Birthday Month [recap]

It's October so that means that the #BirthdayMonth is officially over. It was great while it lasted and I had a ton of fun. I'm grateful for all my friends and family who helped me celebrate my 29th birthday.

My brothers left yesterday and while I was sad to see them leave (since I haven't been home in over a year) I was glad they took their vacation time to come down spend a week with me. Follow them on twitter, here and here. "There is no doubt that around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human society, are created, strengthened and maintained." ~Winston Churchill

This past week was epic. Got my 4th tattoo (shout out to #oneofmyfollowers). Had lots of good food. Drinks were flowing. Partying was taken to a new level. There wasn't any shortage of fun.

I love my real friends. Thanks for making it a success.

Pics and videos coming soon: "29 bottles, 29 models"

My name tells a story. What story does yours tell?

Yesterday I was watching the Texas/Baylor basketball game. When the star watch came across the screen, Baylor had a player by the name of Lacedarius. At first look I thought he had a Greek name but as I looked further I came to the conclusion that his name was probably a mixture of two names: Lacy and Darius. Now I know with a name like Tunde, most of you are probably thinking that I have no reason to be talking about Lacedarius. This is what I wrote on twitter yesterday:

i don't. i know my name is different but it actually has a deep rooted meaning. lacedarius sounds like a combo of 2 names.

Most Nigerian names have specific meaning. My niece's middle name literally means "born on sunday". My brothers (twins) names mean: "eldest of twins" and "youngest of twins". My youngest brothers name means: "born after twins". So while Nigerian names may seem hard to pronounce to most Americans they actually have some type of meaning and they are hardly ever made up. This morning when I woke up I checked my email and got a very interesting email from brother.

So we’ve all been there. First day of school, substitute teacher, work, even our every day lives. We’ve all been through it. We sit there, watching the individual with the list of names, just awaiting the look of panic and the pre-apology for mispronouncing our name. We know that they are about to butcher our names, so we raise our hands quickly, so in an effort to prevent both our embarrassment as well as theirs. What does it mean to be African in America? Well, it means many things. But one thing that I believe is constantly overlooked is our names. What’s in a name?

Due to the constant mispronunciation of our names, we are forced to do four things. One, we begin to go by nicknames. My best friend growing up had the last name Ayarinola. The unforgiving students called him granola bar until the day he graduated. For a long time, instead of calling me by my last name, Awoniyi, I was called ADub, AW, and A&W rootbeer, Awana-eat, I wanna wewe. The only thing that they have in common is that they all start with an A. Close, but not quite. I guess with nicknames it helps the individual over compensate for their lack of pronunciation ability.

Second, we go by the meaning of our names. My good friend, Ifedayo, went by love all through middle school. Good thing her name was not Joke.

Third, it forces us to get tired of cringing every time our name is slaughtered and we just begin to pronounce it however it will make it easy for them to say. Tomi become Tomy, Lara to Laura. Will it ever end? I have to say, though, out of all these, the fourth is the worst.

We change our names all together. For the first ten years of my life, I was called Seye, or rather Sheya as the average American pronounced it. Then after that, I began to be called Mary. Now to the African community, I’m Seye, but to everyone else, I’m Mary. And you all know exactly what I’m talking about. How many Graces or Josephs do you know?

Through my short life, I have begun to realize what slowly happens to us when we change our names in order to accommodate others. We slowly being to conform. We slowly being to forget who we are in hopes of making them happy. Although it is merely a minute change, our name is our identity. Our name is who we are.

19 years ago, Funso Awoniyi gave birth to her second daughter. This child almost did not make it; there were doubts concerning not only her survival, but a successful birth as well. But after labor that lasted for what felt like forever, the proud mother was able to hold her baby in her arms. She named that baby Oluwaseye. Oluwaseye. God has done this. God has done this. Not Nancy, not Beth, not Jessica, but God has done this, Oluwaseye.

True, being an African in America means that my name is constantly slaughtered. Yes, it means that I constantly have to just shrug off the fact that at times it feels like the individual is not even trying to pronounce my name correctly. But you know what? It also means that I am unique. It means that my name is a large part of who I am. It means that my name not only represents me, but it represents my family, my people, and the struggles that we have overcome. It means that my name is part of something bigger than I am. It means that my name is well, it’s my name. And I take pride in that. Oluwaseye. Oluwaseye. God has done this. God, has done this. My name tells a story. What story does yours tell?

Written by Seye Awoniyi

*******

I can relate to this email because I also dreaded the days when my teacher would call my name for roll and horribly mispronounce my name. It still happens to this day but I just politely correct whomever mispronounces my name. I take great pride in my name which means "he has come again". In Yoruba culture, there is belief in reincarnation. When a loving grandfather dies, and soon after, a child is born, they believe the father has reincarnated. I also understand that my name is a foreign language and it would unfair for me to expect people to pronounce it right the first time. What I won't stand for is for people to make fun of my name or mispronounce it on purpose. My name is not THAT difficult (pronounced Tune-Day). Even though my children will probably not have Nigerian first names (their middle and last names will be), their names will probably be biblical in origin. A name means a lot and it's not something that should be taken or given lightly.

I love you

You gave birth to the woman who gave me birth

A great woman who I wished I knew better

But we lived an ocean and a world apart

You no longer being with us is bittersweet

I guess I'm just selfish, because I want you to stay

But I know you're in a better place

No more suffering, no more pain

You are now with the love of your life

I guess it's the cycle of life

You were my last living grandparent

So now I just have my parents

And I fear the day I have to say goodbye to them

This is my goodbye

Grandma, I love you and I always will.

Just Black...?

*****After having a good discussion, I asked my favorite, Milan, to write a guest blog post. I think she has an interesting perspective. Enjoy. Also laides if you want to know about the latest make and beauty products on the market hit up her blog. Click HERE to see it. *****

So I was actually pleased when my boy Tunde suggested I get on and write this post for his blog because it’s a topic I feel strongly about and have some ‘not so great’ experience with. It’s actually a follow-up to a post he wrote HERE that I thought was extremely thought provoking.

After reading Tunde’s post, it brought back a ton of memories I had of situations in the past (that were essentially the reverse of what he was talking about) where I was made to feel inadequate or “less than” because…well…I am ‘just’ black or ‘just’ African-American, if you will. Yes you read right, JUST black…as if being so was simply not good enough. I’ve heard some Africans and even Afro-Caribbean people say African-Americans are “lost, lazy and lack true heritage”. Instead of embracing African-Americans as an extension of who they are and the cultures they represent, many have chosen to shun us or write us off as “lost”. This is mind-boggling to me. And hurtful.

I identify myself as black or African-American. I tend to use the two interchangeably a lot although African-American speaks more to my culture whereas black can include people of various cultural backgrounds with a common tie to African ancestry. I was born here in the United States, so were my parents, so were their parents and several generations before them. Yet, I know I am a descendent of Africa. I know my roots and heritage can be traced directly back to that continent. I know my ancestors were taken from Africa, brought to America as slaves and that’s essentially where my family’s story in this country begins. I’ve had family members trace our ancestry back to the early/mid-1800s. I know my people were slaves in this country. I even know what states some of them lived, who may have owned them, how they married, what children they had, how they moved and migrated across this country, and how I came to be born and raised in California. These are things I know.

What I do not know is exactly what country in Africa my people came from. I do not know what village or tribe I am a descendant of. I do not know what region I am from. I do not have names of my African ancestors. I myself do not have an African surname. But my heart is there, I know it, I feel it and there’s nothing anyone can say or do to take that away from me or any other African-American in this country. I am proud of who I am, I am proud of the ancestors that struggled in THIS country for me to have the opportunities I have, I am proud of what African-Americans here represent. I am proud of my family and my name.

When I was in college, I had a Nigerian guy I liked tell me although he liked me too…his parents would never accept me because I was ‘just’ black. I think this was the first of many of these types of comments I would encounter throughout the years usually from well-meaning African friends of mine. At the time I didn’t even fully understand what that meant…’just’ black. But it did stick with me. I guess I was naïve and looked at us all in much the same way. Yes, I was aware of cultural differences, however, black was black to me. Whether you were Haitian, Nigerian, Belizean, African-American, Trinidadian, Jamaican-American, Eritrean, etc. It was the first time I started seeing the major division that WE create amongst ourselves. The various sects that had arisen, the “culture snobs” (as I tend to call them) that existed…those that shun anything and everything that is different from the specific African culture they were a part of. The “oh you can’t know ANYTHING about this over here because THIS is Naija”. Yeah, that attitude. I have more stories along these lines, but in the interest of not writing an epic novel (just a short book apparently LOL), I won’t share them all. But you get the idea. I’m all for cultural pride. I get that. I love seeing it. I think blacks are some of the most diverse and interesting people on this planet. But when that pride turns to elitism, that’s when I have a problem.

I think we have enough “outside forces” that try to divide and conquer black people and that try to make us feel inferior that it’s sad to me that we do it to ourselves as well. That internal rejection tends to hurt more than the rejection you receive when you expect it from “others”.

I used to feel bad when I would hear the “you’re JUST black”comments. Like I was lacking something that made me inadequate. Now that I’m older, I don’t feel bad…I’m extremely proud to be JUST black or African-American. Black people in the United States have had to endure incredible pain and suffering and have had to overcome numerous struggles to be able to live equally and fairly. We STILL struggle for that. But we have a fighting spirit that can’t be matched. We’re survivors. And not for nothing, I think that strength was born and fed in Africa and has been passed down from generation to generation and still exists to this day in this country and around the world. We are resilient.

I have always been interested in learning about various cultures, especially various African/Afro-Caribbean cultures. It’s fascinating to me. Not because I’m searching for something that I lack, but because I tend to discover an aspect of these cultures that has translated into African-American culture in some way. I think that’s pretty special and I would encourage other African people to do the same. Especially those that are hung-up on the idea that being ‘just black’ isn’t good enough. They may discover that what connects us if far greater than what separates us. They may also discover that when they look at us, they’ll see themselves more often than not.

Ethiopian, Nigerian, Ugandan, Eritrean, Belizean, Trinidadian, Jamaican, Bahamian….yeah, I think African-Americans are all of those mixed up and rolled into one. I think that’s pretty dope and I’m extremely proud to be JUST black.

I'm African, What Are You?

Downtown Lagos. Not a hut in sight.

African American is a term used to show racial origins. The term itself is not racial or even political, but cultural since 'African American' is a cultural group. Even though the term is cultural I still feel that it is used to divide people of color. Growing up it was deemed such a negative thing to be associated with Africa. There were so many stereotypes about Africa. Types of questions I would get asked were “do you walk around naked in Africa?” Another person asked me “do you live in huts at Africa?” Whenever people asked me these questions, it really used to bother me. I used to actually be ashamed of my heritage because I was young and didn't know any better. Now I love the fact that I am African.

Most people don't know what the life in Africa looks like because they got these stereotypes from movies and internet sources. My family is from Lagos, Nigeria in West Africa. Lagos is one of the biggest and busiest places in Africa. It is filled with airports, hotels, restaurants, and some industries. Countries outside Africa even have business and vacation sectors in Lagos. The official language of Nigeria is British English along with traditional languages. Nigeria has more than 200 tribes. Nigeria is not the only advanced country in Africa; there are countries like South Africa, Ghana, Tunisia, Togo and other countries that are advancing.

Personally I feel if no matter what country you are from, if you are a person of color then you are African. If you are Dominican, guess what? Your people got to that island from somewhere. If you are a black French, you definitely are African. My friend Azza, sent me this video the other day. It's refreshing to see someone try to unify black people, from all over the globe. I think there is too much separation as it is.

Birthday Month [recap]

**I know it's been a while since I blogged but I was home living life and getting it in. Can you blame me (don't want to hear anything Ms. Minx)? Anyway, I'm back. I know you missed me.**

First I want to thank all my friends who helped me have a good time. My Nashville friends, my DC/MD friends, family. Big shout outs to my brother, Tai, for quarterbacking my birthday party and looking out my birthday week to make sure I had a great time.

So I flew home the actual day of my birthday party, which also happened to be the same day as my 10 year high school reunion mixer (yes I'm that old). It all worked out because we had our mixer at Indulj on U street and my party was at Republic which was on the same street about four blocks down. It rained heavily the whole day, but I wasn't about to let that ruin my good time.

High School Reunion Mixer

The homie Arneisa

The homie Nancy. Known her forever

I had a good time. I saw some friends that I've always kept in contact with (read: Club2300) and people that I haven't seen since graduation. I even saw people I forgot I went to high school with. All in all I had a good time. Some people looked really good, better than they did in high school. I guess age can do that to you. Some people looked the opposite and looked kinda bad. I guess they hit their peek in their late teens.

My Birthday Party

My bday flyer

Tai pouring drinks at the table

The reunion mixer was from 7-11 and my party was 10-until. So naturally I got to my party around 12. The four block walk seemed like 10 because of the rain but a lot of people did end up leaving the reunion and making the walk. I had a pretty good time and the turn out was a lot better than I thought it was gonna be because of all the rain. I'm glad my dad didn't show up like he said he was lol. My brother asked me what type of liquor I wanted for my table. I told him champagne, vodka and patron was cool but absolutely no Nuvo (if you don't know how I feel about Nuvo click here). It was good times had by all. They even played Atomic Dog and made me set owt a hop. I think I had too much Stoli because I obliged.

Wedding

The Six and Deuce

The Four and Tre

This past Saturday my line brother got married. 6 out the 7 off the line were in attendance. That many of us haven't been together since 2003. It was really good seeing my line brothers. The wedding was fun and he got married to another one of my good friends. Once again alcohol took over and when Atomic Dog came on, my four and I set it owt. Then came the Bmore Club music. That might have been the highlight of the reception. My tre is known for his footwork on the dance floor and he didn't disappoint. I had a good time at the wedding.

Overall I had a great 10 days at home celebrating my birthday and spending time with family and friends.

My weekend

If you are cool with me or if you follow me on twitter (click the link to follow me) then you know this past weekend I went home to visit. The past couple of weekends I have visited Atlanta (Greek Picnic) and New Orleans (Essence). Both cities are great but nothing feels better than to come home and be with family and friends. I went home with my friends/classmates Kurt and Ashley.

I got home late on Thursday night because it took us a little longer to get there than we expected (giving Ashley the side eye). So our plans to hit Shadow Room on Thursday night were scratched.

Starting Friday off right with some breakfast

Friday was spent running around and spending time with my youngest brother and mother. Kurt, my brother Tai and I went to happy hour at the Park. Their happy hour was really cool. We also met up with my homegirls Madie and Rissa and my boys Dave and Travis.

Happy Hour at the Park

We left there and hit up Layla Lounge for their open bar from 10-11. When we got there (~10:15) the club hadn't even opened yet. o_O It was literally the people I came with and 4 other chicks. When the club opened they tried to charge us $20. Now I had no problem paying that but we were like dude we know who is in there. Its them (those chicks) and us. Dude literally told us "Its DC on a Friday night and its 10:30". My brother got me and him in for free and $40 for everyone else (because he has the juice lol). Of course once inside we hit the bar. The bartender really tried to convince me that Balinoff vodka was top shelf o_O. We had our share of drinks before we left to party at K street Lounge. We had fun while we were there. Partied hard. Got a chance to meet the other co-author of Eyespyz Blog. I'll spare you the details of the foolishness the ensued at McDonalds on Georgia Ave (before the night got started) and the McDonalds on Pennsylvania Ave (after the night wound down). Lets just say it included me trying to order a double whopper with cheese in the drive thru and me messing with Wanda because I couldn't get a courtesy water (alcohol is a helluva drug).

Saturday I spent the day recovering from a slight hangover. When I finally did get up I went to my neo's (Todd) mother's 60th birthday cookout. It was a really nice cookout. Lots of food and drinks. The best thing was the baked beans. I'm still thinking about them. lol. Saturday night we ended up going to Republic. It was alright but it looks a lot different from what I can remember. The lights were too dark. I really don't like when I can't see in a club. Makes it feel like a college party. I'll pass on that. I just really ended up chilling on the bottom floor by the bar most of the night.

Chillin by the bar at the Republic

Sunday (after I got the whip back from the impound lot. long story) I chilled out most of the day and me, Tai, Kurt and Rob (friend from Meharry) went to have lunch at Sequoia. It was my first time there. I thought the atmosphere was really nice but the food kind of left something to be desired.

The view from my seat at Sequoia

We ended up leaving there and partying at Stir Lounge. It wasn't that packed but I still had fun (sans the strippers putting a show in the middle of the dance floor and dudes making it rain lol).

All in all I had a great time while I was home but the stay was entirely too short. I need another trip home. lol. I really can't wait till I move back home. You know they say home is where the heart is. Thanks to all my friends to came out and spent time with the kid. Special shout out to my brother, Tai, for letting Kurt and I crash AND getting us into all those spots with no cover and no wait.

Bigging Up My Brother

When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.
~Antisthenes

My brothers are my brothers are my brothers. Growing up I often wished I was an only child. My parents had 5 children. My sister who is 8 1/2 years older than me, then me, then the twins who are 20 months younger than me, then my youngest brother who is 8 years younger than me. 4 boys and 1 girl. I had to share a lot of stuff and I never had personal space or privacy. The fact that three of us were so close in age we went to elementary, high school and college together. It seemed I could never get away from my brothers.

Looking back on my childhood, I don't think I would have it any other way. I'm grateful for coming from a large family. Thinking back to high school, none of the neighborhood bullies ever fucked with us because they knew if you messed with one of us then you had to deal with the wrath of all us. We got into so many shenanigans and adventures as children. I know my mom wondered why she was cursed blessed to have so many boys. Now that we are all adults (my youngest brother turned 18 2 weeks ago) our relationship has changed yet remained the same in a lot of ways. We still fight a lot. No one can get under my skin like my brothers can, but no outside person can mess with any of us and not answer to ALL of us (experienced this a couple times when I was home for Christmas).

I'm a second generation Nigerian so I wasn't as fortunate to grow up with most of my cousins so I'm grateful that I had a large immediate family and brothers that I love even though they get on my damn nerves often.