Saturday, March 31, 2012

For HIM...Pour LUI

Especially HIM.-

How do I tell HIM, especially HIM, that once he steps out of the door, that even his mother, his super she-ro Mama G, the person he trusts, loves, and believes the most in the world cannot protect HIM, against this sort of thing; how does he believe me now? He is a bright, well-read, well-traveled, 5 foot 10 inches tall, thirteen (13) year old man-child, he has seen someone good, someone who looks like HIM go down in what was nothing but a cold blooded murder. A hoodie, an ice tea, a Skittle, and a gun.

We have always proclaimed to HIM: Good things happen to Good people; have repeatedly enunciated that if you stay in school, get good grades (A's), you are being good; if you don't do drugs, respect your elders, call your eighty-one (81) year old grandma at least twice a week, you are being good; if you do not physically or verbally abuse girls/women, if you speak properly, no saggin' pants, you are being good; if you go to church, pray daily, eat your veggies, clean your bedroom, you are being good; and because you are super good, the everlasting powerful, infinite, and omnipotent God Almighty will always protect you, you will always be safe, and some years down the line, you will attend university, and we will be present at your graduation ceremonies, and Mama G, and MOI will dance at your wedding, and God willing, we will hold our grandchildren in our arms, because you see, mon affectionné, these are the things that happen to good people...and we beatified the lie.

♫♪ Swagga like us ♫♪ Swagga like us ♫♪.-

We have consistently told HIM to be proud of his heritage, d'être satisfait de l'épaisseur de ses lèvres, et d'être surtourt fier que depuis l'aube des temps ses ancêtres  ont porté le monde depuis le premier matin * (Ref:1) Swag,  pitit mwen, because you have the Ayitian sun in your veins; we have been to South Afrika, in Johannesburg,  when we landed at the International Airport, named after a giant of a man, a lifetime anti-apartheid activist, an icon of the African National Congress (ANC) Oliver R. Tambo, he asked who? what? how? when?; In Cape Town, we took the thirty (30)  minutes ferry ride to Robben Island, broke down, and prayed as a family in front of the 5 x 8  (5 feet by 8 feet) cell of Mr Nelson Mandela; in Soweto, he stood at the very spot where Hector Pieterson  (Ref:2), a boy his age, was shot, and killed on 16 June, 1976, while protesting  the implementation of Afrikaans as medium of instruction in secondary school; we have stated that Mr. Mandela suffered all the mortifications, and ignominies, because of HIM circa 2012, that Hector Pieterson (?) belongs to history, Never Again, mon chéri, this is a new world, a new millennium...and we memorialized the lie.

Ref:1.- *Be satisfied of the thickness of his lips, and to be proud that his Ayitian ancestors have carried the world since the beginning of time.*

Ref:2.- * Pieterson or Pietersen? spelled differently in different media outlets.

A few years ago, we vacationed in Atlanta, Georgia, (USA), and visited the Martin Luther King's Memorial Museum, we gently whispered in his innocent ears: You will never have to go through this; as a family, we have listened to MLK's I Have a Dream  iconic speech at least one hundred (100) times, and told him that HE IS THE DREAM; we have downplayed Malcom's By any means necessary philosophy, because beloved son of ours, there is a time for war, and a time for peace; this is 2012, we are Ayitians, centuries ago, your ancestors spilled their blood for YOU, they have fulfilled the book, so that you can be safe, and be all that you can be; we have routinely quoted Ayitian scholar Anténor Firmin: All men are endowed with the same qualities and the same faults, without distinction of color or anatomical form...and we intellectualized the lie.

Fils adoré.- Adored son.-

You have witnessed the son of a Luo, the son of a pure Afrikan man, carrying a funnier first name, and surname than yours, a gentleman, and a scholar, become the President of the United States of America, and his equally polished, refined, super diplomée, regal, and loyal spouse, the great grand daughter of slaves becoming the most talked about, and photographed woman in the world; Prince chouchouté, (spoiled Prince) you ain't got no excuse for not being good. See, what happened to Barack and Michelle? they are true blue royalties, because they have been super-good, unlike the blood sucking vultures, slave traders, European royalties...and we iconized the lie.

Survival of the fittest  slickest.-

We have told HIM to pray, shout, bawl, roar, run, fly, sprint,  humour your way out,  and when everything else fails, to fight back like his ancestors, rele lwa yo, ayibobo, les invisibles go down swinging, IF YOU'RE GOING DOWN. How can I look at HIM in the eyes now, and tell HIM that we are living in a world where mothers of black boys have an anguish gleam in their eyes when their children, especially their preteen, and teenage sons, run out for ice tea, and Skittles; mommies suffer anxiety attacks because their babies might never come back. Do we tell HIM, that his life as a black boy is not as precious as one of his contemporaries, who happens to be white? Do we tell HIM that it is not good enough to be GOOD?

What do WE, what do I tell HIM now?


  1. You tell him that he should continue to honor our ancestors
    You tell him to keep on keeping on being GOOD
    lies? no
    You tell him the truth like I told my 6 ft, 15 year old son.
    the truth that people first see a black man then the choice is HIS to teach and show them otherwise.
    you tell him to walk proud and be proud
    mama may never get over the anxiety and the fear but she knows that the Almighty will shield HIM and HIS will be done.

  2. To read “Pour Lui” and “Pour Elle” was a profoundly moving experienced. I too have 2 children, a boy and a girl. I have been thinking for a while now, that one of the best birthday presents I could give them would be a letter similar to “Pour Lui” and “Pour Elle”. I doubt that my letters would be as moving and as eloquent as Ole G’s , but I too want to offer this declaration of unconditional love and affection. Once I make the time to do so I will also let them know that they are the gifts that keep on giving me love, affection and hope. They will know that they saved my life. Thank you Ole G for reminded me that “pwomes se det” I still owe these animals my own declaration of love. Thanks Ole G for such a beautiful and moving reminder