blackgirl on mars: notes on a life in copenhagen (or how my alienation brings me closer to people).

What a week to live in Copenhagen! Whew! First thing Monday morning is the news that some vandals besmirched one of Denmark's most beloved national symbols. Visited by over 1 million tourists a year, some genius ( & I am sincere about that label) dressed her up in a burka ! I suppose this was a precursor to how the week would end: With the undressing of one of Denmark's other most beloved national symbols: Bjarne Riis , who admitted to doping. But wait, some very interesting things happen in between: But, before I go there, I must mention that this is not the first time the mermaid has been tinkered with. Once she was painted red, another time even beheaded! Yikes! Who would do such a thing? She 's been victim to other revisions as well, and I must say, it certainly gets a LOT of attention. She even got international attention! Denmark really got it good in this year's Amnesty International Report. Denmark was accused of, among other things, of beef...

But before I tell you why, I need to address one thing sisters, and that is the prospect of the fact that headlining the news today, the Federal Disasters Association (FDA) is about to approve a drug that will take our menstrual cycles away from us. Don't buy into this! Look, I know a lot of us think it's a pain in the ass to get our period once a month, that we've heard a million times how in so many other societies menstruating womyn are ostracized blah blah blah but I want to ask you to ask yourself one thing: How much are your feelings toward your period influenced by others? By your momma telling you not to talk about it, that you're a womyn now, so don't go messing with those guyz? That you can't trust something that bleeds and never dies! Ay yi yi! I mean, how much negativity about our menstruation have we been forced to accept, like Mary accepting to carry baby Jesus (hello, God told her to, he didn't ask! ) Awright now...in actual fact, womyn were...

Mine is a generation of warriors. We take no prisoners. We would rather kill than have someone dangle from our lives like a useless appendage. We need only ourselves. And love only each other. Love not in the romantic way, but in the Sisterhood way. Romantic love rots the heart. Sisterhood love sustains. My friend Seven is magic. She is older than I, although I am the one who smokes cigarettes. I am in front of the house, swinging on the gate, harsh cigarette dangling from my mouth. Palm trees dance in the cool breeze as the sunlight glitters above, casting everything in its heat. My friend Seven stands still--so much power in her non-movement. Her eyes survey. She grabs the cigarette from between my lips, throws it on the dirt ground and steps on it. She is wearing no shoes. Seven is beautiful, bountiful, a plentiful character emboldened in her that tells of a magical mother who is wise to the otherworld. I swing on the g...

You give me strength You lift me up When my Shoulders Want to kiss the ground You pull me up again. You are the light in the Darkness of my Self-absorption & allow Me to see the wonder of without. You remind me of the beauty Kai You remind me of the beauty My heart was without Rhythm before You & now Each beat Belongs To the hymn That is you. Thank you for letting me be your mother, Kai. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be a better human being. You are amazing & I will always strive to do my best by you. Your mother, Lesley-Ann

I’m tired. Of fighting, Of hating Of moving, Of shopping Of working… I am tired. I’m tired Of War Ignorance Bigotry Gender & otherwise Of Intolerance. I am oh so tired. I am weary… & when my heart beats it hurts. Statistically I’m supposed To burst… I am tired & weary Of this journey Through a wilderness With no compass No sight No map I am tired & they say I’ll have a long Time to sleep After, After… I am tired…

Infant mortality in Iraq soars as young pay the price for war By Andrew Buncombe in Washington Two wars and a decade of sanctions have led to a huge rise in the mortality rate among young children in Iraq, leaving statistics that were once the envy of the Arab world now comparable with those of sub-Saharan Africa. A new report shows that in the years since 1990, Iraq has seen its child mortality rate soar by 125 per cent, the highest increase of any country in the world. Its rate of deaths of children under five now matches that of Mauritania . Jeff MacAskey, head of health for the Save the Children charity, which published the report, said: " Iraq , Botswana and Zimbabwe all have different reasons for making the least amount of progress on child mortality. Whether it's the impact of war, HIV/Aids or poverty the consequences are equally devastating. Yet other countries such as Malawi and Nepal have shown that despite conflict and poverty child mortality rates can be rever...

We have sadly forgotten the purpose and beauty of dance. I was blown away when I heard Akon’s voice in his song about the Ghetto, I felt like, wow! Ok…someone is getting it and singing about it. Then lo and behold i hear that awful song about smacking and yeah, the rest is history. We have truly forgotten how and why we dance. What was once a celebration of life, a release from the mundane has become some crass imitator of what we are fed from tv. The Media is the idol and when you think about it this way, you understand why in some religions, the image is forbidden. But anyway, I digress. We have forgotten why our ancestors, from India, from Africa…why they danced. We have forgotten the importance of songs and instead of singing about thanks and praises we singing about men who don’t have no money and sex like it going somewhere? Anyways folks, we have forgotten how to dance. And just in case ya’ll wondering if there might a connection between that 14 year old grinding up there ...

Remember that the Image IS mightier than the sword... bullet &/or even bomb yet it can be silenced by the pen.

my grandaddy's drunk again the smell of rum on his breath he nods off in front of the tv disgruntled, an artful delay of his death. my grandaddy bemoans the state of the world and blames it all on, us yankees. he asks to the air oh why oh why must mickey mouse come & save us? can't he just leave us alone take his ass home & deliberately forsake us? see, my grandaddy's stubborn ( but not always drunk) knows deception when he sees it, because no matter how shiny and no matter how new it all still seems to be that same old colonial point of view.

Burn some sage when you need to be clear. Put some pennies in your doorway if you need more money. Don’t ever place your purse on the floor if you want to avoid financial difficulties. (Your son has a hearing a problem, he will have to wear hearing aids.) I miss Brooklyn and the don’t give a fuck stride of a Brooklyn man. I miss hair extensions, Hip Hop and Harlem . I miss cheap Gucci and acrylic nails. I miss Makeba, Shawanda, Mecca and Tracy —girls who were women since the fourth grade. I miss giving people love just because you like their vibe. (We can’t hire you because your Danish isn’t good enough) Things to do: Get a job Learn Danish and bury your father. (I don’t think I’ve ever loved you) Read a book when you want to end it all. Look at your son’s caramel eyes when you want to leave. Don’t smoke cigarettes if you don’t want to get cancer. (Hvor lange har du boet her I Danmark?) (How long have you lived in Denmark?) ...

P is for putting up with the hardship A is for the anchor that is you T is for the toughness you will have to go through I is for the I that is you E is for the elevation that comes after seeing a job through N is for quieting the noise of your solititude C is for the character you are in the process of building E is for bringing the project from beginning to End.