Di House a Bun Dung… Or Not

Suh imagine,  mi wake up 6 o’ clock dis mawnin and between clinic, school and work I didn’t get back to my apartment until 8pm. I reach in now and jump straight in the shower. Washed off all of today’s crawsis.  Stood under the warm water as it caress mi dun out body. Threw off my shower cap so my curls could get some lovin’ too. This was the shower of all showers. I stepped out feeling renewed, restored, rejuvenated. Big up mi Ivory soap!

Mi fling on mi nightie. (Yes, I’m a granny. Some nights I even wear socks and transform into Super Granny!). I climbed into bed and scrolled through my phone. I was at peace. All was right with the world once more. Then outta nowhere BAAAAAAWWW BAAAWWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW BAAAAAWWW!!!! Please evacuate the building.

Hear me out, I understand that fire alarms need to be loud af so it can wake people out of the deepest of sleeps, but brejin yuh need fi chill! Da sumn de coulda easily gimme heart attack, kill mi, den revive mi to rahtid! In addition to the cardiovascular event. I’m now in full panic mode now because there is no way that I can go outside in my nightie.

Mi fling off mi nightie. Could I find a pair of pants? Pants line off culluh-culluh in the closet enuh but is like I couldn’t see them and who mi si tun inside out. BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW!!! Finally find a pants, cya find nuh shirt. I eventually just grabbed a sweater threw it on over my head. Socks? BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW!!! Forget the socks Alexia!!! BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW! Okay, Okay Okay! Mi put on the shoes without socks. (Question? How people wear shoes without socks????) BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW!!! Grabbed my phone, grabbed my keys, ran out the door and down the stairs… four flights of stairs. BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAWWW BAAAAAAAW!

It. Was. A. Fire. Drill.

Guh back inside, climb up 4 flights of stairs, fling off the shoes, pants, sweater, everybody!

Now I’m flustered, I have a headache and once again feeling dun out. Mah gah mi bed

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How Can We Make Reggae Better?

Listen, you all know my love for reggae runs deep. I hopped out of the womb jamming to reggae music. Bob Marley was my first boyfriend and I cried livin’ yiy wata the day my mother told me he was dead. So great is my love that, when I die, I want my ashes sprinkled on Reggae Mountain, so I can listen to music from Dub Club and live performances at Skyline Levels from the afterlife.

Mi love it, but mi haffi ask, what can we do to make the genre even better?

Reggae originated in Rastafari and as such the songs are influenced by the movement’s ideologies. This is why it is the birthright of every reggae artiste to create at least one song fi chant down Babylon, and/or a song about marijuana. It is expected. Do it. Now that you’ve gotten it out of your system, what’s next?  I look at reggae as a form of edutainment- it’s both fun to listen to, and thought-provoking. This makes it the perfect conduit for tackling the plethora of issues facing the black community. Depression, for example, is a big one. It is still widely believed that black people can’t be depressed. We don’t talk about it and we don’t sing about it. Why not?

In all fairness, wi have man like Tarrus Riley singing songs about domestic violence and Shaggy tackling child abuse, so it is being done to some extent; however, I would still like to see the further diversification of the content of reggae music. Not convinced? I challenge you to google “Reggae songs about…” and you’ll see the same old topics that everyone expects- love, peace, God, weed, poverty, violence, Babylon…

Another thing that has me baffled is how whenever a musician tries something new everybody have heart failure? It’s like there is some formula for creating reggae music and any musician that is daring enough to deviate from the formula will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Reggae artistes either get attacked for “selling out” or dem nuh get nuh fahwud. Whichever happens, they revert to the original setting and everything stays the same. Folks, the sooner we learn that it is possible to be a little different whilst maintaining our connection to our roots, the better. Sometimes change is necessary for sustainability. Stop putting our musicians in a box. Stop stifling creativity.

Alright, I think I can get off the soapbox now. Seriously though, I’m interested in hearing what you think. Am I way off target or do you think there’s something here? What do you think could be done to improve reggae music? Do you think it’s fine just the way it is?

Here’s the video that inspired this post! Nuff respect to Kapital Stone


Double Six Pose

West Indians are everywhere.There’s something about us Caribbean folk that makes us all stand out. Wi special!

For spring break, I took a trip to visit my godmother in Florida. Whenever I set foot on an airplane I make it a point of duty to befriend the people in the seats next to me because

  1. I’m just too friendly for my own good.
  2. If that plane is going down, I’m going to need as many allies as possible to help me put that mask over my face and pull the strings to tighten.

So there I was sandwiched between a gentleman and a friendly elderly lady. Outta di cawna a mi yiy, I saw the guy playing dominoes on his phone. I couldn’t help myself:

“Which part of the Caribbean are you from?”

After chuckling he responded that his parents were from Haiti. We made small talk and he eventually asked me what I was studying in school.

I proudly told him that I was in the master’s program for speech-language pathology and he whipped out his cellphone and gave me the contact information for one of his friends who owns a speech practice and is always looking for interns. Who cudda happy like me???

A networking opportunity from a game of dominoes. Look at that!

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