Surviving Tyler Perry's "For Colored Girls"

So, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf holds a sacred place in my heart. I first read the book in high school. I'm not sure why my tiny all-white high school had it and I'm certain I was the first one to check it out in over 20 years, but when I read Ntozake Shange's words...man!!

It was like I was transported to another place...another home where there was pain and sorrow, but where the women who were hurting chose to overcome. The book was tragic and hopeful at the same time and, as the angst-ridden teen that I was, I felt a sisterhood with the characters that has lived on to the present day. I must admit (because I never have before) that I stole the book from the library (teeheehee). Not exactly stole, I guess. I just never returned it to the library. I reported it as lost and kept the book in my secret box of things. Please forgive me:) I'm sure I paid some sort of re-stocking fee...

Anyway...

So, no, I was not excited to see that Tyler Perry was adapting it for screen. Though I did enjoy Why Did I get Married 1 and 2, Perry's best known works (Madea 1, 2, and 3) were worst than horrible. The thought of him getting his blacksploitation hands on Shange's work seemed somehow sacrilegious. When the announcement of the film happened months ago, I steeled myself and decided that I would never set foot in that theatre.

Now, fast forward to today. It's been in theatres for weeks and it's the only thing my friends want to talk about. The reviews are mostly positive and Tyler Perry is working the media rounds like a pro. ::Sigh:: I have to admit, my interest has been piqued.

If you're like me, you're gonna need a bit of extra coaxing to get through this film. Check out Bassey Ikpi's hilarious "For Colored Girls" survival guide below.

I think I'm gonna see it this Saturday. Jesus take the wheel.

:)

For Colored Girls Who Need Motivation When the Oprah Endorsement Ain't Enough
BY Bassey Ikpi
via Huffington Post

1. Watch every single Tyler Perry movie before this one. All of them, from Diary of A Mad Black Woman to Madea Saves Christmas. This way, you'll be familiar with all of Perry's work and there will be no surprises. And then remember that For Colored Girls will be better than any of those movies. It has to be.

2. Don't read Ntozake Shange's play before you see the movie. This is not her play. This is something else. Something different. You know how Starbursts have real fruit juice in them but it isn't fruit? Think of For Colored Girls as Starbursts and FCGWHCSWRiE as fruit. This makes sense, trust me.

3. Go with friends. Go with as many friends as you can round up. Sit in the same row. Hold hands. Say a quick prayer and just lean on the person next to you when the melodrama ain't enough.

4. Remember that it could be worse. He could have cast himself as Lady in Wig. Madea could have been in this movie. She is not. This is good news.

5. Though I'm still hesitant, I do know that Tyler Perry is a marketing genius. If this is successful, maybe -- just maybe -- more movies that tell our stories in better ways can be made. Maybe, if this is successful, Tyler Perry will understand the need for black women to tell their own stories and start putting his billions of dollars into producing and assisting female directors creating meaningful, smart projects. If this is successful, this is a real possibility.

Or he will make For Colored Girls II: Still Colored and Sad.

Think Only Nigerian Men Cheat?

I've been thinking a lot about cheating lately. Not considering cheating, but contemplating the "why" of it. Why do people cheat? Specifically, why does the person cheated on make the decision to stay?

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie tried to address this question in "Imitation," one of many stories in her beautiful collection of short stories The Thing Around Your Neck. "Imitation" follows a middle aged Nigerian woman named Nkem who learns that her husband has a girlfriend in Nigeria. She lives in the US, for the children’s sake, while her husband is a prominent businessman abroad. Nkem grew up with nothing, so she was at first honored to now be able to afford a new life for her children. But, when she hears about her husband's apparent infidelity, she contemplates her next move and has to decide whether she will stay in the US, and live a comfortable but lonely life, or return to Nigeria and fight for what is hers.

Sadly, the story’s plot was not unfamiliar to me. In my small Cincinnati Nigerian community, it was common place to hear about this man or that man running the town with some other woman. No one batted an eye or seemed to act surprised when the "man" turned out to be their own husband. No one ever spoke of confronting him or keying the heck out of his car or, better yet, filing for divorce. The women would always just shake their head and say, "Thought he was different, but it seems that all Nigerian men are the same."

It took me a while to realize that extramarital affairs are not exclusive to Nigerian men. Politicians, celebs, and everyday people are ignoring their wedding vows on the regular. The most surprising thing, though, is that despite decades of women’s empowerment, the women usually take back their cheating spouses. I would like to think that I would go all Elizabeth Edwards on my man and blow his whole spot up or embrace my inner Candi Stanton and proclaim "I don't mind if he's getting some loving from you, as long as he takes care of home," but I would likely be more like Freida Khalo. I imagine that I would retreat within myself and mourn quietly. Finding out that my husband had been unfaithful would probably crush everything that I am.

Anyway, the topic of women who stay is a very fascinating one to me, so I decided to write a poem about it. "On Marrying the Man of Every Woman’s Dreams" is about a woman who has found neither the courage to confront nor the strength to leave.

Let me know what you think.

My First Visit to Nigeria

The most clear memory I have of my first visit to Nigeria was of the village. My family is from a small village in Kogi State and it's most common for everyone, even our city-slicker relations, to make the exodus back home every Christmas. This was another one of those years. I was about 12 years old and wanted so badly to go to the village well to help fetch water for the family. Of course I was the American cousin, so they begged me to stay put and avoid over-exertion, but my on-going nagging eventually wore down their defences:)

They allowed me to walk with my aunt to the well, which was about a 15 minute walk away. I carried a jug on my head like all of the other girls and boys and made the successful trip to the well and back. I was smiling from ear to ear, as I entered my grandfather's compound. I called everyone within earshot to see how strong I was. As I got closer to our family's water tank, I tripped and spilled all of the water on myself and on the floor. I instantly started crying. I'm certain that I was inconsolable for hours and ended up crying myself to sleep that afternoon. Man!! I still remember the embarrassment that lasted for days after that...

I can laugh at it today, but I was mortified. lol. Events like this are practically life-shattering when you're 12.

Anyways. I have many fantastic and happy memories, but that's one that for sure sticks with me. Happy 50th Birthday, Nigeria. Although we are far apart, you are still my home.

In honor of this big-deal birthday for the motherland, check out Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's poem Visiting Nigeria. If you've ever visited a homeland that felt both foreign and familiar, you'll love this poem. The popular author of books Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, and, most recently, The Thing around Your Neck really captures it all in this lovely piece.



Also check out the pics from my last visit to Nigeria. Hoping to go back in the next few months. We'll see...:)

Visiting Nigeria
BY Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

At first we goggled the
sprawling savannas; flat, vast expanses bearing
heads of grain, yellowish-brown in the scorching sun,
that nodded – swayed in the evenings – to the
magical drums of the northern winds

Then – south-bound - the joyous tears
of wise and wrinkled ancestors
trickled, and then poured down
to herald the resurrection of the yams

Then the lush wealth of green
surrounded us and we saw
on the stern-faced gods
carefully carved of living wood
a smile of benevolence

Then the brown, bare earth
turned red
with earthworm paths, with spicy dew
and our creased feet
like charred, parched brown paper
soaked the richness of re-birth

Then the Niger, still and silent
- housing its mermaids, its watery gods -
bore our canoe, zig-zag lines etched in its weather-beat body
in spiritual and dominant acquiescence

And at last
while the spirits roamed the hills
their piercing singing in the wind
(that our guards said were horny, mating crickets)
carrying the folklore of the wise tortoise
and feathers slipped off of humming birds,
our souls danced

To Michael Jackson - Naija Style

I love making new friends!! And, on one of my recent trips to New York, I was able to do just that. I met a brilliant Nigerian writer Osahon Akpata, and was so impressed by his work that I made him send me one of his short stories to post on here. This is a great piece that honors the memory of Michael Jackson quite beautifully. Lots of nicely placed Nigerian references. Enjoy!

ps...He's currently working on a coming of age novel about a young boy, attending a Nigerian boarding school. From the bit that he read to me, its gonna be a good one.


BY Osahon Akpata

It was Sunday after church and Tunde was excited. His parents had finally, after much begging and pleading, agreed to take him to his friend Tijani’s party once the service was over. He had made the point that Tijani’s home was only a five minute drive from Our Savior’s Anglican Church. His friend was from a Muslim home and was doing the unusual thing of hosting a birthday bash on a Sunday. Tunde’s mother had first objected.

“We can’t go straight from church to a Muslim house for a party,” she whispered to her husband. “How will that look? What if the meat has been prayed on by an Imam? Is that the right thing for us to do if we eat it?”

“Calm down dear,” his father said gently, “it is important for our son to be religiously tolerant. We can just stop by for a little while.”

Tunde had overheard the whole conversation and could not be bothered about the theological argument. All he cared about was that Tijani always had the latest Michael Jackson music and dance steps at his party. He even had a red leather jacket with zippers all over it, very much like the one the star wore for the Thriller video.

Tunde was crazy about Michael Jackson music too. All young boys in Lagos in the 80s were. Some made his music their own, bastardizing the lyrics to “Come on, je ka fo so ke, don’t stop till you get enough!” or “I’m bad, I’m bad, so mo, I’m bad!”
Thirty minutes later, his stomach gorged with jollof rice, goat meat and coke, and reverberating from the loud speakers thumping out juju music, Tunde got his wish. Tijani’s older brother changed the cassette to a Michael Jackson mix tape and all the boys gathered around in a corner, ecstatic to hear their idol’s voice.
“You know Michael Jackson is Nigerian,” one of the boys said. “His real name is Mukaila Jimoh.” Tunde and the rest of the others nodded in agreement. It was the thing to do, claim anyone who was successful had to be from their country. No wonder Nigerians are said to be the happiest people on the planet.

knowing robs us...maybe not

If you want to know African writing, then you must know Chinua Achebe. He is probably one of the most well known Nigerian authors living today and actually paved the way from hundreds and thousands of African children who preferred the pen over the stethoscope. Thanks to him, we could point to an example of a Nigerian who was doing what he loved and making money, in something other than the ever-stable medical profession. If you have immigrant parents, you know what I mean:-)

Fortunately for me, my parents were lovers of literature and used to rave about Achebe's novel Things Fall Apart when I was young. It wasn't until I took an African literature course in college, though, that I began to fully appreciate his vast contributions for myself. In addition to his over 25 novels, essays, and children books, Achebe is also a prolific poet. The poem I've included below is from the 1998 book Another Africa, which featured poems and essays by Achebe and photographs by the famous Robert Lyons.

If you don't know, friends, please get hip:-) Enjoy this third installment of African Poets Week and click here to read more from Another Africa.

Knowing Robs Us
BY Chinua Achebe

Knowing robs us of wonder.
Had it not ripped apart
the fearful robes of primordial Night
to steal the force that crafted horns
on doghead and sowed insurrection
overnight in the homely beak
of a hen; had reason not given us
assurance that day will daily break
and the sun's array return to disarm
night's fantastic figurations--
each daybreak
would be garlanded at the city gate
and escorted with royal drums
to a stupendous festival
of an amazed world.

One day
after the passage of a dark April storm
ecstatic birds followed its furrows
sowing songs of daybreak though the time
was now past noon, their sparkling
notes sprouting green incantations
everywhere to free the world
from harmattan death.

But for me
the celebration is make-believe;
the clamorous change of season
will darken the hills of Nsukka
for an hour or two when it comes;
no hurricane will hit my sky--
and no song of deliverance.

© 1998 Chinua Achebe. All rights reserved

The Last Time I Said "Do Over"

I'm BACK!! I've been traveling and such and I'm finally back and ready to share some great poetry with you.

During my most recent trip to the NYC, I met an awesome Nigerian author who's working on a coming of age story about a little boy growing up in a Nigerian boarding school. I was so so honored to get to hear bits from his unpublished manuscript...and so inspired that I'm featuring nothing but African poetry for the next week or so...at least until I get it all out of my system:-) I will beg and plead for this anonymous author to send through some stuff for me to post, but until then, check out the piece below by Bassey Ikpi.
I've already featured her work a few times on this site and I can't think of a better way to kick off my very own African Poets Week.

This piece is no exception. Honestly, I watched the vid a few times because it was so my elementary school life. Like....I haven't heard the word "Do Over" since 1995. LOL. I'm a nerd, but Bassey is, quite simply...amazing. I found the words on the Turning word into Verb blog and decided to include them below...for those of you who prefer to read.

Enjoy!!



Sometimes silence is the loudest kind of noise
BY Bassey Ikpi

Like sometimes it was best when
Girls were girls and boys were boys.
Like back when freeze tag was a mating dance.
Like back when "Do Over" meant you got another chance.
Like back when anxiety was worrying if Wonder Woman would make it out alive.
Like back when freedom was sliding backwards on a slide.
Like back when success was jumping off a swing and
Landing on your feet, then
Doing it all over again.
Like new shoes made you run faster.
Like getting Ms. Gross again for math was a disaster.
Like failure was a word we hadn't even learned to spell yet.
Like promises were sealed and kept with pinky bets.
Like a challenge was a double dare.
Like ugly was a cock-eyed stare.

And you liked it...
More

The Danger of a SINGLE story - Must Watch TED talk

This video has been making its way around Nigerian circles for a few weeks, so I decided to share it with all of you:-) Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian-born author, gave this speech on the harm that can come when we only hear one-side of the story at the recent TED Conference.

Wonderful speech!! You have to listen to fully get it, but here's an excerpt from the introduction.

"What this demonstrates, I think, is how impressionable and vulnerable we are in the face of a story, particularly as children. Because all I had read were books in which characters were foreign, I had become convinced that books, by their very nature, had to have foreigners in them and had to be about things with which I could not personally identify. Now, things changed when I discovered African books...Because of writers like Chinua Achebe... I went through a mental shift in my perception of literature. I realized that people like me - girls with skin the color of chocolate, whose kinky hair could not form pony tails, could also exist in literature."

Enjoy peeps! This totally opened my mind tonight.

Wanna know more about Chimamanda? Check out her Wiki.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (born September 15, 1977) is an acclaimed Nigerian writer. She comes from Abba in Anambra State, southeast Nigeria. Her family is of Igbo descent.[1]

She was born in the town of Enugu but grew up in the university town of Nsukka in south-eastern Nigeria, where the University of Nigeria is situated. While she was growing up, her father was a professor of statistics at the University, and her mother was also employed there as the university registrar. At the age of 19, she left Nigeria and moved to the United States.

Her first novel, Purple Hibiscus, was published in 2003 and won the Best First Book award in the 2005 Commonwealth Writers' Prize.
Her second novel, Half of a Yellow Sun, named after the flag of the short-lived Biafran nation, is set before and during the Biafran War. It was published by Knopf/Anchor in 2006 and was awarded the 2007 Orange Prize for Fiction.[4]
Her third book is a collection of short stories titled The Thing Around Your Neck and was published in April 2009 by Fourth Estate in the UK and Knopf in the US.

To the Children of Immigrants

If you are the child of immigrant parents, you should be able to relate to Bassey Ikpi piece below.

"those arms mothered my mother
taught her how to mother me
i inhale the history from her skin
and she tells me of a small, scared girl
carried away on an iron bird to america
seems like that same bird has returned
only to replace that perfect girl with me
this strange tongue-tied woman
the one that can barely say hello
without the clicks and moans
the dips and tones
of the white mans language
it breaks my heart to realize that i can only love her clearly
in english"

Unless you're one of us, you can't fully appreciate how unnerving it is to feel like you're living in limbo between two cultures. Never truly feeling like the motherland is home. But not ready to recant your native citizenry for this new, American one. I feel you. Despite the cultural schizophrenia we have all inherited, I'm still amazed by how awesome our parents are. Can you imagine leaving all that is familiar for something you "hope" will be better a better world? So, to my mother - who braved lands unknown to bring us up in a world of greater opportunity...thank you. Happy birthday Mommy!!

ps...if you love Bassey as much as I do, check out her FB fan page.

To My Secret Crush;-)

I Want To Kiss You
By Bassey Ikpi

Stumbled on this chica randomly, but I can way relate to having "a crush on a friend who just wants to be friends." Man!! This poem oozes of everything I wish I could say to him. You know who you are, boo...actually...you really don’t :-( To all girls (and maybe guys) out there...secretly pining for the one.

Enjoy!



For more info on Bassey, check out - http://www.basseyworld.com/main.php