Jul
21
2010
Jul
21
2010
Jul
20
2010
Flies. They walk over s**t. They trample through carrion. Their babies are maggots. I know they’re God’s creatures. I know they have a purpose. I know they have as much right to life as I have. But. I hate flies. I abhor them. I despise them. I kill them.
Unlike spiders, flies do their best to announce their presence. They fly recklessly around the room, eventually two centimeters from my face always at eye level. And they buzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Twitter for me is like a fly. All day long tweople buzz their quotes from Ghandi and the Dalai Lama around the head of the internet. They recklessly toss their products and free offers in my face, whether I want them or not. They fly around my home space and stop to show off the long trains of conversation they’re privileged to have with this celebrity or that entertainer. They distract me with insignificant news of being stuck in traffic or of how busy they are buzzing in their followers’ ears.
As an independent publisher, I know only too well that Twitter is a necessary tool that can empower someone like me who’s responsible for establishing her own reader base. After I’ve posted this piece on my blog, I’ll head straight to Twitter to inform those who are following my tweets of its existence. When I read an enlightening article from a Muslim woman on wearing a naquib, I retweeted. When my book is released, I will announce it. I do indeed have a powerful, ready-made venue at hand for spreading my messages. But at what point does a tweeter become as pesky as my friend the fly?
A celebrity that I USED TO follow repeatedly tweeted her request to increase her reach to 10,000 followers. She tweeted a message that went something like this:
“I follow hundreds of people who don’t follow me. People, why aren’t you following me back?” Is there a magic number of followers you need to interest sponsors and advertisers? Is it to prove how popular you are? I used to follow another person who’d save up at least 10 inspirational saying just so she could tweet them at the same time, in succession. If I want to be reminded that “early to bed early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” I’ll read up on my Benjamin Franklin.
I love the tweets that link useful writing tips. I love links to articles that teach me something about another culture. I forward articles and link to blogs that show black women doing something creative and positive with their time here on earth. I’ll check out the websites of twitterers of quality. I may even buy their products. Quantity is just that, and I won’t waste my time following up on someone who buzzes about waiting in line to pump gas or about how delicious organic apples are.
We’ve become so obsessed with numbers that we’ve lost sight of what they really mean. My understanding of Twitter etiquette is that if I follow someone, s/he’ll follow me back regardless of who I am or what I might stand for. Chances are, s/he will never know about my writing process or about my daily life as a black woman living abroad or about how I overcame the limitations of my identity. Therefore, s/he will not read my book. So what’s the point? I may lose a follower or two or a hundred. But, then again, I’d rather communicate with people who are actually willing to listen to my message than simply be an irritating fly in their ear.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Jul
19
2010
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Jul
18
2010
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Jul
18
2010
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Jul
17
2010
Thursday night I had the honor of participating in a virtual roundtable. Trina Roach’s Uncaged Birds were myself, Love Newkirk (Germany) and Harolynne Bobi (Greece). For two hours we discussed issues that affect black women living and working in Europe.
Love Newkirk is an inspirational entertainer who uses the stage as well as television to spread her message of unity. Her efforts have put the spotlight on Afro-Germans (of African descent, born and raised in Germany) and their rich contribution to their culture.
After a life-changing accident, Harolynn Bobis decided, with her Greek-American husband, to retire in Greece. She teaches English there.
The topics on the table for discussion ran the gamut from how we, as black women, ended up in Europe to how we move our bodies, usually physically different from those surrounding us, in cultures that are governed by different codes. We touched on sisterhood, language and hair. We shared how we dealt with the stares and glares of others and how we were raising our multicultural children.
What stuck out for me was the main thing we have in common: the three of us have managed to rescue our selves from the quagmire of negative stereotypes and unflattering images that continue to fester in American institutions. We’ve refused to be boxed into the expectations that have been placed upon us. We’ve come to accept our black bodies and own what we’ve achieved with them. We’re not making apologies or excuses for where we’ve been, what we’ve done or who we are.
Trina Roach’s groundbreaking project Uncaged Birds™ is just another testament to her innovative spirit. She left a high-powered corporate career as head of human resources in a major ad agency to start her own training and coaching company, Creating Tomorrow.
“With Uncaged Birds™ I provide support for women of African descent as they more effectively tap into their innate individual and cultural strength, and utilize that strength as a powerful springboard to personal and professional success – in a safe, stress-free environment that respects our heritage and history.”
She encourages black women, “Let’s be our own role models,” and with projects like this one, she’s leading the way.
Follow this link to listen to our discussion.
Jul
17
2010
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Jul
16
2010
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Jul
15
2010
About a year into writing my memoir, black and (A)broad: traveling beyond the limitations of identity (available on Amazon as of September 1, 2010), I decided to travel the road of independent publishing. Not willing to play the traditional game of sending hundreds of query letters to acquisitions editors who don’t have the time to acknowledge that they’ve even received them, I chose to invest my time and fragile pride into a more productive enterprise: writing what was in my heart in my own voice and on my own terms.
Jul
15
2010
Jul
14
2010
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Jul
13
2010
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Jul
12
2010
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Jul
11
2010
Jul
10
2010
Jul
9
2010
Jul
8
2010
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Jul
7
2010
Jul
6
2010
During the World Cup and European Cup soccer matches, Holland turns orange. “Why orange?” you may be asking. My husband explained that it refers to the House of Orange-Nassau, the Dutch republic’s first reigning monarchy.
Orange streamers cascade from the rooftops of entire neighborhoods, women don orange dresses they probably dug out of their mothers’ trunks, men throw on tattered orange t-shirts. Even kids aren’t immune from the excitement. You can’t walk into the grocery store without walking down aisles of orange-colored packaging or into the bakery without being tempted to buy a few orange cupcakes.
A friend of mine dropped by for a cup of coffee and a chat. When she pulled out her cigarettes, I could only shake my head and think MMM MMM MMM.

Being an on-and-off smoker myself, I couldn’t help wondering if Pall Mall wasn’t going a bit overboard to market a product that carries health risks. On the other hand, why should they be left out of excitement around Holland’s advancing to the semi-finals (which they play tonight against Uruguay)? You decide.
Jun
24
2010

I don’t usually post pictures of my children on this website, but I couldn’t resist this one. In honor of tonight’s soccer match, the teachers at Paige’s daycare painted Dutch flags on all the little cheeks and foreheads. Since Paige doesn’t nap anymore, she got to have her hair braided. The teacher informed me that Paige couldn’t tear herself away from the mirror for a few minutes after it was done.
Good luck, oranje!