Fundamentally, I cannot rationalise my life, my achievements, my work, my friends (of all races) with the idea that I threaten someone else’s genetic survival, or that I should be acting in a way that allows me to defend the attacks against me as a black person. It’s gone beyond the classic scenario of not being a victim of [overt] racism, to somehow being told that I have to assume that whites need me to not exist or succeed in order for them to exist, whether they realise it or not.

Cress-Welsing’s racism which she explores through the book in amazing, unbelievable, painful, crushing, homophobic and revolutionary ways, boils down to the fact that no matter what kind of person we believe we are, what our identity is, if we deny that racism is an active, proactive and directed assault against black superiority and dominance, we are ourselves complicit in the act of racism.

I don’t believe myself qualified to dissect what she says in the book, but I’m going to do my best to work through it in my own mind. Now don’t get me wrong, this book is not a dictum, you do not have to live your life by it, but it is talking directly to things I both believe and try to promote, at the same time as things I abhor and unsuccessfully ignore.

The role my race plays in my identity is immense, not least because in many ways it is intrisically linked with my nature and my nurture. The influences that act on me are as important as those I strive to embody. If we don’t find a place of harmony, we can’t find a place of defence either.

If I can’t determine whether I like or dislike this book, if it has made me question things I believe, am I strong enough to withstand the manipulations and not so altruistic intentions of those who may come against me? Pretty uncomfortable food for thought.

This isn’t a book just for blacks, its a book about race, as she calls it “The Keys to the Colours”. If you’re brave enough, pick it up.

In brief, Shell has accepted responsibility for a series of oil spills during 2008 and 2009 in parts of Ogoniland. To be more specific, the Bodo region. The article on the Al Jazeera English website goes on to say:

“SPDC (Shell Petroleum Development Company of Nigeria) has always acknowledged that the two spills which affected the Bodo community, and which are the subject of this legal action, were operational,” a statement from Shell said.

Leigh Day & Co, the lawyers representing the Bodo communities, who live in the snaking, oil-rich creeks and waterways, said the case was the first of its kind because it would be handled under British jurisdiction.

“SPDC has agreed to formally accept liability and concede to the jurisdiction of the UK,” a statement on the law firm’s website said.

“This is one of the most devastating oil spills the world has ever seen and yet it had gone almost unnoticed until we received instructions to bring about a claim against Shell in this country.”

Mutiu Sunmonu, managing director of SPDC, insisted most spills in Nigeria were caused by sabotage and illegal refining, but said the firm would help with the clean-up.

He was responding to a report by the UN Environment Programme (UNEP) which said decades of oil pollution in the Ogoniland region of southern Nigeria may require the world’s biggest ever clean-up.

“This report makes a valuable contribution towards improving understanding of the issue of oil spills in Ogoniland,” Sunmonu said.

Despite the fact that most media orgs did not pick up on this story, we cannot underestimate its significance.

Number One, there have been virtually zero successful claims in Nigeria or any foreign courts where Shell either accepts liability or is proven to be liable for the decades of environmental destruction, economic sabotage and violence in the Delta region of Nigeria.

Secondly, Shell accepted liability!!! Now in the wake of the active lobbying, corruption and underhanded tactics being used by Shell executives (especially Anne Pickard while she was top exec of Shell in Nigeria), and exposed in the Wikileaks cable gate earlier this year, we know that Shell will do anything to avoid culpability. Why did they accept this time? Surely there must be more cases, where short of changing history, they would not be able to quietly buy their way out of responsibility.

Despite the fact that they continue to blame sabotage (rightly in some cases) for the majority of spills, much of the damage in the area began pretty much when Shell and other companies (including Chevron & BP) first entered Nigeria, and not in the recent 15 year period of violent activism on the part of local groups. The spills mentioned above alone equal 20% of the Deepwater Horizon spill, and they were just a few years ago.

Who can quantify the damage of 50+ years? And lest I come across as naive, our politicians are actively complicit in this situation.

The blog Remember Sarowiwa regularly publishes updates on legal cases and political activity around Shell and oil in Nigeria. A recent article discusses the potential concessions being made by a parliamentary bill which will tax oil companies less than they currently pay for operating in Nigeria. Less, not more. Even less money coming in, that will never be used to support the affected families and communities.

What I find dissapointing (if only because my nature can’t help but expect more), is that Nigeria is running scared from being uncompetetive. Despite the immense profits being recorded by these companies, Nigeria is counting money coming in before considering the cost to it’s people.

The USA is forcing BP to compensate every individual, company and community affected by the spill over there, has our government done even 1% of what the US is doing to BP? No. And still, they bend over backwards to accomodate them. We know that our politicians will always fill their pockets first.

Now, in light of the court case above, if this window can really provide applicable case law, I say lets jump on it! I’m no lawyer, but I would hope that there is a chance that we can finally start making Shell pay. It’s not like they don’t have the cash. We cannot be scared that they will take their business elsewhere, quite frankly, there just isn’t enough oil in the world for that.

What we should be scared of, is the obvious fact that the lives of every Nigerian affected by the situation in Delta is obviously worth less than the $112 price tag of Brent crude oil today.

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This post was also published on NigeriansTalk.org as “Can we now start making Shell Pay?”

Firstly can I just debunk a real myth here; it ain’t always summer in South America. The place was f**cking freezing. Not just cold cold, it was the swearing kind of cold. Let me qualify this.

Antarctic cold is -26 degrees or something, snowing constantly, things freeze bla bla and you compensate by wearing seven layers of clothing as well as untold types of specialist gear (I’ve never been anywhere that cold, so please allow some poetic licence).

La Paz cold is between 5-10 degrees celcius. Not so bad, you wear a few layers, a scarf, boots ye kno. But the thing is, step out of shade into sunshine during the day (and the sun is a real bitch that high up) and you’ll find yourself feeling like its 23 degrees and getting a bad case of prickly heat. Don’t think about disrobing too much though, the oxygen is so thin at that altitude that the heat only exists when you stand directly in sunlight.

Add to that the fact that I suffered altitude sickness from day one and basically was breathing like I had a pulmonary disease after taking 3 steps and what you get is a lil black chick who proved that black folk don’t belong at altitude!

(As a sidebar, I’ll add that I only saw my first Afro-Bolivian when we took a daytrip to warmer and lower climes to a town called Coroico. Much more civilised temperatures.)

We were fortunate enough to get free accommodation with friends for our ten day stay; the apartment had the most beautiful views of the city, facing away from the sun, meaning it was colder inside than outside. They don’t really do central heating, the old school adobe houses that capture and retain heat don’t seem to have competition in modern high rises like the one our apartment was in…its cold outside, cold inside, cold everywhere.

Aside from the cold, La Paz is one of the weirdest and most amazing places I’ve ever been to. As a city, I don’t know anywhere that has views the way La Paz has.

Imagine a flat plane, totally flat, the kind where you see things hundreds of miles away (the Altiplano) and then imagine a valley within that plane (surrounded by a growing area called El Alto), with hills and crazy cliff drops, inclines and peaks with a pretty modern city built right into the heart of it and you have La Paz.

Everywhere you look there is a view, either of Illimani, the most popular local mountain or houses built at what the heck angles or bits of uninhabitable rock that look like the moon. Needless to say, my camera had much to consume.

Foodwise (gotta mention the eating), I wasn’t particularly blown away, BUT, (its a big but) I discovered one snack that my heart will long for forever. Saltenas. Beautiful little pastries filled with chicken, meat or veg and the sweetest savoury sauce ever. The mouth dribbles in memory….

Another interesting bit about this place has to be the return of the indigenous people to places of prominence and power. Like most of South America there is a large Indian population (although not as large as it possibly should be) as well as the natural mix occurring with the white population.

Five years ago, they gained their first indigenous president Evo Morales and he is now into his second term. The economic and cultural change that followed Evo’s rise resulted in an increase in the Aymaran population living in La Paz, as well as an increase in people choosing to wear supposedly traditional dress, known as Cholos (the men) or Cholitas (the women).

They’re everywhere, old, young, in shops, as street vendors, bus conductors you name it. Because of the traditional nature of their clothes, you might be inclined to think them poor….do not be fooled. They’re just as likely as anyone else to be affluent, sometimes deceptively so.

One thing that’s clear is the obvious contrast between Cholos/Cholitas and everyone else. They are all generally Aymara people (although in Coroico there were black Cholitas), most Bolivians I found were friendly, but the Cholos and Cholitas basically are practicing active prejudice towards anyone non Aymaran…even other Bolivians.  It’s not outright outspoken prejudice, just that quiet, weird lack of acknowledgement…quite odd.

Anyhoo, enough of the cultural lecture, I laughed, I clubbed, I drank, I danced to salsa, bought an awful lot of leather bags and whatnot. I also ate Llama for the first time, pretty decent meat I tell ya.

Would I go back? Yes, but I probably wouldn’t stay in La Paz too long, the weirdness of the place eventually gets to you, but I’ve got an itch to explore the rest of that pretty awesome country, so watch this space!

On the way home, we spent five days back in Rio (I LOVE Brazil), the only thing is, those five days coincided with the ten days of crap weather Rio has a year. Go figure, this time, clearly the beach wasn’t ready for me!

Introducing Theophilus Scribe. Please give him a lot of love, this is his first post (hopefully not the last), and possibly the genesis of a new blogger on blogville…watch this space!

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“The aesthetic must serve a moral purpose, its called artistic responsibility” – Some smart dude.

I am a shameless proponent of the statement above, existentialist as it may be, I feel it should be one of those guiding principles that all artists should abide by no matter their specialism.

I am getting tired of the double standards displayed by entertainers when they find themselves in hot water with the populous at large and in their defence they seek to invoke what they see as their ‘get out of jail free’ card by calling themselves an ‘Artist’. It comes across as though they actually think that being an artist means that they can do as they please and their actions should be exempt from judgment, as though they have diplomatic immunity.

The ironic things is, that by actually declaring themselves as artists, it places them in a position where anyone with a mind at work will hold them to a higher standard than that of a run of the mill entertainer. Now this is where entertainers fall into a trap, they react to having done something that rubs a vocal group up the wrong way by trying to justify it by proclaiming themselves artists. As if they cannot be criticised by the public, or as if they only answer to a higher power that only artists have in common.

Problem is, that’s bollocks. You can be criticised by your audience. You do answer to them, you asked for their attention and so now you have it. You cant ask them to support you when you feel you are doing something they will approve of and then tell them they cant judge when you do something they don’t approve of – those double standards cant run.

This brings me onto the latest entertainer to jump into this trap, Mr Vybz Kartel. In a recent lecture he gave at UWI in Kingston, he decided to invoke his ‘get out of jail free’ card, in retaliation to a host of criticisms that have been levelled at him recently.

Where it got interesting for me was how he drew parallels with the criticism that reggae received when it was first making waves, and more importantly how the late, great, Sir Robert Nesta Marley was viewed as ‘dutty-head rasta’ when he first came out and how he is celebrated now.

This is where I fundamentally disagree with the point Vybz is trying to make, yes reggae music and certain artists back in the day were criticised by the establishment, but there is no confusing reggae with what Vybz is doing.

Bob Marley was a Rastafarian and as such the principles he decided to live his life by became the inspiration and subject of his music. As an ARTIST he chose to express what he lived and that expression took all the forms it could from the songs he sang, to the way he dressed, to the causes he dedicated himself to. In other words, Bob Marley the artist and Bob Marley the person were inseparable because he lived his art.

The result of this is that his aesthetic reflected his purpose, any audience will have an idea of what he represents without explanation.

Now this I feel is the often overlooked piece of the puzzle; as an artist you want/require an engaged audience, therefore how you engage them is how you want them to perceive you and your art.

This means that the audience becomes judge, jury and executioner; they see what you do and judge you in relation to the perception that you, as an artist, have portrayed. This is ok when the two are in sync, but when they are not, thats when the audience calls your integrity into question – which they have a right to do.

Now Vybz Kartel has landed himself in hot water because he’s done things that have led his audience to call into question his judgement and his message. He’s not the only entertainer guilty of this, there are many of them. The bottom line is, some cats just want to get paid, which I fully understand, they’re not here to provide any type of message or really engage anyone beyond a superficial level, they’re just trying to eat.

In that case they’re entertainers and not artists. Mr Vybz Kartel, I find you guilty of being an entertainer and not guilty of being an artist. Don’t front, just be cool.

If you have a spare ten minutes you can watch the video.

This trip was all the sweeter because it had none of the hallmarks of my first trip to the fabled land. In short, I was staying with a dear aunt and uncle in Maryland in the indian summer of 2003. As part of our fun filled two weeks (yes, they gave me and my lil bro a full two week schedule on arrival), they decided we would drive the 4 hours to New York and spend a day there. Thing is, it was so hot, my uncle decided it was best we didn’t get out of the car, so we drove around looking at the city through the car window. My dissapointment and distress was almost impossible to hide. My aunt did manage to bag a stop at a service station off the New Jersey Turnpike but seriously, by that point I was too mortified to speak.

Fast forward 8 years and this time I did it right! 6.5 spectacular days in this awesome city that’s not that different to London, but I gotta say it’s got that edge…

So, Rather than just randomly ramble, I thought I’d mention 5 things I loved about this trip, if you’re already a yankee then this may be preaching to the converted. If you’ve never been, may this inspire you to go make the most of this awesome metropolis.

Disclaimer: I still consider myself to be anti-US, but my San Fran trip a couple of years ago and this trip are chipping away at the rock….but I’m still anti-US so there!

1. Revive the Live Jazz concerts – G.U.R.U. Dedication

It helps to have a local on tap, fortunately for me, my local is a friend I met only once, up a mountain in Peru (Machu Pichu to be exact). Born and bred in Manhattan, this lady had her finger on the pulse, and first thing she invited us to was an event where jazz greats are reunited with contemporaries who are influenced by them. On this occassion, it was a dedication to G.U.R.U. who passed away last year. IT WAS AWESOME! Live performances from a lot of hip hop dudes (many whom I didn’t recognise), including the guy who sang “Uptown baby, uptown baby, I gets down baby…” and an appearance by DJ Premier himself (G.U.R.U.’s Gangstarr partner). The live jazz band was serious and the icing on the cake had to be the four tap acts who came on to tap to hip hop….go figure! All Revive the Live events are meant to be serious so look them up!

2. Greenwich Village – Bleecker St

It is much hyped, but this area is a goldmine. Small specialist shops, cafe’s, galleries, restaurants basically anything. I even ended my 6 month hunt for a new pair of glasses in an optician on the corner of Broadway and Bleecker. I made a personal promise to go back and visit the shop where they make bespoke leather handbags….(not quite in my budget just yet). And it’s not just commercial lifestyle stuff, this place apparently also rocks for accomodation as well. The quintessential Manhattan lifestyle.

3. The Meatball Shop – Lower East Side

I have no words. First time I went to this place was at 1am in the morning. Second time was at 3pm in the afternoon. Both times it was busy, both times my meatballs rocked the ocean and the world. They do every kind, and everything is delicious. You know it’s good when a vegetarian takes you to a meatball restaurant and both the meat and veggie options make your mouth water. Plus it’s extremely reasonable. Making me hungry just thinking about it…

4. Studio Museum – Harlem

Ofcourse we had to do Harlem, on Easter Sunday no less. Wish I took as many photos as I should have done of the gentry folk in their Sunday best. Those pimp suits serve as well for Church as they do for Friday nights. Best thing about this area is the hustle, everyone is selling and people watching has to be the name of the game. On our wanders, we came across the Studio museum which features art from African-American artists. And when I say art, I use that broadly, they had performance pieces, video, sculptures, letters anything. A small, inspiring corner on the busiest street in town. It’s also free, def worth a visit.

5. Chez Ozkar & Cake Man Raven – Brooklyn

We wouldn’t have done New York if we didn’t go to Brooklyn. I have to say if I ever live in that city, Brooklyn will be my home. We went for brunch (seems popular over there) at Chez Ozkar. Lovely atmosphere, brilliant food (damn near licked the sauce from my mussels off my plate) and some pretty interesting art on the walls too. We finished off brunch by getting desert at the Cake Man Raven shop. It only sells Red Velvet Cake. Nothing else. They really don’t need to, the cake was so good, it nearly make my eyes water. I want some right now. Probably the best cake I ever put in my mouth.

Other notable activities, obviously the general tourist things, Times Square, Empire State Building (do not pay the extra $15 for the 102 floor, it’s a bump), horse ride in Central Park, High Line in Chelsea, Rooftop bar at 230Fifth, shopping in Soho….I think I’ve left out a lot, but I think you get the drift; I love this city!

Will I go back? Heck yeah! If only to make the most of the gazillion free concerts going on in the summer. I tell ya that place is so ripe for Lolobloggs….just don’t be surprised if I make movements….serendipity, do your thing.

Now, on my last post, one of the commenters (thanks for the prod Chichi) noted that I have not followed up on my relationship status. I realised that whilst I whined and complained about the state of men and dating over and over again on this blog, I have not been so forthcoming since my status has changed. Ahem, yes, for those who may have missed it, my status has changed to ….. not single.

Unlike the many movies where two strangers meet at a party/bar/library/airplane/street/supermarket/hostage scenario (I tried all but the last…trust me), I met my guy….lets call him Alan, via a mutual friend. I am not surprised. Many of my relationship successes (I still consider my past relationships a success) have been via introductions because let’s face it, a random dude scares the living daylights out of me and it’s all about the pre-vetting. Mad folk need not apply.

Some vital stats you may be interested in, he’s a geek (woohoo!), 5’9, size 9 feet and ……… he’s not Nigerian. This is where you may want to take a short break and catch up on the time my parent’s tried to pimp me out.

At the risk of sounding mildly smug, I think my emotional growth over the years I’ve been writing on this blog has rewarded me with being right about the kind of person I need to be with and the way I approach my relationships.

I’ll sum it up in one major affirmation…..don’t play games. It’s pretty simple, but it works. I’ve read so many things about what women want, what men want, what women should know about what men want, how to make sure you don’t give him too much, tease this, play with that etc etc etc. On my bookshelf alone I’ve got, He’s just not that into you, It’s called a break-up because it’s broken, Act like a lady, think like a man and more nonsense than I care to admit.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not my first serious relationship (but everyone please say a quick prayer that it could be my last…ahem…), but it’s the first time I have been strong enough, emotionally strong enough to not front about any little bit. I am who I am, I know exactly what I have to offer and I’m willing to uphold my side of the bargain; I’m woman enough to stand by the woman I am.

So when I look at….Alan, I’m pretty certain that he is seeing the best I have to offer. I’m pretty certain this mindset is mutual, and so far, this is relationship has been real easy. Drama does not live in my house!

Is he the one?….Well, like the post title say’s, I’ve brought home the chicken. Time will tell if he is willing to go get them cows for my daddy if ya get what I’m saying.

All my friends were bored to death of me discussing how great it was and yes, there was an element of snobbery involved with knowing I worked for a company others would do anything to get an opportunity with.

But still I left. For two specific reasons which my darling been-at-the-same-job-for-27-years mama cannot really grasp.

Number one on my list, I’d been promoted too quickly. It happened easily because it was a very small company, but I still felt I wanted more time learning to be the best at my discipline and less time managing.

Number two, which is perhaps stranger for an ambitious person such as myself, vertical promotion does not interest me. My aim in life is not VP, CEO or managing anything of a company I didn’t start myself. Simples.

So, what did I do next, well I joined the world of contractors and started at a project in a bank. If you can imagine being a surfer living in Hawaii and then taking a job as an office teller in Moscow, then you may grasp somewhat how drastic a change I made in work environments. It’s a lot!!

Were it not for the specific project I’m on, you wouldn’t see me working in a bank. I’m thankful for the large numbers of creatives they have too cos if I had to be a lone soldier in this world, I would have long since gone AWOL!

How do you bankers do it? The crazy early starts are one thing, but add to that a culture of dick-waggling, foul mouths, unnecessary bureaucracy, outdated hierarchy, and the assumption that all time can be judged by how many trades could have been made (ok, so maybe not everyone is like that) and what you have is LoloBloggs feeling like an alien who has been kidnapped.

Is the project worth it? Maybe. They say all experience is good experience. A colleague often says to me, if you don’t like your reality, then change your perception of your reality. In other words, become delusional.

So, anyway, here I am, 7 months later amidst an economy where many have been make redundant and jobs are not exactly an abundant feature, I’ve handed in my notice and I’m about to have no job. There are options on the table, but I’ve chosen to be jobless for the next 6 weeks and I’ve booked a couple of trips overseas to occupy my time (if you read my blog, you know how I do.)

I’m interested in what others think of the world of work and the ‘career’ ideology, should you stay in a job you don’t like just because it’s more important to always have a job? Does promotion mean going up the career ladder or getting better at what you do? Is there even such a thing as a job for life anymore?

I’m having some mild guilt, I know there is potentially some arrogance in leaving a job without another to go to, but the other part of me says if you don’t capitalise on your abilities, it’s a waste…..