ETHEL, GERALD LEVERT AND ME

Sunday
22 July
14:58
Am waiting
For someone who can turn my life around
Someone who could make me feel
The way I used to feel
But she never comes
I’m searching
But there’s no one that I’d care to talk about
And all the lovers in the world
Don’t amount to much
‘Cause what I really want is just one true love

And I give anything and everything to fall in love
Just this one I’d like to find
What I’ve been dreaming of
Well, I could find someone to hold
But that wouldn’t be enough
But I’d give anything to fall in love

Did you find anythin’ you can use in those words? Oh, you found somethin’ for your next Facebook status update? You did!

Whoa, here I am thinkin’ you’ve out grown steadin’ lyrics off of songs to impress your boy / girl. No? c’mon, I know we've all gone through that phase before. Lmao!

And yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’ about me writin’ out those lyrics, yep I really do.

Lose that thought ‘cause the answer is no, I haven’t sold out and yep, you’re still rockin’ wit’ a wolf in wolf clothin’. Ah ha! I like that, wolf in wolf clothin’.

13:46
I left church, oh wait, I didn’t leave, I snuck out the church before the grace was said *drops down to knees and prays for forgiveness* (can't promise I won't do it again), I switched on my radio and boom, that song came on and I was transported back in time.

1995
Zaria,
Nigeria
It was an excitin’ period for good music, matter of fact, the nineties generally had great gems, I can still remember how gangsta rap had everybody and their uncles doin’ the crip-walk, how new jack swing filled numerous dance floors wit’ dance-hungry folks, how dancehall and jungle beats had nigga bobbin’ their domes and yes, I remember how R&B had the romantics stealin’ lines from them love songs.

One of the numerous monster R&B joints that had me memorizin’ shit was “I’d Give Anything” a 1994 power romantic ballad by Gerald Levert, it was taken from his second solo album “Groove On”. The song was the album lead single and I sang it everywhere, in the shower, in the bush, when am takin’ a dump (yeah, I took dumps in the bushes that time…c’mon, it was in school and y’all know how school toilets can be, right?) and above all, I sang that song whenever I wanna impress a hot chick!

Ethel
Now, that’s a name I’ll never forget, why? Ethel and Gerald Levert's “I’d Give Anything” are eternally linked in my head.

Ethel was tall (as in, Jessica Gomes' tall) and hot. All the boys wanted piece of that ass. Jus to have her talk to you or hang out wit your ass, your rep in school would go through the roof. Yep, shawtie was that hot. Apart from bein’ pretty, she was full of herself. Shit like that happens when a girl is too aware of how pretty she is, right?

Anyways, my third close contact wit Ethel was at a lil' hang-out called Double Four. It was a place all the “happening” people in school hung-out; the place had hot / current music for days.

One cold evenin’ I was at the joint wit my boy Toye (I wonder where that nigga is) and “I’d give anything” came through the speakers; it was my opportunity to show these so called happenin’ guys (Ethel and her equally pretty snob nose friends) that they weren’t up to date. I began to ride the song like Levert (God bless his soul) featured on the song, from the corner of my eyes, I knew I had them eatin’ from the palm of my hand. What, niggas claimed they know whassup but they didn’t know the hottest R&B joint out. Somebody shoulda told them that part of bein’ in the in-crowd was knowin’ what song was hot and knowin’ how to sing along. I stole the fuckin’ show under the noses of the boys who were in the place... I knew I did cause none of those mutherfuckers thought I had it like that... am still up on things jus' incase some of readin' this want a battle. Lol!

Outro
Did anybody notice the part where I mentioned that day I did that duet wit Gerald Levert was my third close encounter wit Ethel? Well, the first two weren't too pleasant but that’s a story for another day / blog.

Huh, did I get an all access pass into Ethel’s pussy after my Grammy worthy performance? The answer’s no but it changed her opinion about me (I know cause she told me) and I got a friend of hers to the goods, all thanks to that song.

Note
“I’d Give Anything” was written by Chris Farren and Linda Thompson. It was produced and arranged by David Foster and was originally recorded as “she’d give anything (to fall in love)” by the country group Boy Howdy.

Gerald Levert was born on July 13 1966, in Philadelphia. He died in November 10, 2006. RIP.

ETHEL, GERALD LEVERT AND ME

Sunday

22 July

14:58

Am waiting

For someone who can turn my life around

Someone who could make me feel

The way I used to feel

But she never comes

I’m searching

But there’s no one that I’d care to talk about

And all the lovers in the world

Don’t amount to much

‘Cause what I really want is just one true love

And I give anything and everything to fall in love

Just this one I’d like to find

What I’ve been dreaming of

Well, I could find someone to hold

But that wouldn’t be enough

But I’d give anything to fall in love

Did you find anythin’ you can use in those words? Oh, you found somethin’ for your next facebook status update? You did!

Whoa, here I am thinkin’ you’ve out grown steadin’ lyrics off of songs to impress your boy/girl. No? c’mon, I know we’ve all gone through that phase before. Lmao!

And yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’ about me writin’ out those lyrics, yep I really do.

Lose that thought ‘cause the answer is no, I haven’t sold out and yep, you’re still rockin’ wit’ a wolf in wolf clothin’. Ah ha! I like that, wolf in wolf clothin’.

13:46

I left church, oh wait, I didn’t leave, I snuck out the church before the grace was said *drops down to knees and prays for forgiveness*(can’t promise I won’t do it again), I switched on my radio and boom, that song came on and I was transported back in time

1995

Zaria,

Nigeria

It was an excitin’ period for good music, matter of fact, the nineties generally had great gems, I can still remember how gangsta rap had everybody and their uncles doin’ the crip-walk, how new jack swing filled numerous dance floors wit’ dance-hungry folks, how dancehall and jungle beats had nigga bobbin’ their domes and yes, I remember how R&B had the romantics stealin’ lines from them love songs.

One of the numerous monster R&B joints that had me memorizin’ shit was “I’d Give Anything” a 1994 power romantic ballad by Gerald Levert, it was taken from his second solo album “Groove On”. The song was the album lead single and I sang it everywhere, in the shower, in the bush, when am takin’ a dump (yeah, I took dumps in the bushes that time…c’mon, it was in school and y’all know how school toilets can be, right?) and above all, I sang that song whenever I wanna impress a hot chick!

Ethel

Now, that’s a name I’ll never forget, why? Ethel and Gerald Levert’s “I’d Give Anything” are eternally linked in my head.

Ethel was tall (as in, Jessica Gomes' tall) and hot. All the boys wanted piece of that ass. Jus to have her talk to you or hang out wit your ass, your rep in school would go through the roof. Yep, shawtie was that hot. Apart from bein’ pretty, she was full of herself. Shit like that happens when a girl is too aware of how pretty she is, right?

Anyways, my third close contact wit Ethel was at a lil hang-out called Double Four. It was a place all the “happening” people in school hung-out; the place had hot/current music for days.

One cold evenin’ I was at the joint wit my boy Toye (I wonder where that nigga is) and “I’d give anything” came through the speakers; it was my opportunity to show these so called happenin’ guys (Ethel and her equally pretty snob nose friends) that they weren’t up to date. I began to ride the song like Levert (God bless his soul) featured on the song, from the corner of my eyes, I knew I had them eatin’ from the palm of my hand. What, niggas claimed they know whassup but they didn’t know the hottest R&B joint out. Somebody shoulda told them that part of bein’ in the in-crowd was knowin’ what song was hot and knowin’ how to sing along. I stole the fuckin’ show under the noses of the boys who were in the place...i knew i did cause none of those mutherfuckers thought i had  it like that...am still up on things jus' incase some of readin' this want a battle. lol!

Outro

Did anybody notice the part where I mentioned that day I did that duet wit Gerald Levert was my third close encounter wit Ethel? Well, the first two weren’t too pleasant but that’s a story for another day/blog.

Huh, did I get an all access pass into Ethel’s pussy after my Grammy worthy performance? The answer’s no but it changed her opinion about me (I know cause she told me) and I got a friend of hers to the goods, all thanks to that song.

Note

“I’d Give Anything” Was written by Chris Farren and Linda Thompson. It was produced and arranged by David Foster and was originally recorded as “she’d give anything (to fall in love)” by the country group Boy Howdy.

Gerald Levert was born on July 13 1966, in Philadelphia. He died in November 10, 2006. RIP

THE DAY I SPOKE IN TONGUE

Early 2004
Sunday
Central Hotel (Christ Embassy)
Kano

11:26
For the umpteenth time, she brought her sweet pouty lips close to my right ear and said, “Baby, please go to the front.” I moved my head slightly to the left jus so my ear could brush against those two pair of heaven on her face. She drew back immediately as if she’d come in contact wit’ an electric field, I winked as she slowly shook her head wit’ a what-am-I-goin’-to-do-wit’-you look on her face. SmiIin’, I looked down at my Nokia 3310 and pretended to be readin’ a message that jus’ came through. From the corner of my eye I could see she was still starin’ at me. She wasn’t buyin’ my little production. I gave up and looked into her big beautiful eyes (which appeared to always look surprise and innocent), “Okay, next time am gon step out” I promised.

Out front, I saw that a sizeable number of people had already stepped out, ready and patiently waitin’ to learn. In my mind, I willed the pastor to get the party started and save me from makin’ that long trip to the front of the congregation but I was so wrong ‘cause he kept temporizin’ like he was ready to wait me out while his agent, miss beautiful lips (my girlfriend at the time) wear my resistance thin.

“Now is the time for you to yield to the spirit,” the pastor’s voice boomed through the speakers as the pianist teased out a sombre tune out of his black and white ivories. Churches have learned the soothing and hypnotic effect that shit (piano playin’ gently in the background while the pastor whip God’s children into a frenzy) has on the human psyche and they are puttin’ it to great use. I've often wonder if the 21st century pastors study psychology and some other techniques as part of their theological studies. The mike technique of some of these Pentecostal ministers will put many MCs to shame. They know how and when to breathe heavy into the mike, when to fade away from it, and they do all that wit an eye on the atmosphere in the church.

“If you would stop resisting, this special gift can be yours today,” the pastor persisted. “I know you’re still sitting in the congregation so am going to give you a few more seconds to make your way here and be part of this great experience,” for a brief moment the pastor’s eyes seemed to have met mine, or maybe I jus' imagined it.

11:40
Pouty lips poked me on the ribs and repeated her earlier plea; I kept a straight face like I was lost on some kind of spiritual journey. Shawtie continued chippin’ away at my defiance and when she stopped, it was only to draft in our friend (J) into the war against me. Sittin’ on either side of me, they came at me wit barrages of c’mons and please. I gave in. There was only so much a nigga can do when two beautiful chicks got your ass in the middle. Man wasn't built to resist freaky godly women, or was he?

As I walked to the front, I felt tens of curious eyes burned into my back, watchin’ my every move. I took my place on the far right of the line up and waited for the gift. It was as if the pastor had delayed the whole gig because of me (ah ha, there I go massagin’ my own ego again), as soon as I took my spot, he signalled the choir to press stop on their singin’ (but the keyboardist played on of course) and got the party started.

“Start speaking whatever comes to mind. Do not resist. Speak!” he said as he pranced up and down the length of the lineup. ”open yourself up and accept the gift”.

He started layin’ hands on folks from the other end of the line. As he did, he instructed them to speak and not be shy. I took a sideway glance at the people down the line; I saw that folks already broke into a strange languages. I tried to speak like the pastor said but nada came out, so I bowed my head and jus prayed in English. Couldn't afford to look out of place among these obedient children, could I?

Few minutes later, I cracked open my left eye jus a tiny bit to see the pastor anointin’ the person next to me. As he got close, I closed my eyes, the tension got big. I could hear the nigga speakin’ in tongues and fallin’ to the ground as he got touched by the pastor.

Oh men! I said to myself, calm the fuck down sonny, relax and receive....

Sunday
16 July 2012
13:04
The atmosphere was electric; folks were slippin’ into spiritual realm all over the place, some were laughin’ (not a ha ha kind of laughter), others were “speakin’ in tongue.” The pastor was fired up as he moved among the congregation, touchin’ and prayin’ for folks. It was a great time to be in church.

13:11
The ushers rushed to catch a woman who had jus' been gripped by a higher power before she toppled over in her chair. The man sittin’ next to the woman looked far removed from what jus happened beside him. The pastor noticed the man’s demeanour and said, “you look too serious. Smile.”

All eyes were on the pastor and the man (like 2pac), folks were watchin’ this little exchange wit some kinda amused curiosity. The more the pastor told the nigga to smile, the more the nigga cast his face in iron. In that moment in time, even Kevin Hart would have failed to get a smile out of this dude, it was as if he was sayin’ “give it up, pastor, you’re now rockin’ wit the hulk”.

Back to ‘04
...I closed my eyes and dropped my head a lil’. I prayed silently, makin’ a show of movin’ my lips so that a nigga doesn’t appear to be deliberately resistin’. As the pastor’s hand hit my forehead, I planted my feet firmly to the ground, makin’ sure if a nigga must fall to the ground, it’d be by the Holy Ghost and not by any loss of balance. I got touched but I didn't get that funky feelin' some of the others got...

Outro
I’ve never spoken in tongue and I’ll probably never will... and guess what? I have never felt out of place in a roomful of foreign tongue spittin’ folks. Why? Well, I read the Bible and my understandin’ of the Good Book is a little different from the way some of these pastors see things. Some think the gift of speakin’ in tongue can be taught. Pure balderdash, if you ask me!

Oh, you think am speakin’ heresy or blasphemy, huh?

*Grabs the bible, the Dob’s Urban Version, of course* ’’

“Would love y’all to speak in tongue…but what use is speakin’ in tongue if you got nobody to translate” 1 Cor. 14 vs. 5.

“And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they began to speak in other language, as the spirit gave them word…” Act 2 vs. 4 - 11.

Folks who heard the disciples speakin’ in tongue were shocked to hear their different languages being spoken these niggas. Did I hear you say whoa! My thought exactly, speakin’ in tongue is not some’ you can learn to do or some’ that can be forced. Speakin’ in tongue is not some’ Rababababa Oh God Rabosayata gibberish, No sir I aint buyin’ it!

THE DAY I SPOKE IN TONGUE

Early 2004

Sunday

Central Hotel (Christ Embassy)

Kano

11:26

For the umpteenth time, she brought her sweet pouty lips close to my right ear and said, “Baby, please go to the front.” I moved my head slightly to the left jus so my ear could brush against those two pair of heaven on her face. She drew back immediately as if she’d come in contact wit’ an electric field, I winked as she slowly shook her head wit’ a what-am-I-goin’-to-do-wit’-you look on her face. smiIin’, I looked down at my Nokia 3310 and pretended to be readin’ a message that jus’ came through. From the corner of my eye I could see she was still starin’ at me. She wasn’t buyin’ my little production. I gave up and looked into her big beautiful eyes (which appeared to always look surprise and innocent), “Okay, next time am gon step out” I promised.

Out front, I saw that a sizeable number of people had already stepped out, ready and patiently waitin’ to learn. In my mind, I willed the pastor to get the party started and save me from makin’ that long trip to the front of the congregation but I was so wrong ‘cause he kept temporizin’ like he was ready to wait me out while his agent, miss beautiful lips (my girlfriend at the time) wear my resistance thin.

“Now is the time for you to yield to the spirit,” the pastor’s voice boomed through the speakers as the pianist teased out a somber tune out of his black and white ivories. Churches have learned the soothing and hypnotic effect that shit (piano playin’ gently in the background while the pastor whip God’s children into a frenzy) has on the human psyche and they are puttin’ it to great use. I’ve often wonder if the 21^st century pastors study psychology and some other techniques as part of their theological studies. The mike technique of some of these Pentecostal ministers will put many MCs to shame. They know how and when to breathe heavy into the mike, when to fade away from it, and they do all that wit an eye on the atmosphere in the church.

“If you would stop resisting, this special gift can be your today,” the pastor persisted. “I know you’re still sitting in the congregation so am going to give you a few more seconds to make your way here and be part of this great experience,” for a brief moment the pastor’s eyes seemed to have met mine, or may be I jus imagined it.

11:40

Pouty lips poked me on the ribs and repeated her earlier plea; I kept a straight face like I was lost on some kind of spiritual journey. Shawtie continued chippin’ away at my defiance and when she stopped, it was only to draft in our friend (J) into the war against me. Sittin’ on either side of me, they came at me wit barrages of c’mons and please. I gave in. There was only so much a nigga can do when two beautiful chicks got your ass in the middle. Man wasn’t built to resist freaky godly women, or was he?

As I walked to the front, I felt tens of curious eyes burned into my back, watchin’ my every move. I took my place on the far right of the line up and waited for the gift. It was as if the pastor had delayed the whole gig because of me (ah ha, there I go massagin’ my own ego again), as soon as I took my spot, he signaled the choir to press stop on their singin’ (but the keyboardist played on of course) and got the party started.

“Start speaking whatever comes to mind. Do not resist. Speak!” he said as he pranced up and down the length of the lineup. ”open yourself up and accept the gift”

He started layin’ hands on folks from the other end of the line. As he did, he instructed them to speak and not be shy. I took a sideway glance at the people down the line; I saw that folks already broke into a strange languages. I tried to speak like the pastor said but nada came out, so I bowed my head and jus prayed in English. Couldn’t afford to look out of place among these obedient children, could I?

Few minutes later, I cracked open my left eye jus a tiny bit to see the pastor annoitin’ the person next to me. As he got close, I closed my eyes, the tension got big. I could hear the nigga speakin’ in tongues and fallin’ to the ground as he got touched by the pastor.

Oh men! I said to myself, calm the fuck down sonny, relax and receive....

Sunday

16 July 2012

13:04

The atmosphere was electric; folks were slippin’ into spiritual realm all over the place, some were laughin’ (not a ha ha kind of laughter), others were “speakin’ in tongue.” The pastor was fired up as he moved among the congregation, touchin’ and prayin’ for folks. It was a great time to be in church.

13:11

The ushers rushed to catch a woman who had jus been gripped by a higher power before she toppled over in her chair. The man sittin’ next to the woman looked far removed from what jus happened beside him. The pastor noticed the man’s demeanor and said, “you look too serious. Smile”

All eyes were on the pastor and the man (like 2pac), folks were watchin’ this little exchange wit some kinda amused curiosity. The more the pastor told the nigga to smile, the more the nigga cast his face in iron. In that moment in time, even Kevin Hart would have failed to get a smile out of this dude, it was as if he was sayin’ “give it up, pastor, you’re now rockin’ wit the hulk”

Back to ‘04

…I closed my eyes and dropped my head a lil’. I prayed silently, makin’ a show of movin’ my lips so that a nigga doesn’t appear to be deliberately resistin’. As the pastor’s hand hit my forehead, I planted my feet firmly to the ground, makin’ sure if a nigga must fall to the ground, it’d be by the Holy Ghost and not by any lose of balance. I got touched but I didn't get that funky feelin' some of the others got... 

Outro

I’ve never spoken in tongue and I’ll probably never will…and guess what? I have never felt out of place in a roomful of foreign tongue spittin’ folks. Why? Well, I read the bible and my understandin’ of the good book is a little different from the way some of these pastors see things. Some think the gift of speakin’ in tongue can be taught. Pure balderdash, if you ask me!

Oh, you think am speakin’ heresy or blasphemy, huh?

*grabs the bible, the Dob’s Urban version, of course* ’’

“Would love y’all to speak in tongue…but what use is speakin’ in tongue if you got nobody to translate’’ 1 Cor. 14 vs. 5.

“And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they began to speak in other language, as the spirit gave them word… Act 2 vs. 4 - 11

Folks who heard the disciples speakin’ in tongue were shocked to hear their different languages being spoken these niggas. Did I hear you say whoa! My thought exactly, speakin’ in tongue is not some’ you can learn to do or some’ that can be forced. Speakin’ in tongue is not some’ Rababababa Oh God Rabosayata gibberish, No sir I aint buyin’ it!

HOW I RISE

Can I tell you how
I rise
How music takes hold
And free my mind?

Can I tell you about
My three or so minutes of great escape
Where the shackles that held me bound
Were cast off with all the chains

See, when my soul is heavy
And life weighs a ton
I hang on
To the thread of a song

Swing into melody, harmony
Rhythm, timbre, silence and calm
I let them surround me
Like Morpheaus' arms

I feel myself ascend
To a vanilla sky
Float on zephyr
Til am at one with life

And that
Is how I rise
How I get up from a low
To find a compromise

HOW I RISE

Can i tell you how
I rise
How music takes hold
And free my mind?

Can i tell you about
My three or so minutes of great escape
Where the shackles that held me bound
Were cast off with all the chains

See, when my soul is heavy
And life weighs a ton
I hang on
To the thread of a song

Swing into melody, harmony
Rhythm, timbre, silence and calm
I let them surround me
Like Morpheaus' arms

I feel myself ascend
To a vanilla sky
Float on zephyr
Til am at one with life

And that
Is how i rise
How i get up from a low
To find a compromise

...OF WEED, REGGAE, UNCOMPLETED BUILDINGS

Saturday
July 7
15:58
I heard the song as I made my way toward the rail line. It must have travelled a good 300 metres on the cool afternoon breeze to get to where I was. The instant my ears filtered the music from the wind, a strong wave of nostalgia washed over me, a reminiscence so strong, It flung me back to the mid 80s and some of the mistaken beliefs I had as a lil’ nigga. As I drew closer to the rail track and source of the music, the song became clearer and I began to sing along. I couldn't help but smile at the things my mind was recollecting, in my mind eye, I saw my little ass kickin’ it wit my boys at Pius Record Stores on some no-care Tuesday night, listenin’ to music of all kinds. Simple days, those days were. We were lil small town punk asses wit lil worries.

Just before I crossed the rail line, my breath suddenly ceased in my lungs, it was automatic, the moment the strong familiar smell hit my nostrils, my breath was caught in my throat! Nope, the smell wasn't from the Mary Jane them boys hangin’ around rail track were puffin’ on, the smell was much stronger than that. It was strong and fetid; it was the unmistakable smell of urine!

Can I confess somethin’ to y’all? If a forensic examination of the area were to be carried out, you can be sure my DNA would be found in those patches of uric acid spread around the area.

I was a few steps from completin’ the less than thirty seconds trip across the rail track to the bar where young men were shootin’ pool and swiggin’ on westernized local brew (native brew packed in tetra pak kinda pack), I saw a guy pulled out a dick to let loose a fresh spray of uric acid. I spat and quickened my steps away from the “grime scene” before I choked to death holdin’ on my breath. For a sec I had a flash forward, I saw the next day’s headline “Man Killed By Urine Smell.”

As I walked past the bar, the source of my nostalgia got to the chorus

Mmm rock me gently
Rock me slowly
Take it easy don’t you know
That I've never been rocked like this before

Anybody remember what song that is? That was a 1981 reggae classic tune by Eric Donaldson! Yeah, I told y’all my musical taste were wide and generous, didn't I?

“Rock Me Gently” brought two words to mind. The first one is misconception and the other I can’t quite get hold of right now *wracks brain*.

Misconception
A view or opinion that is incorrect because it’s based on flawed thinking or understanding.

Misconceptions, I know we all have ‘em, right? I had a few growin’ up. But wait, misconception won’t really break down what I want to... I got it, the word I've been searchin’ for is STEREOTYPE!

Stereotypes
A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or things.

Are assumptions we make about an entire group based on observation of some members.

Stereotype number one: reggae music, weed, uncompleted buildings and bushes.
Growin’ up, weed smokers were perceived, not seen! You never actually see anybody blazin’ that fuckin’ stuff but you hear stories that so and so smokes.

Back then, weed smokin’ was usually done in uncompleted buildings or in the bushes. It was like some kinda unwritten rule.

All the weed smokers I knew as a little boy listened to Bob Marley and the Wailers, Peter Tosh and ‘em. I automatically concluded that folks that loved reggae music smoked ganja. I wonder what I woulda thought of my mum if she was into reggae. Right now, all I can do is shake my head at the lil me.

Stereotype number two: sex and the night
When I was 7 or 8 (my memory’s a lil foggy), an older female gave me the special privilege of lettin’ me “finger” her pussy! Nah, she didn't give me the whole sugar, she jus let me stroke the cat. Up until that time, I used to think that people only got some action in the night. In my lil mind, you could only fuck in the night!

Stereotype number three: girls and jeans
The general belief back then was that, if a girl does not want to give a boy some pussy when she goes to see him, she should go wearin’ a jean!

Outro
As I grew, those stereotypes shattered one by one, mattered of fact, the first pussy I banged came to the crib in a blue Levi Strauss. Huh, y’all wanna know what age I had my first “pussification”? Hmmm, am not tellin’!

....OF WEED, REGGAE, UNCOMPLETED BUILDINGS

Saturday

July 7

15:58

I heard the song as I made my way toward the rail line. It must have travelled a good 300 meters on the cool afternoon breeze to get to where I was. The instant my ears filtered the music from the wind, a strong wave of nostalgia washed over me, a reminiscence so strong, It flung me back to the mid 80s and some of the mistaken beliefs I had as a lil’ nigga. As I drew closer to the rail track and source of the music, the song became clearer and I began to sing along. I couldn’t help but smile at the things my mind was recollecting, in my mind eye, I saw my little ass kickin’ it wit my boys at Pius Record Stores on some no-care Tuesday night, listenin’ to music of all kinds. Simple days, those days were. We were lil small town punk asses wit lil worries.

Just before I crossed the rail line, my breath suddenly ceased in my lungs, it was automatic, the moment the strong familiar smell hit my nostrils, my breath was caught in my throat! Nope, the smell wasn’t from the Mary Jane them boys hangin’ around rail track were puffin’ on, the smell was much stronger than that. It was strong and fetid; it was the unmistakable smell of urine!

Can I confess somethin’ to y’all? If a forensic examination of the area were to be carried out, you can be sure my DNA would be found in those patches of uric acid spread around the area.

I was a few steps from completin’ the less than thirty seconds trip across the rail track to the bar where young men were shootin’ pool and swiggin’ on westernized local brew (native brew packed in tetra pak kinda pack), I saw a guy pulled out a dick to let loose a fresh spray of uric acid. I spat and quickened my steps away from the “grime scene” before I choked to death holdin’ on my breath. For a sec I had a flash forward, I saw the next day’s headline “Man Killed By Urine Smell.”

As I walked past the bar, the source of my nostalgia got to the chorus

Mmm rock me gently

Rock me slowly

Take it easy don’t you know

That I’ve never been rocked like this before

Anybody remember what song that is? That was a 1981 reggae classic tune by Eric Donaldson! Yeah, I told y’all my musical taste were wide and generous, didn’t I?

“Rock Me Gently” brought two words to mind. The first one is misconception and the other I can’t quite get hold of right now. *wracks brain*

Misconception

A view or opinion that is incorrect because it’s based on flawed thinking or understanding.

Misconceptions, I know we all have ‘em, right? I had a few growin’ up. But wait, misconception won’t really break down what I want to…I got it, the word I’ve been searchin’ for is STEREOTYPE!

Stereotypes

A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or things

Are assumptions we make about an entire group based on observation of some members

Stereotype number one: reggae music, weed, uncompleted buildings and bushes.

Growin’ up, weed smokers were perceived, not seen! You never actually see anybody blazin’ that fuckin’ stuff but you hear stories that so and so smokes.

Back then, weed smokin’ was usually done in uncompleted buildings or in the bushes. It was like some kinda unwritten rule.

All the weed smokers I knew as a little boy listened to Bob Marley and the wailers, Peter Tosh and ‘em. I automatically concluded that folks that loved reggae music smoked ganja. I wonder what I woulda thought of my mum if she was into reggae. Right now, all I can do is shake my head at the lil me.

Stereotype number two: sex and the night

When I was 7 or 8 (my memory’s a lil foggy), an older female gave me the special privilege of lettin’ me “finger” her pussy! Nah, she didn’t give me the whole sugar, she jus let me stroke the cat. Up until that time, I used to think that people only got some action in the night. In my lil mind, you could only fuck in the night!

Stereotype number three: girls and jeans

The general belief back then was that, if a girl does not want to give a boy some pussy when she goes to see him, she should go wearin’ a jean!

Outro

As I grew, those stereotypes shattered one by one, mattered of fact, the first pussy I banged came to the crib in a blue Levi Strauss. Huh, y’all wanna know what age I had my first “pussification”? Hmmm, am not tellin’!