Don’t miss this, tomorrow only!! @thelittlenameless.art in Kingston with @jagmehtaceramics Repost from @preelitmag • 👋 TOMORROW! Join us at BETWEEN STATES, a one-day open studio exhibition co-produced with the School of Visual...
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I spent my days inside a cubicle, tacking digits into a spreadsheet, or sending emails — a bureaucratic ventricle that existed between crisscrossing red tape whose sole job, aside from busywork, was to pass the buck along. It wasn’t bad, especially surrounded by those in the same lot. And there was free water.
Read MoreNights transformed her. The cold cream smell as she slathered it on her face would draw me to her bedroom. Perched on her bed, I became not a future wife, but a treasured consigliere. She whispered obeah spells, taught me to commune with the dead and to sense evildoers’ vibrations. I learned to brew ancestor-calling potions and plant money-summoning shrubs.
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Sometimes, to make Mummy happy, if I home on a Sunday morning I will take her to church in my SUV, so the neighbours could see how well her son did. But if it have a God, I ent feel him in that church. I think about him at thirty-six thousand feet, as if heaven just behind that fluffy white cumulus cloud in front the plane. Sometimes I slip in a little prayer to Olodumare. Though maybe is Shango I should be appeasing, god of thunder and lightning. I know about the Orishas from Granny. Is church all the way for Mummy, but Granny — Daddy’s mother — she make sure I know which power to pour a little libation to, and what signs from them to look out for
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In Kenya, most people speak English and Swahili, and each tribe has its own language. My mother tongue is Kidawida. We were forced to speak English in school. If you spoke in vernacular, you had to wear a plug around your neck saying, “I am a vernacular speaker,” and later you would be punished.
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