"The Jollof Rice War"

The Jollof Rice debate has been a long and fierce one. Jollof Rice is the most popular African dish amongst Africans, especially West Africans.

While people from Ghana, Nigeria, Sierra Leone would spend the entire day arguing that Jollof Rice originated from their respective countries, Gambians and Senegalese would be standing some few feet away dying with laughter.

Jollof as we all know comes from the Wolof people of Senegal and The Gambia. I have been lucky to try Jollof Rice from Ghana, Nigeria and Sierra  Leone, and I would say the Sierra Leonean Jollof one the tastiest.

Below is a Jollof Rice debate video I pulled off youtube.com:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbdQVqMEimY

The Black Voice

The growth of rap music coincided with a lot of other social phenomena, specifically the new awareness about HIV/AIDS, the rapid decline of urban neighborhoods, fueled in large part by what many referred to as the “crack epidemic” and the coinciding increase in gang presence and gang violence. During the Ronald Reagan administration and the beginning of the “War on Drugs” lots of media attention, congressional and senatorial debates were devoted to stamping out the perceived epidemic and all those things that contributed to it. Naturally, Hip-Hop culture and Rap music were the focus for a lot of the blame being dealt at this time. Many of those outside the communities to which Rap music appealed thought that this new type of music was a negative force towards promoting violence, drug use and sex among the youths. In 1992, the album “Body Count” that contained the most controversial rap song “Cop Killer” was released by Warner Bros. Records. This song promoted a lot of debates on freedom of speech. Many believe the lyrics in this song played a major role in the 1992 South Central Los Angeles riot.

The irony is that Hip-hop was and continues to be criticized for many of the same reasons rock music was criticized. People say Hip-hop music is too graphic, exploring in vivid detail a life of drugs, promiscuous sex, and brutal violence. Many people, parents especially, believe the messages these songs send to children are corruptive and demoralizing. These people have gone to great lengths to silence, and sometimes, even ban the music, using legal and sometimes furtive tactics. But what these people do not release is that Hip-Hop is not type of music, it is a culture. It is a culture full of positive elements. It is a way where black young men and women could speak out, entertain, and educate the world. Before the 1980’s most rap music contained light-hearted lyrics. Most of these songs were about people having a “good time” and “enjoying themselves”. It was not until when rap music started attracting larger audiences that rappers began writing socially conscious lyrics, addressing ghetto conditions, and economic inequalities. A 1981 song, “The Message,” by rap group “Public Enemy” marked the advent of political rap, which grew into a very popular way in which African-Americans could express themselves, and their political voice. In a talk-show discussion, rap activist Harry Allen argued that “black people are attempting to compensate for their lack of power under white supremacy, and it comes out in our art, it comes out in our music. They’re trying to make up for what’s missing. What’s missing is order. What’s missing is power.”

Condemnation On Earth - FICTION

The burning sensation was intensifying. Slowly slipping into unconsciousness, all Malik could think of was escaping the gruesome life that existed between the high prison walls. How many times has he wished he was dead? Most of the time he dreamed of the impossible… drinking umbrella cocktails on a white sandy beach, somewhere in Africa, with beautiful women around him. Life had not been fair to him. Once a successful broker at a premier financial institution in downtown New York, he was now serving two consecutive life sentences for taking the lives of his wife and best friend after finding them in bed one evening after work. He’s experience in jail has been a painful one. But what else can he do; but bear the physical and psychological cruelty it offers.

Ten years ago Malik arrived in shackles to the most brutal correctional facility in the world. The institution was home to five thousand of the world’s most dangerous criminals. The first thing that hit him was the stench- the overwhelming, powerful smell of human waste that seemed soaked into every surface of the prison. Inmates ridiculed, poured urine, and threw feces at him as he marched naked to his cell where he would hopelessly spend twenty-four hours in solitary confinement everyday for the rest of his life. Hunger became his constant companion. Gone were the days of dining on the diverse cuisine New York City had to offer, now he subsisted off the molded bread and tasteless meat he was forced to eat.

No matter how hard he tried to fight it, the harsh realities of prison were always there to rudely interrupt his dreams. The reek of rotting food, death, and human waste were constantly there to remind him he was still in hell. As far as Malik was concerned the only way out was dying. Cries of hopelessness and the soft sobs of men forgotten, and branded as animals, filled the corridors of this hell on earth.

After several failed appeals, Malik’s soul had withered. He felt weary to the core of his being. He knew he could carry on no more. The constant fear of being attacked by fellow inmates, or even the guards who were supposed to protect him, had taken its toll. The extent of immorality that occurred within the prison walls had no limit. Inmates were randomly selected, beaten, and raped by prison guards until they are unconscious. During the endless nights, he would sit shivering in his cell, trying to block out screams of anguish from inmates mixed with evil taunts from the perpetrators. The guards also organize “gladiator battles” for members of opposing gangs. Gang members would be locked in the concrete yard and forced to fight to the death, while guards watched on and took bets on who would be the winner. All the rules were different in prison, what was normal on the outside, could easily get someone killed on the inside. It is only a matter of time when social norms cease to matter and survival by any means necessary becomes all that matters.

He could feel the life leaving his body. The makeshift noose, made of bed sheets, was slowly cutting off his air supply. Where is the God Malik had been praying to? Every single day since his arrival, he had bargained with God, begging him to just take his life and end his suffering. But as the years passed by he came to the brutal realization that God did not listen to men like him. Tired of the pain and suffering, the constant noise and fear, Malik had finally decided to take matters into his own hands. As his body became limp and the last bit of life slipped away, Malik was taken back to the white sands of that familiar beach. Sipping on the cool icy drink, the thunderous sounds of the ocean waves grew loud and louder, until he finally surrendered to his dreams.

No Place Like Home

Luggage firmly gripped in my left hand, precious one-way ticket and boarding pass firmly held in the right. After going through the rigorous regimen of checking in and weighing my luggage, which was then followed by the demeaning inspection of the white-gloved Customs Agent systematically searching my carry-on for illegal contraband and smuggled goods, I was finally authorized to continue. As I passed the point of no return- that seemingly ordinary gate through which those without a coveted boarding pass are not authorized to proceed, I took one last look over my shoulder at the country the country of my birth. Then, back straightened and confidence bolstered by all the possibilities that lay ahead, I tenderly took my first steps away from all that was familiar, towards my future.

With a coastal line of nearly 360 kilometers fringed with stunning and un- touched white sandy beaches along the Atlantic Ocean, Sierra Leone, is a country rich with unique societal values, exotic plants, natural beauty, and precious stones and minerals. The tropical rain forest is home to the genetic diversity of many rare species of monkeys, baboons, birds, and snakes. From the lush forested mountains in the municipality of Freetown, one can see over the city to endless blue of the Atlantic Ocean.

Sitting in the passenger lounge waiting to board my flight to America, I reminisced over the past decade. In 1994, Sierra Leone, formerly a beacon of education known as the “Athens of West Africa,” was destroyed by a civil war that lasted for over ten years. For over one decade rebel forces traveled through the country and dispensed unspeakable torture and brutality. Sierra Leoneans were known for being naturally hospitable and friendly. And for those of us who were in Freetown, the last place to be affected by the rebel atrocities, even believed that these so-called rebels must surely have had some sort of genetic mutation that made them extraordinarily evil.

Sad irony of all ironies, this country where the third largest diamond in the world was discovered (the 968 carat “Star of Sierra Leone”), is now listed in the United Nations Human Development Index as one of the Least Livable country in the world. However, beauty certainly lies in the eyes of the beholder. Deep in my soul, even with all the promise America has to offer I will never forget where I came from. I look forward to all the opportunities America has to offer. There is no other country in the world where out of sheer will and determination one can take absolutely nothing and turn into a great, big, and successful something. However, despite everything and acknowledging all the work that has to be done in Sierra Leone to bring the country back to its original beauty- I can truly say that now and forever, “there’s no place like home,” there’s no place like home,” there’s no place like home.”