A Woman's Worth...My Worth

My best friend (a black male) and I read Hill Harper's "The Conversation: How Black Men and Women Can Build Loving, Trusting Relationships," at the same time, and needless to say, it sparked some conversation. One evening, he texted me and asked, "Do you feel valued by black men?" Talk about sparking conversation!!!! My best friend and I talk about everything, but this book brought the conversation between us, but more so the one I have with myself, to a completely different level!

When he asked me that question, I was speechless for probably the fifth time in my life. I told him, "This is not a texting conversation, so when you're free we'll talk about it in more detail. But, in the meantime, I'll say yes and no. I will elaborate later."

This question is something I fathom about quite often. Every time I ride the bus or train, every time I watch television (whether it's a music video, television show or the news) or read a newspaper or magazine, I pay attention to how black women are depicted. But, I can't speak for all black women, I can only speak for one...me. So, this is how I feel...

Many times, I don't feel valued by my black men. This is not a blog to diss all black men, because I refuse to jump on the bandwagon to say all of ANY group of people are the same.

My biological father left my mother, sister and I when I was three years old. Evil would be a kind description of my ex-stepfather. So, at an early age, the first black men in my life weren't very influential in telling me how precious I was in this world to them. But, I won't dwell in the past, so let's fast forward to the present.

I have a best friend who is the best I could ask for and more, and I do feel valued by him. I know he would do anything for me, and he doesn't take advantage of me. But, what about that significant other in my life? Well, that's part of the problem. It's not a problem that I'm single because I embrace it. The problem is why I'm single.

It's actually quite simple--I refuse to settle! I refuse to settle for a playa who has five children by four women or Mr. Married Man who wants a little somethin' on the side. Sorry, I'm not the one! Words can't describe my disdain and disgust when I get approached by these men--but I know my worth, and I can't go there. I don't know if these men weren't reared on the proper etiquette of how to treat ladies, if the media has a role in it, or if it's the mere disrespect that some of my black sistas put out there for themselves. Whatever the case, I'm not the one!

I don't live by how people (e.g. black men) feel about me, but I have to admit, it is nice when I feel respected. I was told recently all people really want in life is to be loved, wanted and to belong. I agree. People want (and need) to feel they are valued. I would like to feel like I'm valued, for more than that's what on my chest, what I sit on or what's between my legs.

Comes to the Light...Everything

I just love how there's probably a song for almost everything. I was listening to a song the other day and oh how I can relate to it today! Jill Scott's "Comes to the Light (Everything)" pretty much sums it up!

Why do people lie? Why do people cheat? My girl Jill was right, and the old saying is true: "What happens in the dark will come to light".

Eventually.

It may be sooner than later, or vice versa.

Take Tiger Woods for example. As I write this blog, I observe more news about his infidelty on practically every news channel. My, how the mighty have fallen...or has he? Much of society seems to reward this behavior. I was having a heart-to-heart with my best friend tonight, and expressed to him my disgust for how this sort of thing seems to be the norm these days. What is wrong with this world? Am I in the twilight zone? What happened to staying true to one person and being trustworthy? Perhaps I'm just old fashioned...

Or perhaps more people need to stand up to this backwards, cowardly, dishonest and disgraceful behavior. Maybe too many people pacify and tolerate this behavior because they don't have the testicular verility to demand the respect they deserve. I'm not saying you should walk around bitter with a chip on your shoulder. You should forgive and move on with your life. However, don't turn a blind eye. It doesn't mean you have to put yourself back in the same position you were in where you were betrayed or hurt.

I must admit I am writing this blog as a sense of therapy. I am saying all this to myself as I write this for others. As much as I wonder sometimes, I still have faith in humankind and believe there are decent people out there with good intentions. I just pray their hearts don't become callused from the hurt and experiences in this adventure we call "life".

A Change IS Gonna Come!

"I think an overwhelming portion of the intensely demonstrated animosity toward President Barack Obama is based on the fact that he is a Black man."-Former President Jimmy Carter

Those words from former President Carter speak for themselves.

I guess I would be blind (and clueless) to think racism has escaped our country. Almost 200 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, and decades after the Jim Crow laws and the Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954), the stinch of bigotry and prejudices against African Americans still lingers. The sad truth is there are still individuals out there who aren't and won't ever be ready for a black man to be the President of the United States.

However, I must admit I am grateful I witnessed this historical election. As much hatred as there is out there, clearly there's some love and hope in the midst that helped my President get elected to this position. I'll never forget the voice of a Caucasian woman and the look on her face when she told me a month before the election an account about helping senior citizens register to vote, and how much she supported President Obama. She told me how one black lady told her she never voted before, and she wanted to gather some things before she left to vote. The older lady gathered photos of her deceased mother and other loved ones in her family who weren't able to witness this moment in time. It took everything in me not to break down right there. I was so inspired by that story that I also took a photo of my grandmother with me on that chilly November morning a year ago as I cast my ballot. Man, I would love to see the look on Big Mama's face right now...

I often wonder what it will take for those who carry such disdain for President Obama because he is black to give him an opportunity to do his job, an opportunity frankly he deserves. Is it not good enough he's intelligent (was I dreaming or did I read he was the president of The Harvard Law Review?)? Is it not good enough he has such an optimistic faith in this country, the very country who has people who hate him? Is it not good enough he's walked into a line of fire, which includes a job (his term) that entails a plummeting economy, two wars and other issues in which we're not even aware? I guess not even winning the Nobel Prize is enough (in which non-Americans nominated and voted for may I point out, but I digress). He's just can't win for losing...


A year later, I can tell the sense of optimism has slightly decreased all over the country, in addition to some people's support for President Obama. But, not for me. I refuse to give up and throw in the towel. I may be optimistic, but I'm realistic too. There's no way one man can change the world in a day, or a month, or a year. I realized what he faced when he took that oath on that bitter winter day in January, and I think he did too. I'm no fairweather fan. I support my President because Sam Cooke said it best, "A Change is Gonna Come"!

Embracing My Brown!

Cocoa. Mocha. Cappuccino. Caramel. Chocolate.

These are just a few descriptions of the color brown and the words people use to describe the various skin tones of African-Americans. I think of them as terms of endearment that are not only used to describe foods and drinks we digest, but more or less the flavors of my people. All of them are sweet to the tooth and appealing to the eye (which we are and so much more!).

I can't express how much I love my people. It wasn't until about three years ago I actually sat down and listened intently to the lyrics of India.Arie's song "Brown Skin" (one of my faves by her--gotta love it!). In the song, she poetically depicts her love for a brotha. I have to admit, I fall more in love with the song every time I hear it! Apparently, I fell asleep on another song with India.Arie (and Musiq Soulchild) entitled "Chocolate High"--this is my new cut! :)

Our skin colors represent a spectrum of hues and our hair textures vary, which we (especially black women) can sport in any style (whether it's shaved off, worn in a natural, braided or twisted, or a part of an extension creation). We do it and we do it well! The beauty of it is that it's all beautiful!

I went to an elite nightclub last weekend (a week ago tonight) and I was blown away by the beauty represented in that place. It was a Soul Train Halloween party, DJ Mick Boogie was bumpin' the beats, and the aura was indescribable. You could feel the love in that place. I asked my sister, "Where has this place been all my life? We have to come back!" Maybe I need to get out more often, make more time for myself and take a break from work every once in a while. That place was a pleasant breath of fresh air and a reminder of who we are: a strong, vibrant and beautiful group of people kissed by the sun.

I love my melanin. Oil of Olay has a slogan, "Love the skin you're in". That applies to more than just the complexion of your skin. It goes deeper into the soul and flows through the mind.

The New Face of Black TV Programming--A Breath of Fresh Air

I must start this entry by saying that the intentions of my blog are to inform and to create an awareness about issues within the African-American community. I would also love to celebrate the accomplishments and progressions of my community (congratulations again to President Obama for his Nobel Peace Prize). I don't intend to dwell on negative aspects, but some things need to be brought to the light in order for change to occur. Now that I have that off my chest, I can proceed to discuss the original topic for this posting--the new face (or at least new to me) of black programming.

Right now, I am watching Luther Vandross & Cheryl Lynn sing one of the best love songs over "If This World Were Mine" on Centric (formerly BETJ), an African-American entertainment channel. I have to admit I have tears in my eyes, and for more than one reason. First of all, it's still hard to believe Luther is no longer with us. Another reason is that I'm listening to the sweet sounds of what true love songs used to sound like (but I digress). Perhaps, the main reason is I feel touched there is still positive black programming out there; praise Jesus!

It wasn't until I moved to Chicago two years ago that I discovered some of cable's best-kept secrets: BETJ (now Centric) and TVOne. TVOne is another urban TV channel, but its programming features more television shows and movies, and Centric is the music channel. For a long time, all we had was BET (and for some throughout the country, like my mom in Mississippi that's still all they have to watch). I'm not slamming BET because back in the day, that channel was the bomb (Video Soul and Teen Summit--need I say more? BET Nightly News--can I get a witness?). My question is--what happened to these shows? And other programming like it? I support my community, but I have to say BET has dropped the ball a bit in many of its choices in programming. I still tune in every once and a while to 106 & Park for the latest "hits" and watch "The Game" reruns, but for the most part I stick to the other two channels for my entertainment.

I have to commend Centric (BETJ) and TVOne for a job-well done for their programming and for just existing. The old and new movies, the television shows (dramas and comedies), the music videos, etc. truly make my heart smile and make me proud again of black televsion. You picked up where others (unfortunately) dropped the ball.

It's All About the Pink, Take Care of Yourselves Sisters!

A few things come to mind when October rolls around: my sister's birthday, my best friend's birthday and most importantly, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Unfortunately, the latter wasn't a part of my reality until December 2005, my senior year of undergrad. As I sat with my mommy on my bed days after I completed my fall semester finals, I listened as she proceeded to tell me a lump was found on her breast. For one of the first time in my life, I was speechless. And I felt completely helpless.

She proceeded to tell me she discovered it one day while she was in the shower, not long after she was told by her doctor her mammogram indicated she was okay. So, this meant (fortunately) the cancer was caught in its first stage, but I wasn't hearing that at the time. All I heard was there was cancer in my mother's body. My mommy. The woman who was my backbone, my everything (in a moral sense) had cancer. Was she going to die? What made it more interesting was she had known for at least a month and didn't tell me. Actually, everyone in my family knew, but she swore them all to secrecy because she knows how sensitive I am and that I had finals approaching.

I instantly grabbed her hand and told her WE would beat this. She told me her surgery (a lumpectomy) was scheduled to occur within the next week.

And we did beat it.

About a week later, we traveled to the hospital and I waited for her as she underwent her procedure. I sat in the waiting room with others as they waited for their loved ones. I saw doctors enter the room to tell some their loved ones had passed and was instantly brought back to the moment less than a year prior when my grandmother (my mom's mother) died, and I wanted to flee away. I was snapped back to the present when my mother's last name was called and I was directed to meet my mommy in recovery. Thank you Jesus! So, I watched her sleep, ate hospital food and watched old episodes of Cops as I slept off and on on a couch next to her hospital bed.

The next day, we traveled back home where her recovery began and Nurse/Mommy Iya came in mode. I slapped her hand every time she tried to lift more than the doctors said and cut my eye at her every time she stayed on her feet longer than necessary while I was home for Christmas break.

She started her six and a half week radiation treatment in February, which ended in March, the week of my Spring Break from school. Most girls I went to school with were going to the beach, but I wanted nothing more than to travel with my mom every day during her last week of her radiation treatments. She was indeed a trooper! Her hospital trip included an hour and a half drive to AND from the hospital AND the treatment itself, with the most positive attitude! Wow...

So, about a year later, I was contemplating another tattoo, which is important to me because it's permanent. So, I kept thinking--what do I want? And just like that, one of my dear friends suggested it--a pink breast cancer ribbon! Genius! So, the next trip to see my mommy, that's what I got, and it's a friendly reminder of her and all women who fight this disease.

It wasn't until I started conducting research on the topic (because of my mom and for articles I've written) that I realized how prevalent this disease is among African-American women. According to the Center for Disease Control, breast cancer is the second most common cause of cancer among black women.

I thank God for my mommy every single day. I thank God for telling her at 59 years old to trust her "woman's intuition" and get checked out.

This is a lesson to all of us to keep mindful of our health. We're never too young or too old to do so.

As much as we sometimes hate to admit it, Mommy does indeed know best.

A Little Less Talk, A Lot More Action (no pun intended, or is it...)

Scholar, actor and author Hill Harper launched his third book, The Conversation: How Black Men and Women Can Build Loving, Trusting Relationships, last week. The tiltle of the book speaks for itself. But the question is, how can this happen? Is it too far-fetched to believe we can mend the broken dynamic in relationships in our community?

Couples like President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama give people like me hope (no pun intended) that it still exists today: black love. Movies like some of my all-time faves Brown Sugar and Love Jones portray that fantasy that so many of us can't grasp, but desire and yearn for it to be our reality. Why can't we grasp it? Perhaps it's because we've never experienced it, or we've never seen it.

But, the sad truth is our community, our family, is indeed hurting. And that hurt transcends into our relationships with each other: our children, our parents, our friends and this case, our lovers and soulmates. So, how can we imulate something we can't see or touch? I believe some of the greatest teachers in life are examples, and the best ones are through experiences.

I didn't write this blog to provide answers because to be honest, I don't have any. I, like Hill, want to start (or continue if you will) a dialogue about this topic. I speak from the point-of-view as a young, successful, talented, spiritual, sophisticated and beautiful black lady who worries about her brothers and sisters. I speak as someone who wants to know how more action can be implemented into all this "conversation"...

The Infamous Age-Old Question: Does Life Imitate Art or Does Art Imitate Life?

I can go in circles about the question of whether or not life imitates art or vice versa, but I won't. Just for tonight, I decide to stop straddling the fence and actually pick a side. And perhaps I'll stick with it.

After pondering over this, I've come to the conclusion that art DEFINITELY imitates life. Why you ask? Think about it. Almost every book and movie script is derived from an idea, a thought. Where? In someone's mind. Therefore, these ideas (with some fiction work, perhaps some exaggerations) form into creative pieces of work (aka art).

Here's a perfect example. The movie Brown Sugar is one of my all-time favorite movies and love stories. I think it's fair to say it's on the list under "good movies" for several people. I mean, it's not an Oscar-winning film, but it's an age-old love story about how two best friends grow up together and fall in love with each other (if you haven't seen the movie, it's a great one!). How many people can identify with that? I know several who do and would dare say there are many more out there. Sanaa Lathan and Taye Diggs portrayed that unidentifying love between two people that transcended relationships/engagements (and even a marriage).

It's virtually the same scenario in My Best Friend's Wedding or Made of Honor, except there's a different ending. Who couldn't empathize with Julia Roberts' or Patrick Dempsey's characters, the desperate best friend who would stop at nothing to win back who they thought were their one true love?

You've gotta love a good, old-fashioned love story that gives you hope that it could happen to you. The point is these movies started out as ideas (and possible experiences) from someone. What's funny is that this topic is the subject of many more films, books and songs. So, it has to be something that many people identify with on some level (whether they've experienced it or know someone who did).

The same can go for an array of topics. I can see the validity in the other argument that life imitates art, but for now, I'll stick on this side of the debate.

A Tribute to a Pioneer

It wasn't until graduate school that I heard of her, my first year of graduate school to be exact. It was the irony of the similarity in her last name of one of my fellow grad friends that jolted my memory of her name when I read about articles about her this past May.


This year, Memorial Day weekend commemorated 25 years of the death of Chicago journalism pioneer Leanita McClain. She was 32 years old when she died from her own hands of an overdose of prescription medication. Unfortunately, she was another person who suffered from depression in the African-American community. Although she was part of the elite (the first African-American and the second woman to sit on the editorial board for the Chicago Tribune), she simply wasn't happy--and that was that. Not all the brownstones in Hyde Park or trips around the world could bring joy to McClain. Whoever money and prestige can't buy you happiness may have been on to something.


Upon my reading of the articles in tribute to her, I spent the next two hours researching every article on the Internet I could find about her. I shushed my sister as she greeted me when she walked through the doors from work. I wanted to read more about her. I had to read more about her. Obsessed is what my sis called me, I prefer to think of it more as intrigued.


It was a chance meeting at my part-time job and the ways God aligned the stars one day that blessed me with the opportunity to meet her best friend and fellow colleague, Mr. Monroe Anderson. We met a week later for coffee and discussed her as a journalist and as a person. I was linked to other contacts who knew her and spoke with them as well. But, after speaking with these individuals, I continue to search for that one infamous question that they nor any news article could tell me--WHY? Why would an intelligent, successful, beautiful (who seemed vibrant), compassionate, YOUNG woman end her own life? It's a question I wondered about as well with the late and great songstress Phyllis Hyman (and still wonder about)...Unfortunately, I think it's a question I'll never get the answer to. It's not as if they can come back and tell me themselves...


If Ms. McClain were here, I would thank her. I would thank her for what she did for journalism. I would pay gratitude to her for being that only black woman in board rooms and in her Northwestern classroom, which paved for the way for people like me. I would thank for being the voice of the common folk in Chicago. I would pick apart her brain as to what she thinks about President Barack Obama and the simiarities and differences in his election to that of the late Mayor Harold Washington. I would ask her about her writing techniques and why shw wrote such a charged and daring piece in her infamous essay, "How Chicago Taught Me To Hate Whites".


So, instead I'll pay it forward and follow my dreams as a writer and continue to be the voice for those who don't have one.

I Just Can't Escape Ignorance, No Matter Where I Go!

As I completed my evening cleaning, I decided to wander on Facebook for a while (surprise, surprise LOL). As I look on one of my friend's wall, what do I happen to see? A profile picture of one of her friends that depicts Hitler with a swastika one on half of the pic and President Barack Obama with an American flag on the other half. But, the kicker is the title underneath. It reads: "Same Shit, Different Asshole". Wow...

So, I'm kind of speechless at the moment. I mean, comparing President Obama to Hitler--really? Seriously? I knew people were ignorant, but geez that's just plain hateful!

I feel sorry for the individual whose profile picture it is, but in a way I feel angry. REALLY ANGRY. I know everyone is entitled to his or her opinion (in regards to politics, religion, etc.), but why continue to pass around the ignorance? It's no secret to anyone who knows me is aware of my admiration and respect for President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. I realize I need to develop tough skin in regards to the strong (and unreasonable) criticism he and his family face what seems like DAILY! Don't get me started on this birth certificate business (I digress). I can respect people who are skeptic, but it's a complete different ball game to be full of spite and venom!

He's been in office for less than a year and Bush was given eight. You do the math...

The point is I know President Obama is not perfect. But, he makes sense! Much more sense than our previous leader. He's real, he's refreshing and he's hopeful. People need that right now!

I need that right now...

Candlelight and Who?

As I listen to a throwback jam (Chante Moore and Keith Washington's 90's hit "Candlelight and You") and watch Tyler Perry's "Why Did I Get Married?" yet again, I am forced to reflect on the subject of an upcoming column of mine that will be published in a few weeks--relationships and how women (black women, specifically) can find their dream man and ideal relationship with him.

That's the $1 million question, and to quote Steve Harvey from "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man", there's always going to be a $10 answer.

When I was much younger, I envisioned myself married by the time I was 24 years old and a mother by 28. I just turned 27 almost three weeks ago and have yet to make a leap in either direction. The plan is to do the first part and then the latter (call me old-fashioned if you will). But as always, life doesn't turn out the way you plan it. And I'm okay with that.

What I'm not okay with are some of the reasons why I'm single. And here's why:

• According to the U.S. Department of Justice's Bureau of Justice Statistics, there were 4,777 black male inmates per 100,000 black males in mid-year 2008, compared with 1,760 Hispanic males per 100,000 Hispanic males and 727 white males per 100, 000 white males.

Is it just me or is something wrong with this picture? The numbers speak for themselves.

• It's no secret that black women have a higher college graduate rate than the brothers. I looked around in my graduate program and didn't see one African-American male colleague other than one of my professors who said this wasn't surprising to him. Perhaps it's because of my major (Journalism). Perhaps not. Where are the Curtis Lawrence's, Don Terry's and Ed Bradley's of my generation?

I refuse to give up, but I also refuse to settle. Hince why I am still single.

In the course of my research for my upcoming column, relationship expert and psychologist Dr. Alduan Tartt revealed to me there's nothing more sad than an old, lonely man. I'm afraid I have to disagree Dr. Tartt.

There's nothing more sad than a young, vibrant, intelligent, strong, sophisticated, spiritual, beautiful young lady OR man who doesn't have that special someone to share it all.

I truly believe God has that special person for everyone. Patience is indeed the key (at least I keep telling myself LOL).

I don't want to turn around one day and ask myself: why did I get married?

In the meantime, I will strive to be the best me I can be for my future prize, but most of all, for myself.

Family Really Does Matter!

Last week, I returned home from a fun-filled family reunion in Mississippi. I visited and met family members from my mother's side of the family who I met for the first time and those who I met over the last decade or so at the funerals of other family members. I figured it was about time to see these folks in a less melancholy atmosphere and connect with family members I've never known.

As my 27th birthday approached and has since passed, family takes a new meaning to me. While I was at the reunion forming new bonds with cousins, I couldn't help but reflect on my relationships with members of my immediate family (especially on my mother's side). My father's family, along with my father, reside in Nigeria. An entire world away. So, I thought about the relationships in my family, especially since my grandmother (Big Mama) passed away in 2005. I saw the love shared between my other family members at this festive event and said to myself: Why don't I see more of this in my immediate family? What's lacking? I thought, "These people are really on to something here!"

I could easily sit here and talk about all the things my immediate family is doing wrong, but I won't. To be honest, it's just too disheartening to do so.

But, I'll tell what you what I will do. I will embrace and nurture the relationship ties I have and just made. I will fight the urge to dwell on what I can't change and focus on what really matters!

Welcome to Through the Eyes of Iya!

Hi there & welcome!

I've been procastinating long enough, and I thought now (today) was an important time to dive in and get this blog started!

Over the past few weeks, I've brainstormed over various topics for my blog "Through the Eyes of Iya". Many of these topics include areas in my life and those close to me. But, all of the topics will have a central idea, or theme, in mind--African-American women. Discussions will cover race, religion, education, health, lifestyle, the business world, etc.

The goal is to write a new post each week with a new topic from week-to-week. But, if I have more to say on one topic that relates to the previous week, I will not apologize for touching on a similar topic with a slightly different spin and additional information.

I hope you enjoy the ride and take something from it because I intend to do both!

Enjoy!