One Night In Oakland.

Gademm!!!! The soul is weak and the brain is tired oh!!! For the last few weeks I have been forcing my brain to cram page after page of mind-numbingly boring information...after so many years of minimum activity, its almost painful to have to actively utilise my brain cells to maximum capacity....and I can tell my brain does not appreciate the effort, I can just visualise the NASTY(or nEsty, if you’re P-Square) looks it must be giving me as it stares accusingly in a state of shock at receiving all this boringness, it must be thinking; “O girl take style calm your blood oh! Wetin be this one now?!?! After 22 years of pushing all sorts of sweet gist and laughter inside here na now you want make i begin dey memorise this kind nonsense as if I no get better thing to do! Stop am oh because if to say I come vex like this hhhmmmm you no go like am.....*pulls imaginary ear like a Nigerian mother*” Oh, if our parts could speak. 

Seriously, my brain is  saving more information than it has EVER had to and its reflecting in the way I reason. Yesterday I met up with some of my best girlfriends (and if hip hop is to be believed, Ma Dawgz.... BET must be cut from my diet STAT) one of them was talking about a club that had to close in NYC because a bouncer mistakenly killed a man in the process of separating a fight the man was involved in.  And  in the midst of all the OMG’s and gasps, all I could think was, “What kind of homicide would that be??1st degree?2nd? Aggravated?Manslaughter?....In Multi-state? And in New York??!!...then become secretly panicked when I wasn’t sure of the answer. Its disgusting, I swear I used to be cool. No, really. Lawyers are liars. 

Today I didn’t get any real work done, the reason is two fold. 1. My mind is tahhhd!!! Oooo child, mama tiiiired!! Secondly *whispers shamefaced* I went out yesterday. Yes. Audacious and true, but I studied until the very last moment & I finised Contracts yesterday so a celebration was in order me thinks *tries to fight her guilt* Anyways, I went to celebrate one of my best mates last night in Cali...and all sort of foolery commenced because...(you guessed it), we went out in Oakland....yes, I myself do wonder from time to time, “Am I a masochist?!”

Before now, I have only once gone a-partying in Oakland....intense self-preservation and a general aberrance of hoodrat hoetivity keeps me away from that area after the clock's gentle fingers tenderly stroke the hour of 6p.m. Partying is strictly restricted to San Francisco...where I know the craziest people aren’t really checking for me like that...now if I were say, a young metrosexual man, the chances may be higher....Seriously, what other city do you see a ‘Suitable Suitor’ (as my bff calls men of the appealing variety) and immediately assess the following; 1. Who did he come with? 2.Are his friends wearing v-necks? 3. If yes to 2, are said v-necks of the tight, body-hugging variety? 4. Are said friends holding hands...or moving with a distinctly feminine gait?....Yup! Ooooh hell!!

Anyway, it was for such a purpose, i.e dancing our worries away, that Friday evening found us in Oakland around the witchly hour of midnight....we arrived in LBD’s that comfortably balanced class with style and a little sprinkling of Diva Dust...shameless self-promotion.....mais c’est vrai.  In other words we looked distinctly out of place in a small Oakland club reminiscent of a 'mama-put-joint-conveniently-converted-to-a-club (where stale Star beer, Guinness, fresh palm wine, and you suspect Nkwo-bi, will be plentiful).  So in we strolled, stared around....and proceeded to clutch our pearls and purses simultaneously as we accessed the caliber of people. Using the strict standards taught to us at the Elite Club Of Advanced Snobs a.k.a On Mama's Lap. It was a disappointing array of all that is wrong with the world....seriously, there were men without teeth there. Make of that what you will. (I should qualify that 'without teeth' extends to those missing a substantial number of incisors as well as those the jury finds guilty of the dreaded ‘aluminum foil masquerading as grillz’ foolishness. All toothless negroes to me.*shrugs* ).

Regardless of the fact that the ‘club’ looked like a cross between said Nkwo-bi joint & native doctor shrine; with its faded red curtains and corresponding green and red light bulbs, we decided that as we had arrived past midnight due to watches set to the internationally criticised CPT (Coloured Peoples Time; +2 to +4 hours depending on the Noirs in question....Nigerians are honourably categorised in the +4 to +6 hr category due to our ‘Effizy’ and love for excess, which were all in evidence last night), we decided that we might as well stay. The fact that the drive from Stanford(from whence my friends started their missionary journey) to Oakland is at least an hour (all in the name of dancing!) also meant that our designated driver wasn’t set on driving anywhere soon especially not with the current recession-defying gas prices!

So after sizing up the crowd as a mix of fun-lovers, hoodrats and people whose where-abouts the United States Immigration Department would dearly love to be informed of, we decided to throw caution to the wind in a ‘life gives you lemons, you best gets to squeezing...and shaking....& skanky-legging’ move and we headed to the dance floor.

So into the sweaty, rather smelly crowd we went...I did say that this ‘club’ was the size of a maggi cube right? And everyone and their play cousin had come to squeeze, shake & skanky-leg. Well, not 10 minutes after we had perched our purses on the nearest table and begun to dance, a sudden scrambling began, raised voices were heard, anxiety was sensed as we spotted a lady, poised in an Amazonian stance, bottle raised atop her head as she prepared to go for the jugular of her worthy opponent. 

Ok that was an exaggeration.

 Two women...or two cliques, it wasn’t really clear, were about to tear weaves and fake lashes from each other with fake nails. WE weren't interested in getting a bit of acrylic in our eye or some gel on our dresses... we didnt even wait to understand what was going on, once people started shouting, all Reps of the E.C.A.S picked race....the next few seconds found us outside with mean mugs, once again clutching to pearls, purses & each others phallanges, promising God that if he rescued us from any ghetto crimes(The term Ghetto Crimes refers to crimes involving gel & bad weaves, acrylic nails longer than 4 inches, stabbings with broken bottles....you see where I'm going...), we would never again be found on the grimy streets of Oakland when resident GoodGirls were in bed.

Well as the story goes, the party quickly continued as if nothing happened...prompting the suspicion that this is the standard for Oakland parties...???....I bet if there was no fight people would have gone home like “Man that party was wack!! Not ONE broken bottle?Niggas came in and left WHOLE, NO injury, NO ambulance...NOTHING?!I mean WTF?!?!” Anyways, soon we were left with other chickens outside looking around a-scared. Upon realising our chicken was showing, we channeled our inner Gangsta and headed back into the club on a ‘Nothing Do Us’  deez.....with hearts secretly beating fast.

Lets just say the rest of the night just got more entertaining, I have not seen so many toothless men, swaggerless gremlins, grilled out fellows or indeed midgets in one place at one time. The d.j was obviously stuck somewhere in the early 2000’s with his selection of African music, and his interruptions with “BAD-DAY shout outs to the celebrants....” ....and the last number of the night which he announced to be ‘BAD-DAY SESSSS’ ('Birthday Sex' to English speakers) had us side-eyeing this negro like it was HIS bad-day, all night. Add this to the fact that one particular midget negro almost killed us with laughter and you see it was a rather 'interesting' night.

After approaching us in his body-hugging black shirt that would make Herve Ledger rather jealous, stylishly matched with free flowing white HIPSTERS....*pause* and getting promptly Nexted!, this hombre proceeded to strike a pose and watch us dance for the remainder of the evening. Upon being recognised for the swaggerless being that he is and promptly ignored, hombre looks at us like “WAIT, YOU DONT KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH...I WILL SHOW YOU!!!”...Now we are all slightly curious and wary as he slipped his hand into his pocket....and pulls out the DARKEST sunshades known to mankind! After that grand gesture, he puts on the glasses, poses, then slowly turns and looks at us....and I can actually hear him ask us one question in his mind.....“Who’s Bad?” I.Almost.Died.

'Booty Dew' Killed Hip Hop. Please arrest the singers & alert the authorities.

On one of my food breaks, I went to my room to eat and turned the TV on to BET....dont judge me, after sitting in a car with my Anglo-Saxon friends and listening to a serious discussion about Moby (yes, the bald singer), which did not ONCE involve any of the following words; “WHO?!?".."WHY??"..."HUH, MOBY??!?! SERIOUSLY HOW?!?!"...but rather included detailed descriptions of Moby concerts and songs (yes, Moby fans are real live humans just like you and I) and a lavish amount of praise heaped on the clean-shaven head of said songbird, my TV has been on BET watch since that day, as I struggle to reclaim my Negrocity. LOL!!!  

So anyways, it was at such a time that I became acquainted with a video tentatively titled ‘Booty Dew’. You see, I suspect that this is one thing impeding the (African-) American dream ; specifically this brand of foolishness. Yes, I am taking it there and indeed blaming Hip Hop…not as the sole cause of some of the foolishness I've witnessed in America’s black community, which I am quite pleased to say I’m not a part of seeing as I am African.....(and I'm an active member of the potentially more foolery-exhibiting Negrodom known as the African community...a fact that is really neither here nor there)....but as a substantial contributor to the irresponsibility I witness daily.We press on.

My problem with Hip Hop is manifest. Not least because it manages to continuously spew forth homo-sapiens whose faces assure me that the God I serve certainly has a sense of humour. Men who sometimes look like they have fully evolved, but whose lyrics evidence otherwise. I don’t know how far across the Atlantic some of these ‘Rap’ songs spread especially the kawwwntrayyy…...ahem, country style rap but I hope and at the same time fear that many people may have borne witness to one of such videos. This video is entitled ‘Halle Berry....She Fine’ (or Halllayyy Bayyyrayyy She Fooooiiinnnee, according to the grown folk chanting along to this track in the video).

The fact that there are several ladies of the ‘thicker than a snicker’ variety in this video (sistahs who I steadfastly remain jealous of by the way *eyes her tiny bum sadly*), or that there is a ghetto fabulous version of Yung Halle in this video or that yet another cringe-inducing, breakfast-indigesting, frankly-annoying ‘dance’ has arrived doesn’t fascinate me as much as the *huge sigh as she types the next words* ‘singer and songwriter’ Hurricane Chris. The entire time I watched this video, I was struck by one thing and one thing alone……WHY, does this young man’s face start from the place normally reserved for lips in other peoples faces? I mean, this man's entire face is a forehead. Why? And I kept asking myself why over and over again. And because I am who I am, I somehow managed to find reasonable justifications to solve the mystery of his hidden hairline(Yes, you may call me Miss Drew). I reasoned, his hairline lies closer to the back of his neck than his eyebrows probably because of the tight braids...or a style in the durrty souf might be to shave off most of the front hair, revealing a gleaming brow?...Frankly I was worried.

I was in the middle of such volatile thoughts thus was unable to react fast enough to the announcement of the number 7 video on BET's 106 & Park countdown; “Booty Dew’. And that’s how dear friends I was found in front of a TV watching a video & listening to a song I define as ‘Niggatry in its rawest and most undiluted form.’

Now my problem wasn’t the fact that there were sprinkled amongst the dancing negroes in this video, several white frat boys singing along and dancing to this video, I was far more surprised by the reaction of the studio audience when the camera returned to the 106 & Park studio. All the 14-year-olds-pretending-to-be-18 were singing along loudly with their too bright sneakers and ponytails stacked high at the wrong side of their craniums while the hosts Souljaboy’d along to the song like it was all normal. Attendre, WAIT....a song is called BOOTY.DEW and not even one person has a WTH face?!? C’mon, give me a disgusted face…..hell, a slightly confused face at least?!! Nope, everyone was just basking in the ignorance as the ‘singer’ crooned about the joys of booty dew.

My relationship with Hip Hop is strange. While I don’t think it is the living spring from which all hoodrat behaviour flows, I think it has a dangerous and lasting effect on the community. I mean these little kids, had just watched someone tell them about booty dew,whatever the hell that means, and were gearing to listen to the #6 song ‘Birthday Sex’……seriously, then we wonder where all the women on the Maury show come from?!?!

The Hip Hop proponents' argument for Hip Hop is that it should be recognised and preserved because it is a respectable art form that allows rappers tell their story, its a documentation of the black struggle, the voice of the people, etc. Maybe.

Before I moved to America I always thought a lot of Hip Hop stories in songs were exaggerations but my foray into Oakland has proven otherwise; ‘babymommadrama’ is the norm, as are dead beat dads and cracked out mums, pimp style negroes, clear heeled stripper shoes in the daytime, durags & timbs, perpetual smell of weed on almost EVERYONE, cornrowed negroes at the corners looking to ‘holla right quick’, conversate & copulate with any free-breathing or asthmatic female, little 14 year old girls jumping rope with their babies on one hand.….ok I havent seen that one yet but the number of babies with babies is a little disquietning. These rappers are actually singing about real life situations. So yes, it is the voice of their struggle.

HOWEVER, where do we put the Hallay Barrays?!? Or T-Pain and his ridiculous questions("Have you ever been in the VIP room of your favourite strip club?"...Er, no sir! How many people who listen to your music can afford the scenarios you describe and can answer affirmatively to that question pray tell? Gremlin please! Tell me something I can relate to!!), is he still a part of the struggle? Or pure entertainment? How entertaining is it that there are whole parts of the world where black people are still strange to see or that there still exists so many narrow minds in the black-president led America for whom blacks will never be regarded as equal. How entertaining is it to confirm such unhealthy stereotypes?

True, we are not responsible for the ignorant minded idiots who really don’t understand that all humans were created equal,but at the same time I really have to wonder what goes through the mind of a person in say Montenegro, who hasn’t seen many negroes in real life but has seen enough of them on MTV behaving in a way we have come to expect of niggers…NOT black people...(Youtube Chris Rock on Niggers), when he sees a *gasp* Real Live Negro??

I know, I know, this is taking things too far but I cant help but wonder…..especially after reading that Jay-Z said Hip Hop has done more than any ambassador or politician to unite the races. *shrugs* Maybe. But it’s the kind of unity deserving of a side eye me thinks. I’m not sure if Shaniqua is ready for any Molly to be living vicariously through her, that’s what Hip Hop does. Or Deshawn to have John Smith throwing the ‘N’ bomb around then innocently (and legitimately) inquiring why he cant use it if Tyrone & ‘em can? Thats what Hip Hop does. Hell, Hip Hop is the reason why I write irrevently on this blog, laughing at words and a lifestyle that is far removed from mine but is very real to someone and is all they know. It’s a shame really, but that’s Hip Hop.

Truth is, Hip Hop tells the world a story but too many times its telling an incomplete one. Someone once told me that the camera lens has only one eye, so it can't see properly. So there are no panoramic tales on our TV's;just the same story with the same script and characters that lead the listeners and viewers to think that there is only one type of African American man or that the black woman comes in one shape and brain size. They dont tell us that for every Delishis, Angel Lola Luv and Buffy the Body there is a Michelle Obama or a Valerie Jarrett or a young girl in college, studying and staying away from general hoodrat activity and sorority sister style hoe-tivity....which incidentally most often involve the Mollys & the Beckys(yes, mudfights in the backyards of the frat houses at Berkeley NEVER involve sistahs....and I know this for sure because Black Woman's Hair + Water= Someone Looking For A Fight, BUT Black Woman's Hair + DIRTY water + Sand or MUD???= Instant Death For The Bastard Son Of A Diseased Goat Who Orchestrated The 'Fun'....see I'm getting mad just thinking about it.)

Speaking about the state of Hip Hop, does Drake look like a black vampire to anyone else? So NO ONE in the world besides me thinks this gentleman looks like he rubs white powder on his face daily????? Look deep within yourself and answer truthfully ....

But You Know Its Uncalled For.....

I tried not to talk about Oakland again. I tried. I really did….but the place and its inhabitants just continue to provide fodder for an active imagination! Its ridick! It’s like they send out a secret memo that I’m coming and EVERYONE should be on their most worrisome behaviour for my benefit. I mean, HOW else can you justify the foolery!??! It can’t possibly happen on the daily, no economy could survive with this foolishness….(hmmm, actuaaaaallllyyyy the American economy isn’t surviving…..I think I just might have found the answer to the recession. Clever Barbie. *beams*).

I understand that there are wondrous parts of the city of Oakland but lawdy lawwwwd, there are some nefariously ghettoised homes and homebodies in this place! I mean what business does a grown man have sitting without fear or favour on the train, staring around with nary a care in the world….and wearing butterscotch coloured Timberland boots with the Louis Vuitton logo printed in every free space on those size 42s?!!...Worse, this stylistically challenged fellow dared to authenticate this foolishness with a gold buckle around the calf of the ‘designer’ shoes proudly emblazoned with the print “Louis Vuitton, est 1852”. Negro Please! Aint nobody believing those shoes came from The Malletier himself when on the other side there is a little palmtree masquerading as the Timberland logo. *Shakes head* You need more people my friend because we (that is, THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!)aren’t buying what you’re selling, NEXT!

So today, I was on the train to my salon for a touch up(in the name of studying I have morphed into a mini Chantal Biya) when I encountered Mr Timb Vuitton, thinking this was the last straw, I got off the train at my stop and ventured, out into the street. Bad. Move. There she was, standing before me…. a paragon of nastiness. I am sorry but what are some people thinking when they step out of their houses?? "HMMMM, what can I wear today that will make people offended…??...theres that orange House of Dereon velour suit….with my blingy Apple Bottom denim face cap…..and that matching Baby Phat denim jacket with rhinestones?!?HA! I WILL KILL THEM TODAY!!!!”…This is the type of discussion I can only assume most of Oakland’s population have with the kneegrow in the mirror before hitting the streets to, appropriately, kill us.*Sigh*

So back to this paragon of nastiness, I’m waiting at the traffic lights, and this lady stands next to me in a tight bright yellow vest (bear in mind that this is a well endowed Team Chunk representative I speak of), tiny denim mini skirt (with rhinestones blinding passing drivers, Oh Kimora Lee when will you stop creating stupidly hazardous styles?! When?), yellow cycling shorts…*meditate on that, cycling shorts…with a lace trim, in yellow*, carrying a matching yellow bag and….no, im not finished, wearing yellow slippers with her long witchlike toenails, waaay longer than said slippers, actually grazing the granite as she walked!! I was weak. Oh and I forgot the multi-coloured face cap stylishly tilted to cover one eye! So you know, even if all the matching did not tell you, that this Badmamajama definitely got dressed in a conscious state, in the presence of a mirror and with every intention to come out looking like she did. At this moment I bow my head and ask…nay, BEG for direction and a cease to this foolishness. I mean it isn’t even 9.30am yet and buffoonery is already the order of the day!?!?!!No, please.

Anyways, I weakly cross the street and get to the salon only to find my hairdressers watch is set to Coloured Peoples Time today, I call her and she says she is ‘round the corner.’ Right. I sit there waiting in the shop with the only other occupant being the barber. Now, this salon is EXACTLY like the one in The Barber shop movie, all the workers have their personal chairs and just pay rent to Tha Boss…or Boss Lady in this case, a feisty Jamaican with red hair. So I sit quietly as the barber proceeds to talk to himself, loudly and argumentatively, while I’m sitting there wondering if I should fade before he decides to do something crazy.Before I can decide, these two men come into the salon and the three of them begin the most entertaining conversation I have heard in ages! One of them is explaining a recent shooting he survived and the others are dropping comments about their own 50cent style escapes from bullets (exaggerated numbers et al). In fact, Crazy Barber insists, his brother got shot in front of Ronnie’s liquor store and “That Niggah woulda been dead but he too fat to die! Shiiiiiiiiit, bullet got lost somewhere in the fat around his arteries”. OK, L.O.L…please which doctor told you that one?!

These men discussed everything under the sun from Lil Wayne “….dawg, he been doing hoe shit since he wuh 14!” to Kobe “….maaaaaaaaaaannnn he a hoe!” to the local…ahem, ‘Sperminator’ with his 6 babymommas and their epic plan to bring him to justice by arriving at his work place to collect his cheque. And his plan to elude them which turned out to be an epic fail, prompting the following words from Crazy Barber “ ….tell you this, hell hath NO fury like a black woman suspecting her kid’fatha be a trifling niggah, mm mm mm that niggah be playing like Lebron thinking he can fool 6 b*tchs at one time! And they ugly too. You know ugly women angry all tha time!” This met with much agreement and mutterings of “Oh I know!” and “...truth son, they some frog-faced sistahs! ”

All while I sat there trying to control my laughter and be invisible. In white jeans (the jury’s still out on them by the way. I felt so conspicuous wearing them, I’ve hated coloured trousers since the Feb 14th that I, not realizing the date, ventured out in red jeans looking like Cupids chokehold herself …don’t judge me, 2004 was one fashion faux pas after another).

FINALLY my hairdresser comes in. A really beautiful young woman (with the required tri-syllabic ghetto name though) and tells me that ‘…what had happened was…’ she had locked her keys in her car when she went to drop her kids at kindergarten. Her morning consisted of getting all the kids at the playground to "...help Deshawn and Nay Nay’s mummy look for her keys". That is, until she realized she’d locked them in the car. Apparently, one of the kids had to climb in through the sun roof to open the door for her.

Hard to believe but it seems someone’s morning was more ‘interesting’ than mine!