Really…if I had a dollar for every lecture I’ve received and will receive from my Daddy student loans would NOT be a problem. He is always somewhere learning something and dropping knowledge on the wrong place, wrong time offspring.
I mean, this man grew up with revolutionary parents (big ups Grandma and Grandpa!), went to the war, was a Black Panther and has had a bunch of other stuff shape the never ending amount of knowledge he likes to spew at my sisters and I. And although the lectures drive me crazy and I wish he’d just stop pausing the movie to give me a history lesson about the pianist playing in the background track…my Daddy’s lectures have shaped who I am and who I strive to be in a major way.
As you can guess, being in Hyderabad is a career all on its own. I do believe if I can push past all of the bull crap I will find great rewards. (This would be the time my Daddy would say “See, I always knew you were full of shit, lil’ nigga!” lol). He and I are a lot alike in that we don’t give up easily, we wont speak just to fill the air, we are eternal learners, and we will not accept disrespect.
I’m sure that in many households the topic of “respect” was a very serious one. My Daddy has been lecturing about this since I was rocking bright pink jogging suits. The concept of self respect and extending respect to others was probably the undertone of most of the things we spoke about until…well, he still is speaking lol.
Being in a country in which the culture is so incredibly different than what you’re used to is quite a feat. The concept of respect is a subjective one and you find yourself trying to figure out what is culture and what is just ridiculous. This is particularly difficult when people from your same culture are not extending the respect you feel you are due.
As I was having a “Okay now…don’t let the nickname fool you, boo” moment a few weeks ago, my Daddy just happened to call and leave me a message. It went pretty much like, “Don’t let those people play you, baby girl, and don’t come back over here looking for something different…people will try to stifle you no matter where you are in the world. Don’t let anyone take this opportunity from you. In the same sense though, we’re not in the business of disrespecting people to get respect. You lead by example and if those folks don’t learn anything else while they’re there…they will learn how to show some respect.”
Boom! Don’t you love my Daddy?? I LOVE my friggin Daddy! He is the absolute shit.
According to some Muslim custom, your name is a goal to live up to. My sister’s name relates to patience and spirituality. ALL of mine relate to royalty lol…and my Daddy says he did that so that I can always remember to hold myself a step above the rest. …Yup! Malika’s got this! Living up to it.
I love this one!! I love theatre! So much so that I went to Oxford one summer to study it. Now…don’t get me wrong: I do NOT act, but this is just like my passion for the Arts as a whole, I love it but I can’t do it.
This weekend I went to three plays at one of my favorite spots here in Hyderabad: Lamakaan. It’s a social concept cafe which features several events including a film festival this week. Unfortunately, I have a pretty little list of meetings clouding my preset schedule of cool things. Grrr.
Anyway, the plays were “Colors of Love”, “Last Wish Baby”, and “The Island”. I’d say “Last Wish Baby” was my favorite. It was hilarious, the cast had great energy, the audience was engaged… even the parts in different languages were engaging.
"The Island" was a play about two black men imprisoned in South Africa during the Apartheid era. I was definitely anticipating this show and even went by myself because I wanted to see it so bad.
So…let me paint you a picture. I sit in the front row of the outdoor set with my primary colors and big hair as the only black woman, that I know of, there. Heck, I don’t know that I’ve seen other black women here other than the ones in the program at all! Anyway, everyone starts staring at me and I assume it’s the hair…then I get the “So do you have family who went through Apartheid?” questions. After about three of them I realized the same thing was going on that happened in South Africa…my cheeks were throwing people off game!
The play starts and it’s definitely a dramatic interpretive piece. Halfway through I noticed people staring at me
so I think they’re wondering how the “South African girl” is receiving the plot. I figure, ‘lemme just focus’. Play ends and someone comes up to me and asks me if I found the play boring. I say “No. Why’d you ask?”…she says, “Well because you were sleeping.”
I tell her, “No. No, you’ve got it all wrong. My eyes are just small!”
Gotta love Hyderabad (sometimes). I guess I didn’t talk too much about the actual plays. Ehhh…well I never could stay on subject.