Skip to main content

Are They Worthy of Your Stuff?!

Ntozake Shange has been on my minds for weeks now. For those of you who don't know her, she's a poet and the author of the renowned play For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When The Rainbow Is Enuf.  I first heard of this play in my childhood, seeing monologues performed by local black women in the New Orleans theater scene. I knew it was special cuz my elders told me so; but I had no idea I'd connect with it on such a profound and visceral level later on in life. This season of my life has brought me closer to the essence of Shange's work--to the script, to the lines that didn't make sense then but make sense now--to the pain and the heartache..to my stuff!


There's a poem by in For Colored Girls performed by the Lady in Green called, "somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff."  

somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff 
not my poems or a dance i gave up in the street
but somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
like a kleptomaniac workin hard & forgettin while stealin
this is mine!
this aint yr stuff
now why don’t you put me back 
& let me hang out in my own 
self

-excerpt from Ntazoke Shange's For Colored Girls...

It's a poignant piece and you'd have to read it in it's entirety to understand the context, but that's how I feel right now. That's how a lot of black women feel right now. And we are tired! We are the ones with the "stuff"--the ones who carry the load, who give free advice--the overused and under-compensated. We are the ones "the people" call on when they are in trouble--when they need a helping hand. They petition us for our "stuff" but don't offer anything of substance in return. I am the Lady in Green. I can't believe somebody almost walked off wid all my stuff!

The black woman’s wisdom runs deep
Deeply Buried in the bloody soil of this nation—
from pushing white babies through Central Park in expensive strollers
to writing dissertations that the academy don’t wanna publish.
From knowing just how much baking powder goes in the cake without measuring
to braiding our daughter’s hair with our eyes closed,
This Wisdom—this black woman’s wisdom runs deep.

It is engrained in the fabric of the nation.
They dig and they dig and they dig in the black woman’s resources
They dig and they dig and they dig for wisdom but
ARE THEY WORTHY OF HER!? ARE THEY WORTHY OF YOU?!
ARE THEY WORTHY OF OUR STUFF!

They want our wisdom but don't want to invest in a relationship. They want our nurturing but don't want to protect us. They want our intellectual property but don't want to pay us. I can't believe somebody almost walked off with alla my stuff?!

Fortunately, I know my worth, now...or, I'm learning my worth.
I know that I deserve more--that I deserve better--that my stuff is worth it.

Did y'all know that Ntazoke means "she who has her own things" or 'things that belong to her" in Xhosa?!

Yes. I am Ntazoke. I am she who has her own things. I am a colored girl, who ain't afraid to tell you to back off my stuff! 

Get your own things.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"Where Do You See Yourself in 5 Years?"

Today (December 1st, 2020), Facebook reminded me that 5 years ago, I wrapped up a 5-week run of Ain't Misbehavin' at Portland Center Stage in Oregon, and flew back to New York City to re-enter my life there. I had just applied to seminary a few days before Thanksgiving and was excited about the possibility of leaning into this strong calling I felt to deepen my theological knowledge. I was still under the illusion that I'd be able to maintain some sort of performance career, so I kept my manager, Greg, and he'd continue sending me out on auditions. I was becoming very picky about what I'd say "yes" to-- Would I go on that national tour of Hamilton that he wanted to send me on or would I go to seminary? Would I leave to do a 9-month stint in After Midnight on an international cruise ship or would I go to seminary?  That was the question over and over again. I decided that I'd still do local stuff in NYC or short stints in other cities. Even as I ente

Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake

  Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake At the time of my writing this, I am sitting in my big chair, staring at my front window from inside the house, looking at the drippings that have stained the glass from the eggs that some neighborhood kids hurled at my window almost two weeks ago. They were mad at me (I suppose) because they came to steal another package off my front porch in December, but they did not know that it was a package I’d planted with a note inside. I had them on camera stealing several packages on my block during the winter break, including one of mine that contained dog food (I know they were disappointed when they opened that one up ha!). Instead of calling the police or posting their faces on the many neighborhood apps, I decided to take an old amazon box, place a note inside, retape it and leave it on the porch. The note read: “God loves you. I care about you. Stop stealing packages. -Pastor Mac.” I wanted these 3 kids who look like they ar

Exhausting Possibilities: A Sermon by Rev. Mia M. McClain

2 Kings 4:1-7  Delivered on August 15, 2021 at Myers Park Baptist Church, Charlotte, North Carolina I am a child of Grey’s Anatomy. No, not the human anatomy book by Henry Gray; the hit medical television drama. It’s safe to say that because of my obsession with the show, I am who am I, today. Between Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal, and How to Get Away With Murder, writer and producer Shonda Rhimes was basically my 3rd parent. In Grey’s Anatomy, so many life lessons were taught and learned. I saw so much of myself in the various groundbreaking characters she made room for on primetime television, and Shonda’s theologies and ideologies are on clear display in many of the landmark scenes. One scene, in particular, has had a lasting effect on me.  In the 2nd episode of season 2, a trauma patient comes in who the paramedics have been working on for almost a half hour with no improvement in his condition. The paramedic tells the Chief Resident, Dr. Miranda Bailey, that the patient is practically g