Kenya and Kofi

Part 2: Kofi

I love America. It is much nicer than where a came from. We had books in our classrooms all the time here. In Jamaica, where I lived, it probably was one book in the class and thirty plus students had to share it. My father got a hold to some drugs and became a drug addict. My mother thought leaving there, where she was a nurse, to live here would have ended his addiction. However, it only made it easier for him to get drugs.
Heroin. That was his drug of choice. He’d stolen from my mother a lot of times. We had been evicted a few times because he chose heroin over the rent. We slept in the dark, no heat in the winter time, no air in the summer because of his addiction. It almost was like at home in Jamaica at times but better. I was fifteen when I moved here so going to school where there was heat and food oh and showers was a beautiful thing.
We had no family here. All of our family was in Jamaica. The only family I had was the friends that had become family over the years. I had a brother and a sister back in Jamaica but my father’s habits had gotten them kidnapped and killed. My people were savages back home. Here, the people seemed as if they had some manners. It is probably because they were far more educated than my people back home. I do, however see some people that behave like the people at home. Drug abuse, the women selling themselves. But I have never had to step over a dead body here. I never had to worry about a rat sleeping in my bed. Now, I’m not saying Jamaica isn’t beautiful, but where I come from, it isn’t. It is the jungle where I am from and I am glad that I have escaped it.
I sat at the library on Campus. Tuesday was the only time I really had to study things aside from medicine. I usually sat on the computer reading articles and listening to YouTube revolutionaries’ teach on the civilizations of our people. They taught that there was a life before slavery. There was the Muslim teachings, Christian teachings, Hebrew teachings, Egyptology teachings, Moors, NOI, Nation of the Gods and the Earth, Kemet, etc etc. I was brought up as a Christian. I never really understood it but that was what I was taught to believe in. Now I understood why I never understood it. It had political motives. One of those was to take away the power of the Blacks more specifically Black Women. Women were the birth of civilizations yet it was us men that got the credit for birthing civilizations. Men were considered Kings and knights. Gods and Priest. Hell, the only way to heaven was through a man. Well, I never reached heaven with a man. Only a woman could take me to heaven. But that’s neither here nor there.
As I was doing my research, I saw her. No, I didn’t exactly see her at first. I felt her. Her vibes. Her presence was hard to ignore. Without even thinking about it, I looked up and said, “Goddess.”
She turned around and asked, “Excuse me?” With an attitude.
Her eyes. They were blue. Naturally blue. Naturally intoxicating. “I called you a Goddess.” I said confidently.
She chuckled in a sarcastic tone but didn’t respond. She didn’t look like the type that read books. She was dressed provocatively. Like a call girl or stripper but she was returning books. Four books. Not nonsense books but documentaries and pro black books. It had to be for a brother she was dating. Maybe.
She returned the books and walked off. She didn’t leave the library, just disappeared behind the shelves. I tried not to be stereotypical but, she didn’t look like the reading type at all. I couldn’t make sense of it. I had to find out though.
I logged off of the computer and began strolling through the library. I was looking for her. I wanted to recommend a book for her to read. Depending on her reaction, I would know if she was learning or making runs for someone else.
I found her, in the African American History section.
“Any particular ting you are looking fore?” I asked.
“Somethin’ political. Black though. I don’t care too much for those other people and their politics.”
So the books were for her. I cleared my throat and asked, “So ah you a democrat?”
She looked at me as if she had taken offense and said, “Oh you must be one of those African negros that came over here, parents got rich now you some silver spoon rich kid who thinks white supremacy is the way of the world.”
“Actually, I’m Jamaican. And no. I don’t even know whut a silva’ spoon looks like. My family couldn’t afford any silva’ spoons. Only the plasticwair from the nearest liquor store.”
She looked at me and began laughing. She sighed and shook her head and said, “Kenya.”
“I knew you looked lak you were from dere.”
She frowned and asked, “From where?”
“Kenya. I was confused because you have no accent attall.”
“That’s because I’m not from Kenya. Kenya is my name.
I lowered my head in shame and blushed. “Right. Right.”
“I don’t have a lot of time in here so, if you have any good reads, now is the time to share them.”
“Off da top of my head? When God Was a Black Woman: And Why She Isn’t Now by Joesph R. Gibson.”
She looked at me and said, “You do know that that feministic view is what destroyed the Black family structure right?”
“No, no, no,” I said, “White supremacy and dee false concept dat men are leaders is whut destroyed dee Black family structure.”
She turned to me and asked, “So you not a leader?”
“Yes in a sense. And so ah you.”
She began walking off.

“Will I see you a gain?” I asked.
She turned around as she continued walking and said, “Possibly.”
I really did hope to see her again. She was a goddess that was tossed off her throne. She needed to reclaim it and she needed to reclaim it fast.