Idolizing Marion Jones

I used to be obsessed with Marion Jones when I was younger. She was an Olympic gold medalist, and she just oozed of confidence on the field. She was relentless and knew what she wanted. To win.

Honestly, I have no idea why I was so excited to root for the American athletes. I suppose I didn’t know any better. We do have a fair share (lion’s share… ahem!) of award winning Kenyan athletes. Eliud Kipchoge just happens to be one of them. I just don’t think our government acknowledged them sufficiently at the time.

However, I was incontrovertibly a Marion Jones girl. I’d watch her face harden in concentration before the starting shot, her brow furrowed. I’d feel the anticipation every time she jumped the hurdles and almost die of anxiety when she was close to the finish line. Then something catastrophic happened.

Marion Jones confessed to doping and was stripped off of some of her Olympic medals.

Sometimes, you can hold someone up to such a high esteem, that when something happens to dim their light, your light dims with them too. That was the end for me watching the Olympic sprints for quite sometime. I didn’t want to look into the screen and not find her racing the tracks. Track and field became a little luck lustre to me. She had certainly given me an indelible experience.

I was thinking of how society seems to have quadrupled the notion of ‘idolizing’ a person in modern society. This could be a singer, a journalist, an author, a powerful orator or an athlete. We’ve epitomized people to such a high grandeur, that they have embodied the celebrated quote: “all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others” by George Orwell.

The fatality in that is that it becomes quite a problematic task to live up to that magnified theme.

Have you also noticed how society is so quick to dismiss these fallen heroes with the flick of a wrist?

The truth is, there’s so much more to life—

when the curtain closes, when you cut ties with toxic people, when you leave a relationship, when you exit the stage, when your gig ends, when you are made redundant, when you retire, when you’re laid off, when you suffer a setback, when you’re declared bankrupt (or your company is declared insolvent ).

Who are you when the accolades stop; when you’re not closing deals; when the applause ceases, when you’re not clocking in at work or not winning medals?

You’re still you, only without the noise.

And— perhaps now that the noise has stopped, you can hear yourself.

Possibly, an even more noteworthy question is:

Who remains with you when the noise stops?

In ‘Animal Farm’ by George Orwell, the pigs quickly abandoned the other animals on the farm when they obtained their new social status. Thereafter, depicted by their walking on their rear limbs instead of on all fours, mimicking the humans whom they had surreptitiously ousted from the farm. The irony is befitting!Perhaps the noise made you numb to the reality that you are, after all, human—

Who feels, who grieves, who forgives, who falls, who fails, who gives up, who tires, who shows emotion, who rises, who wins, who triumphs, who learns, who adapts, who grows.

I like you but my tentacles are busy.

‘I like you but my tentacles are busy’, ha! A flamboyant Greek man once invited me out for a sumptuous octopus dinner. He was a restaurant owner. I declined the offer because… next thing you know, you’re the one cleaning up the kitchen because his kitchen staff called in sick. Yes, I didn’t like him, plus he was too old for my age. I’d like to eat an octopus one day though, and gobble the wriggly thing up. It’s said to be very tasty.

So, I was reading up on octopuses, and these creatures are geniuses of the sea. They have neurons in their arms, otherwise known as appendages, meaning they are the kings and queens of multitasking. ( My title should have read ‘appendages’ but where’s the fun in that! The limbs on octopi are actually called arms or appendages). Eating with one arm, while eyeballing a mouthwatering lichen and definitely checking out potential suitors. Oh to be in the sea of such talent!

So, I think women are like that sometimes. We are said to be multitaskers, juggling up a lot while trying to balance it all. It’s quite a formidable task, although some have mastered it well.

To get a woman’s attention, you need to get her whole attention (not full attention) …think ‘wholesome’. Her brain has to acknowledge you, because she might be doing a serious mathematical calculation in her mind (like how to get that bonus that will be handy for that end of year vacation). Her senses have to acknowledge you.

Women are relationship-oriented. It’s one of our superpowers. By relationship-oriented, I mean that we thrive when we form good alliances with people. If she thinks you’re a good alliance, she will definitely give you her time.

Her institution. Hello, women and their intuition anyone? Intuition is something in the heart of hearts, in the gut, in the depth of the belly, in the cranial of her mind and it’s also that quiet voice that speaks to you when you listen hard enough. Intuition will tell you if you’ve made the right choice or not. It whispers to the depth of your spirit and draws your eyes to the details you had missed. The words in between the lines, the darting of the eyes, the undertones, the meaning behind one’s words, the underlying reason for approaching you in the first place. It’s a woman’s sixth sense, notably.

Her instincts have to acknowledge you. I can meet someone for the very first time and take note of at least ten things about the person- from their tone of voice, behavior, energy, appearance, attitude, stance, values, ingenuity, whether they are traditional or modern, and even what they think about you. Her instincts will give her a flee or stay perception.

Finally, a lot of people think that women follow their hearts, but they forget that women can be perpetual overthinkers! We like to repeat scenes in our minds, and find the underlying meaning to things. That’s why it’s very commendable when a man is straightforward.

If you come to play, you’re definitely dealing with the coach.

Be upfront, honest and straightforward. Thank me later fellows! Bonne chance!

BLACK and HAIR

People think that the rise of natural hair for Black people is a form of Renaissance, but honestly, sometimes it feels like Alcatraz.

I was just having a chat with my mother about how they used to straighten their natural hair in the past, and she told me that they used a hot metallic comb. I can’t even begin to imagine how debilitating that could be.

Another option, was to poke holes in a metallic can / tin, and scoop hot charcoal in it, and this was used to flatten and straighten their hair. I can’t even fathom how frustrating this can be. She said that one had to be extremely careful ( and wary) to make sure that the hot ash does not fall through the holes and scorch your skin. The anguish!

I’m usually very curious about how Africans and Black people generally begun to straighten their hair. Obviously, this is something that we had not seen before the coming of the White man in the scramble for Africa. It’s true that natural Negro hair has different types of consistency. Some people have coily hair, or what is referred to as ‘nappy hair’, whilst some have curly, soft hair.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

I tend to believe that when the Whites came to Africa, there was a lot of tarnishing of our culture. How we dressed, how we worshipped, how we talked…and eventually, a seed of doubt was planted in that generation, that caused a lot of them to question their beliefs. We find that, in the onset of missionaries to Africa, a lot of people converted their religion to Christianity. Honestly, I find that the African Traditional Religion was quite in touch with the worship of God. The people condemned evil and relished in doing good, and isn’t that what true religion should promote? However, our people were labelled as savages… Brutish, if I may take the route of Thomas Hobbes.

I remember once wearing my very nappy afro hair out while working in the Middle East, and a young lady touched my hair from behind and made a mockery of it. The irony of it is that the lady was a dark skinned Arab. I always wondered -what’s this innate feeling that causes us to compare with others? I think that because Blacks are usually at the centre of most attacks, it places us at a vulnerable situation.

We just aim to be understood, but wonder why we are seeking to be understood in the first place. Aren’t we human, after all?

So, back to the hair business. I remember trying to explain to my Asian colleagues that hair is different, depending on race. However, I wondered why I was taking the pains to explain this. In the 21st Century, I’m honestly appalled by anyone who chooses the route of ignorance to make up for their inability to understand. I can point out the location of different countries across the different continents on a map, but I still have to explain to a non-African, why Africa is not a country.

It’s exhausting.

I’m exhausted.

I can fathom why the Black movement is so resilient, now more than ever. We are exhausted from explaining things that should be so blatantly obvious to a homo sapiens.

The bottom line is, the human race is so diverse, and I am yet to see anyone bleeding pure mercury when they have a cut.

We all bleed the same.

It’s not perfect yet

Working in the field of creative writing can be quite a daunting task, especially if you’re a perfectionist.

Sometimes, you write piles of drafts which don’t amount to much, and get tangled up in a mental mess of exhaustion. That’s the thing about second guessing yourself.

I remember once giving a colleague who was a graphic designer ideas which I thought were ‘fantastic’, and ‘original’ for a certain project, only to find out that the ideas had been depicted before.

Isn’t there anything new under sun?

Sometimes my mind conjures up otherworldly ideas, only to getter zapped into reality by realizing that someone else had thought of them before.

We rack our brains for the ‘outlier’ of an idea; something that will send shockwaves around the globe, just to find out that that drop in the ocean, was just that- a drop in a tsunami of similar ideas.

The way I’m getting through this ‘drought’ of ideas, is to jot down all the crazy, whimsical, torrential ideas that flow through my way, and maybe, just maybe, I will discover my outlier of an idea.