OBSERVATIONS OF ISTANBUL

In October of 2012 my best friend and I went to Istanbul for five days. A few of my Adult German students joked that I was already in “Little Istanbul” by way of living in Kreuzberg (A district of Berlin). While corny, my students did make a valid point. Berlin is home to the largest number of Turks in the world living outside of Turkey. Still, my experience in Istanbul was nothing like I expected and I am making plans to visit again in the near future.

When I lived in Madrid I had a Turkish roommate. He was there part of the European study exchange program. He was one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Because of that, my initial generalizations of Turkish people were warm, caring and sincere. Naïve I know. Then I moved to Berlin and my myth was completely destroyed. Reasons why are for a separate blog entirely. In saying that, I was admittedly apprehensive about visiting Istanbul. Then I arrived and the Turkish people I met were so damn nice! No matter how many adjectives I use I couldn’t overstate the genuine affection my best friend and I encountered from random people, extremely refreshing for one who lives in Berlin. Turkish people are quick to smile and I never felt like I was given fake customer service empathy we know all too well in the States. That realness might also explain why the customer service in Istanbul was top notch. It didn’t matter if it was an expensive restaurant, stall at the spice market or a guy selling boat tours, superb service each and every time.

Something else I quickly realized about Istanbul and I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s probably this way in most of Turkey, very attractive people. Honestly, no idea why we aren’t consistently mentioning Turkish people as some of the most attractive in the world. I’ve travelled extensively so I know what I’m talking about! In university there was a Turkish exchange student. She and my roommate from Madrid didn’t quite fit my expectations of what Turkish people would look like. She was very fair skinned with red hair and green eyes. He is also quite fair skinned with reddish hair and hazel eyes. What? That’s not how Turkish people looked in all those movies from the 50’s and 60’s I saw as a kid growing up! But then I moved to Berlin and most of the Turkish people I saw were quite brown skinned with dark hair and eyes. Huh? Well, when you have a culture that spans two continents you’re going to get a wide range of skin shades and eye colors. That’s what I saw in Istanbul. The diversity isn’t the same as we have in the United States, but then what country does? However the spectrum was quite wide and easy on the eyes!

In every large city you see buskers. Busker is the official term used to describe people who perform in the streets or public in general for money the audience gives them. It might’ve been because it was the Muslim holiday Eid and people didn’t have to rush off to work, but someone brought out a guitar, ukulele, flute, didgeridoo or spoons to play on their knees a crowd formed around them. Not tourists! A crowd of Turkish people interested to see what the person was going to play. They seemed to love to be entertained. I mean that totally complimentary. Istanbul has over 14 million people living there so we aren’t talking about a village where nothing new ever happens. People from villages get excited and crowd around when Cousin Jed excitedly explains how big his turd was that morning, different story in a metropolis. People would not only stop, but truly pay attention and wait for the performance to end. Or they would just join in and start dancing with friends as I saw on occasion. Felt like they appreciated the artist instead of it being a distraction. I could totally be wrong and they would stop to discuss how sad it was people couldn’t get normal jobs and had to be out on the street playing instruments for money. I didn’t get that sense however.

Right, a little history lesson for people before this next observation. The döner and dürüm are Berlin creations, hence the “Ö” and “Ü” in the names. A döner is nothing more than a kebab in pita bread, while a dürüm is the same ingredients, but wrapped in this large thin pancake looking thing. They are so prevalent in Berlin we call them Kreuzberg burgers. When I went to Istanbul I wanted to try one of these to compare the difference. Well it wasn’t even CLOSE! They are a sad copy in Istanbul. In Berlin, a dürüm consists of them taking the Turkish pancake that often times was baked that day, brushing it with oil then heating it up. Next, they slice GOOD quality meat onto the warmed thin pancake and add your choice of sauce (herb, garlic or spicy). After that, your choice of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, or red cabbage and some even have grilled eggplant, peppers or potatoes if you want! Let’s not forget the crumbled feta cheese and splash of lemon juice and pinch of Turkish spices before they expertly fold the pancake and wrap it all up in aluminum foil and you are SET! Getting hungry just writing that! The finished product is this yummy creation that’s an entire meal in a handy edible carry case! In Istanbul the pancake thing is some grocery store brand and to add insult to injury it’s small! Then there are no vegetables, none, zero, zilch! Not even a damn single piece of soggy lettuce or a bruised tomato! I mean, unless you count the French fries they put on without asking you nothing that grew from the ground is on that thing. And really?? French Fries on my damn sandwich?? WTF?? By the time they squirted the ketchup and mayo on to the thing I was practically crying. I came to Turkey and you put ketchup and mayo on my dürüm with all the ancient cooking recipes you have at your disposal? Madness! Then the bastards semi wrap it up, throw it in a sandwich presser and give it to you in wax paper that soaks through in about 36 seconds so you gotta walk down the street like a bent-over stiffed legged idiot to not drip ketchup, mayo and meat fat down the front of your shirt or pants. Only disappointments on my entire trip those damn dürüms. But every other thing I ate in Istanbul was da booooomb!

Almost 10 million people visit Istanbul every year. Ten million! That many tourists visiting a place and salesmen are going to be attracted in FLOCKS! Happens everywhere so Istanbul is not the exception, it is the rule. But, there is something that makes Istanbul the exception, the Turkish have found this perfect blend of sales pitch and humor that totally disarms you. I can’t count the number of times my friend and I were walking and someone selling something made us laugh. Extremely difficult to laugh and walk at a fast pace. Always made us slow down and at least hear them out. They want to make a sale no doubt, but really feels like if you don’t buy anything that’s perfectly OK because getting you to laugh was also their intent. I’ve visited other countries where if someone was trying to sell me something I was immediately on edge and prepared for anything, negative and positive. In Istanbul it was more of, “Run cause if they make us laugh we’re done for! I can’t fit anything else in my luggage!” Wasn’t a negative feeling in the least.

Yeah, Istanbul has a lot of pussy....cats. No lie. The city is seriously teaming with cats! I’ve heard certain villages in Greece have a high number of cats as well, but a huge city?? Never ever seen that in my life or anything like it in any major city on the planet earth. But the clincher is, the cats weren’t afraid of people! Now, normally you run across a cat in the “wild” they want nothing to do with you, been burned too many times by people doing messed up things to them. Totally opposite in Istanbul from what I experienced. You squatted down and called to a cat and it would come with no hesitation. That made me believe that people in Istanbul like cats, but don’t like them in their houses. Most of them seem to be well fed, never saw anyone kicking at them or kids throwing rocks at them. I’ll be the first to say I’m not a cat fan, but it was kinda... cool. I liked it. Maybe that’s what made me at ease in Istanbul. If people are being humane and hospitable to animals they don’t own than surely they would more or less treat humans with the same respect.

My last observation is, Istanbul has a Popeyes Chicken place AND Krispy Kreme donuts! For you people who live in the states I KNOW you are thinking... And?? To me though, I thought I was dreaming! There are no Popeyes or Krispy Kreme located ANYWHERE in all of Germany. Unless it’s a military base which does not count. I know those two places are extremely unhealthy but still!! How can Istanbul have Popeyes and Krispy Kreme and not Berlin??? The fact that Dunkin Donuts is in Berlin but not Hamburg, the second largest city in Germany, shows you how weird the Germans are. I see people on the train to Hamburg with suitcases full of Dunkin Donuts yet there’s no Krispy Kreme??? WTF is up with THAT!?!? I’d just eaten a huge meal when I saw the eateries. I’ve never been so unhappy to have a full stomach in all my life. I’m starting an online petition this moment to bring Krispy Kreme and Popeyes to Berlin by 2014!

No city is without faults. I did see things that were strange and extraordinary to me; a woman slapped by her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded public park brought nothing more than murmurs and whispers. I’m positive the majority of the remarks were not against the act. You have to be careful who you speak to about the Kurdish “situation” as well. All in all, it was a magical city that called to me to explore deeper into its currents and tides. So much more to observe in this city and I will.

Boys To Men

The following is a contribution to the book Boys To Men: The Guide for African American Boys I wrote at request of my mother, Dr. Cynthia Parker White who provided Chapter 10: Dealing with the Pain of an Absent Parent.

We always talk of the negative effects of the lack of a father in a man’s life. Growing up without the influence of a father is well documented. I’m interested in when they will decide to research the effects of a father who is present, but should be gone. Surely those scars are just as prominent and painful. My father was a constant presence in my life until the age of 13, then sporadically for another 4 years and after that, a casual visitor until I was 20 years old. After which we had no more than passing contact until his death. In those first 13 years he taught me how to abuse physically and verbally, how to break promises and he sure as hell tried to teach me how to destroy hopes and dreams. Who is to say not growing up with a father is worse than having your own look you in the eye and state rather emphatically that he hates you. That is not a memory I will soon forget. Then again, who is to say having your father taking out all of his unfulfilled potential and unmet expectations on your ego is better than not knowing your own father’s voice, his laugh or the feel of your hand in his. I really don’t know what not having my father around was like; I do know it took him not being around for me to begin to heal, to begin to learn to trust men.

I surrounded myself with women for years hoping the scent of their femininity masked the scent of my unease and fear. I felt I needed female protection from those raw wounds that energetically caused me to flinch instinctively when men reach out their hands in friendship. Over 20 years later I still have to steel myself as a warrior of old to walk amongst my own gender. Old habits die hard. If my father sought to maim and cripple me, why shouldn’t men I don’t know attempt the same? Your father not being in your life isn’t the end of your world, however it can make your world incredibly small, the same as having a father around who actively seeks to shrink your world down to his size to appease his demons. Maybe one day we’ll only be raising the issue of loving fathers who protect their children not only from dangers outside the home, but also those that live within. When we begin to have that conversation, knock on my door and ask me to join you. But if you send a man, ask him to knock more than once though and be prepared to wait longer than normal. It still takes me time to quiet the voice of mistrust, but much less than it used to be now that my father is not around.

2012

At the start of 2012 there were three things I politely requested from the universe; move into my dream apartment, have someone I cared for deeply be more present in my life, and lastly was to get married. Ask and you shall receive because I was blessed with all three!! Sorta. Kinda. In a way... See, wha ha happened waz...

I did move into an enormous loft on Paul-Lincke-Ufer in Kreuzberg which is the equivalent of living on Flatbush Ave. in Park Slope (Brooklyn). At first glance the place was awe inspiring, exposed brick, open-plan kitchen, and three bathrooms which one of them had an actual Jacuzzi! I was living the high life! But, if you looked closer you noticed everything wasn’t as wonderful as advertised. The overall construction was shoddy, the plumbing was suspect, the floor wasn’t level and the noise from the surrounding renovations was literally deafening. And let’s not forget the owner, crazier than a sack of angry cats. He treated the place like it was his living room! He came and went as he pleased with his own set of keys (illegal in Germany). Even though my roommates and I paid a significant amount of rent he persisted in trying to make my roommates feel as if they were indebted to him for “allowing” them to live there. He was intimidated by me so never said anything directly to me, but eventually just had his Polish workers enter the loft unannounced and remove my things from my room. In the end, after a series of phone calls to the police and constantly calling my lawyer to make sure I was within my rights to whoop a MFs behind, my roommates and I all decided it was better to move out. In a single weekend there was a flurry of packing and rushed goodbyes and my dream loft was no more.

My marriage, now that was much nicer. I was married to a woman I’ve known for over 15 years and consider to be my best friend. That is an essential ingredient to a long happy union. Our union probably would’ve been long and happy if it wasn’t for the tiny fact she is already happily married with kids. She and I went to Istanbul together for vacation and her husband and father asked me to “wed” her to lessen any unwanted male attention. It worked. And at the end of the trip I was no longer a “husband”.

My final resolution; having someone I cared for deeply be more present in my life. That happened as well. We reconnected and would just hang out and chill. It was good and I enjoyed her company immensely. She even baked me a birthday cake for my 37th and offered me her sofa during my loft escape. But as you can guess from the other two resolutions, upon closer inspection there were cracks and it ended. The end was much sadder than leaving an apartment and way more final than being “unmarried”, heartbreakingly so.

With any setback or adverse situation the key is finding the lesson that’s always there to be found. What did I learn? Instead of beseeching the universe for an amazing apartment or a wife, I should be asking to provide a woman who has the possibility to be my best friend who will be someone I’d love to marry and together we will make a place a home. I need to be more present which in turn will show anyone how I expect them to be. Being present doesn’t mean just showing up and that being enough. Showing up entails active participation, expending energy to engage another person on a deep and meaningful level.

After a hellish period of living out of my suitcase and relying on the kindness of friends, I finally have my own space again. It’s very nice, but it’s not my home. What it is though is peaceful. After my last apartment I truly appreciate that fact. Being married to my best friend was like a preview I reckon. She dictated which sites and attractions we would visit, cancelled said plans when she passed a shop that contained anything that caught her eye... or backtracked to said shops no matter how far away it was with me in tow, scrutinizing what I ate and giving me the disapproving eye when she caught me looking back at an extremely attractive woman which I immediately exclaimed, “You knew how I was when you married me!” All jokes aside, it would be nice to have a wife who is also my best friend. Things would just be so... solid. And having a wife who is my best friend and not already married would be even better so we can actually consummate the marriage. Cause let me tell you that part of my marriage SUUUUCKED! You don’t sleep in a separate bed on the honeymoon!! Who does that?? Shouldn’t that be like after at least 15 years of marriage? Come on man...

As for the person I wanted to be a part of my life, I take responsibility for bringing about the end. Things were stagnant in my relationship with the person. We were in this no man’s land between the plains of friendship and the cliff of being more. It wasn’t doing either of us any good and movement was required. Didn’t matter if it was backwards or forwards, things needed to be put into motion. I forced both of us to emphatically state our place in each other’s lives and we mutually chose no place at all. In hindsight I’m convinced I did the right thing, but how I expressed why I was doing it... yeah ok. That was probably tangled up with some ego and insecurity. The universe made damn sure I understood yet again that when you write a script with your own expectations disappointment always awaits you at the end of the episode. In addition, people have their own director’s chair and will exercise their right to make alterations and yell ‘cut!’ anytime they damn well please. I can say this though, no matter what she thinks about me, I’m certain she knows how I feel about her. I was always honest, upfront and direct with her about my feelings knowing full well I would receive nothing in return. There is no question I never shied away from the truth in that regard, even if she wasn’t ready or didn’t know how to handle it. When I say it like that the ending doesn’t seem so melancholy, but still poignant.

Right, 2013 is about being extremely clear to the universe so there are no gray areas at all. With that:
Dear Ms. Universe, for 2013 I’ve decided these things are in store for me; a beautiful well-constructed apartment in Berlin, lots of space to entertain friends and start a family when ready. Normal open-minded neighbors who are friendly enough to say hi to me and invite me to their parties, but not so nosey they stick their head out every time they hear me coming and going. And if I rent, no Romanian landlord please!! Also, fruitful and rewarding business partnerships with people I would feel comfortable with calling friends. Oh, a wife who isn’t already married would be nice. Best friend material, aaaaand if she can cook well that’s a huge plus. Ok, ok, if she can cook AND got a nice booty I’d be hugely appreciative. So, best friend material, can cook well and a nice butt in addition to the standard, intelligent, intellectual, down-to-earth, etc etc. This list is of course amendable at any point during 2013, but you get the point. Thank you Ms. Universe for my forthcoming blessings in 2013 and thank you for the life lessons learned in 2012.

OBSERVATIONS OF THE GYM (GERMANY)

I have worked out more or less since I was 16 years old. There is a separate culture for people who regularly go to the gym. That culture is entirely dependent on what kind of gym you go to. A gym frequented by body builders will be entirely different to a gym full of Soccer Moms. These observations are entirely focused on German gym culture. In saying that, if these observations come off as a rant... well imagine having to deal with some of this stuff every time you went to your gym. I’ve held this stuff in going on 7 years which is the amount of time I’ve lived in Berlin. With that...

The first thing that is extremely apparent is that someone should remind German people that the monthly membership fees are for the USE of gym equipment and not for the OWNERSHIP of gym equipment. Seriously, people here act like they took out a separate damn lease contract for each and every piece of equipment they work out on. Does not matter if they are walking around speaking to other people, gone to the toilet or even gone to their car to get something they forgot, Germans do NOT relinquish their machines! Can’t tell you the number of times a German guy left for ages then came back and tried to tell me he was using the machine. They didn’t wait for me to finish my set to tell me either. While a brotha was trying to get his swole on they stopped what I was doing to get me off the machine for them. When I looked confuse they assumed it was because I didn’t understand German and attempted to inform me that their towel was there. Sooooo, it’s like the towel is some kinda proof of ownership title that exists in this country? Personally, I don’t care if someone chopped off their pinky toe and nailed it to the leg extension machine WITH a neon banner proclaiming they are the rightful owner for the duration of their leg work out. You leave for more than 5 minutes buddy that machine is now free for anyone to use. And don’t even get me started on the fact the concept of SHARING just gets totally lost when I walk into my gym. Even if you are using the lat pull-down machine I can use it while you’re resting, basic gym etiquette. But nooooooooooo, I have to wait for you to finish all of your sets which takes 23 minutes because you talking to your friend that you went to Kindergarten with and you see EVERY damn day about the conversation you had last night which is the same damn conversation you have every night. THEN when you two go do whatever the hell it is you do that keeps you away from your workout for eons, you put your towel down on the machine and expect me to “respect” the towel. Muthafucca that ain’t no force field! That towel is not goin to stop my black ass from using this machine the second you leave. And then, THEN, people want to catch an attitude when they are RESTING their towel or water bottle on machines they aren’t even actually using! Bastards!!

Ok, I’ll be the first to say I’m not the cleanest person in the world, but I do know how to pick up after myself. And with this observation I have to apologize to my Turkish followers out there. Where I used to live in Berlin the majority of the gym goers were Turkish and I attributed this next observation to them. However, I now go to a gym that is predominately German and the same nasty ass practice still occurs. Right, you use a dumbbell, barbell, rope whatever, you don’t just leave it where you were using it; you put it back where you got it, simple as that. Hell, in EVERY gym I’ve used in the states they have it posted throughout the free weight areas. I mean, even if you’ve never gone to the gym, just outta common decency one should feel it is a courtesy to return what you used to its rightful place. Not in Berlin apparently. Dudes will use 3 or 4 sets of weights and just hop they asses up from the bench and leave. Or worse yet, take one dumbbell clear across to the other side of the gym, use it, and then just leave it there! What retard does that!?!? One of my damn arms is officially bigger than the other from carrying one dumbbell around frantically searching for its partner. F*ck a “Where’s Waldo?” I play “Where’s the other 20kg dumbbell?” EVERY damn time I go to the gym. Then they think I’m crazy walking around with one 20kg weight in my hand muttering to myself!

Now, this next observation I have to admit is more of a personal pet peeve. Also, I’ve seen this in more countries than just Germany but figured I’d include it with these observations. Full Range of Motion people, learn it and utilize it. Now, what I mean by full range of motion is, if you are doing an exercise, you should be going as far with the weight or movement as your body will allow naturally. I see dudes loading up stacks, STACKS of weight then moving it like 2 inches. Seriously? I’m not impressed at all. You’re wasting my time and your body is not amused. If you’ve been working out for over a year and you see absolutely NO change, then you’re doing something wrong. All you’re doing is working out your elbow joints. What woman is impressed with big elbow joints on a man?? Go all the way down with the weight man and get a decent workout for once in ya life. I wonder if they do that during sex, just put the tip in and acting like they long stroking. Maybe that’s why German women seem so sour and uptight, holla!

I used to assume many things before I started travelling, everyone loves dancing to hip-hop, everyone eats pancakes with syrup, and everyone calls Disney World characters the same names. One fallacy I have now learned that does not exist in Germany apparently is the unspoken rule that if you see someone struggling with a weight you run over and save their life! A man is about to die and you are only going to stare at him?? Soooo many inappropriate German historical remarks I could insert here but I will take the high road. But man that’s just creepy. And if I just ASK someone for a spot on a heavy weight they act like I asked them if their mother would lick my booty hole. I need 10 seconds of your time to make sure I don’t die and you want to act like that?!?! Well f****ck you then you big elbowed bastard!!

Still with me? Next observation is actually a world-wide observation/rant. Posing in front of the mirror is 100% allowed fellas. We all do it and I can’t fault anyone who wants to see the fruits of their labor. What I can fault someone on is posing in the mirror longer than they actually worked out! These are the posing rules of the gym people, study them, write it down, and take a picture. Do what you need to do but ya need to learn them. Rule #1: You get THREE poses and one of those three poses better be a body part you worked out THAT session. Rule #2: You get five seconds per pose MAXIMUM, no exceptions and those five seconds do not carryover to your next work out session. Use them that session or you lose them. We are not AT&T up in this muthafucca and rollin sh*t over for next month. Rule #3: After you have used up your allotted time, move the hell outta the way! No lingering or loitering is allowed during my mirror time. When you linger you f*ck up the rotation! Pose, change, pose, change, pose move yo ass out the way cause it’s my turn. Get it? Got it? Good. Now we can move on.

Ok, now for the health & hygiene observation and this is a universal observation buuuut it does seem my Turkish German brethren are guilty of this one a tad bit more than other ethnic groups. If you are wearing a shirt and/or shorts to the gym and you can’t remember the last time you washed said shirt and/or shorts 9 out of 10 times you can be sure that you smell like a 6 pack of GET BACK. Better yet, if your clothes are talking to you about being embarrassed about how they smell and they don’t want to go out in public in that sad state, wash ya stuff, you smell like boo boo. I am no dermatologist, but that can’t be good for your skin having something that smells that bad in direct contact. Isn’t extreme funkiness acidic? That can cause psoriasis or herpes right?? Just saying, wash your gym clothes regularly.

Ok people, this is my last and final observation of the gym in Berlin. If you are going to ignore me when my life is in danger when I need a spot, catch an attitude when I attempt to work out on “your” machine, why in DA HELL do you feel the need to talk to me when you’re butt ass naked in the changing rooms?? Really?? Now you want to talk to me?? NO NO NO!!! Even if you saved my life in the gym, under no circumstances are you allowed to speak to me while you’re drying your balls... with a hair dryer. And for the love of all that’s good and holy do NOT bend over naked when my face is looking in the same direction!! What do you think towels were created for man!?!? What are these men smoking to assume the changing rooms of all places while naked is where you ask me for work out tips? SMDH (Shaking my damn head) just breaking all the major Bro Code Rules. Madness I tell ya.

BLACK CHURCH OBSERVATIONS

Call me a heathen if you want, but I never go to church in Berlin. The ONLY time I intentionally am in a house of worship is when I am in a Muslim country visiting an ancient mosque and Christmas time when I am home visiting my family. I always make it a point to go with my mother on Christmas Sunday so she can coo with pride and show me off to the congregation. Because of this once a year sojourn into the black church I am more disconnected from things and have observed some interesting phenomena in the Lord’s house.

Black people will never ever, evereverevereverever, lose their rhythm while clapping. I don’t care what might be going on in the background, what distractions are taking place around them, black people will ALWAYS have the beat. I’ve been to a white church where a well-timed cough threw off the entire congregation. Bless their hearts though, the white people just laughed it off and started right back again. Now in a black church, I’ve seen black people clapping, turn around to see who’s walking into the church, wave at old friends, give their children the evil eye and mouth “Don’t make me have to take you to the bathroom!”, dig in their purses or pockets for tithe money and STILL... clap to the beat. They may get lost in Our Lady of the Blessed Saint Catholic Hail Mary Catholic Church but NEVER in Mount Zion Community Baptist Church of Jesus our Lord and Savior African AME!

Old black women at church guard their seats in pews like dragons guarding their stash of treasure. Don’t mess around and be sitting in an old black woman’s seat when she comes to church! If she don’t cut ya, she’ll just sit down on top of you. That dragon in The Hobbit got nothing, NOTHING I tell ya on old black women at church. Mess around if you want to and lose an eye! And then everyone would tell you it was your fault for sitting in Ms. Hattie seat anyway!

Ok, I will be the first to say I commend anyone who has the heart to go before a group of their peers and sing publicly. I doubly commend anyone who has the heart to do it in front of black people in the church. Thing is, if someone sings TERRIBLE in the church, they are still going to get love cause they were “Singing for the Lord.” But EVERRYBODY knows when somebody has messed up that solo and the preacher gets up after and says, “Well bless her heart.” In other words, “Heffa, don’t you volunteer for no more solos.” And when the Deacons just say, “Mmmhmm.”, that’s their way of going, “Boooooooooo!! Booooooooo!!”. And black people are so cool about it! To the untrained eye you would never suspect anyone thinks the singing is awful! The unsuspecting white person just confused and trying to figure out if they have the wrong channel or something. Little do they know.

Not as many black churches have this next observation now, but I saw a few throw back church members when I was in service with my mom Christmas. Those little paper fans on a flat wooden stick every black church used to have before A/C. When I was a child I believed those things were magic wands. Think about it now, when people used to get the Holy Ghost back in the day, that’s the ONLY thing that they used to calm people down. I for one would go nowhere near someone flailing their arms and carrying on, especially Ms. Jenkins. Ms. Jenkins used to carry on like she had the Holy Ghost, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and they momma and daddy dem. I’d shoot a tranquilizer dart from a safe distance if I did anything! But God bless the lil church “nurses” that move in with those little fans and calm the fire burning in those people. I wonder if the magic comes from the MLK Jr photo on one side or if the funeral home advert that’s always on the other has it?? Or is it the combination of both that does it??? Forget a Harry Potter stupefy spell, give me one of this little fans and I could rob 8 banks! Bank tellers couldn’t tell the police anything! “Well it all went fuzzy when he started waving that little fan in my face. I remember focusing on how it was bent in the middle and flapping around and next thing I knew...” Give me an A-man if ya know what I’m talking about!

Speaking of the Holy Ghost, what in the WORLD does he say to black people that white people don’t hear?? In black churches, the Holy Ghost says act like you’re having an epileptic fit, run around the church at break neck speeds, and do dances from the 90’s. White people seem to hear raise their arms to the sky with their eyes closed. SOMETIMES they hear standup and sway from side to side. Is the Holy Ghost like a radio station and white people are tuned in to Classic Smooth Rock and black people Remixed 90’s Dance Hits?? He soothes white people and riles black people up? Dang Mr. Holy Ghost what you put in Deacon Jones cup??

Black people take going to church to a completely higher level than white people. For some, it’s Home Coming, Prom and New Year’s Eve all in one EVERY Sunday. WE come DRESSED; cause you never know when Jesus might come back! Can’t get into the pearly gates if you ain’t fresh and clean! White people dress like they’re going to meet up with their Puerto Rican friend Jesús for a BBQ, not bad, just... not like black people. In saying that, if you are black and you come to church with sneakers, old jeans, t-shirt or any attire not deemed “church clothes” you better bring a waiver. That waiver better list your financial details and health situation to explain the state of your apparel. Can’t only be broke and can’t only be sick, gotta be both to be excused for dressing like you don’t know any better. And even if you are granted a reprieve... ya still gonna get talked about! “Chiiild did you see those old behind British Knights he had on? Imma pray for him.”

Show of hands anyone who has ever gone to a church where a black preacher was soft spoken throughout the ENTIRE service? If you’re white and have never been to a black church let me explain. Black preachers start out in an easy and relaxing voice, imagine Billy Dee trying to sell you on the eternal afterlife. But at some point in the sermon he will become a human fog horn. I kid you not. It’s not the help of the microphone either. Black preachers have the ability to manifest the power of a megaphone in their vocal cords that none of us mere mortals will ever be able to match. I’ve tried to mimic black preachers before and all I got was a fit of coughing and a sore throat. Is there a class black preachers take in seminary school to train their vocal cords to harness all that power?? What’s the final exam like in this class?? Do they have to break a brick clean in half to be given the title of pastor?? So many questions!

Not sure if this is an observation or not, but could one say that churches are for believers what clubs are to sinners? Hear me out for a second people. People go to clubs to hear good music right? Don’t people also go to church to hear good music? Many women get all dressed up and hair all did to go to a club to look good to attract a man right?? Well, didn’t I just say black people go to church all dolled up looking spectacular? And who hasn’t heard their grandmomma say the church is the best place to find a husband or wife?? Black people dance at the club, black people dance in church when they catch the Holy Ghost. Entrance fee at the club, Tithes and offering at church, security at the club, Deacons at the church, can’t you see the parallels black people!?!? I’m just sayin...