Culture Clash Page 7

  “Jayd, you’ll soon learn that sometimes the very people who need light the most will be the ones who want it the least,” Mama says while I continue sweeping. There’s more hair on this floor than in a horse’s mane. Any other beauty shop would simply throw it away, leaving the clients’ heads vulnerable to all kinds of curses and other negative things. But Mama and Netta take special precautions to make sure that their clients’ hair is disposed of in the proper, spiritual way it deserves.

  “I had a best friend once who thought I was too black for my own good. She was black too, but not in culture. I knew some white folks that were more black than that girl was,” Netta says, checking her station’s inventory one more time before shutting the lights off in that section. “I never could understand why some black folks get pissed when whites want to join the religion, sing our songs, eat our food—not that we let them in, but I can understand the desire. Being black is where it’s at for me.”

  “But everyone doesn’t share that frame of mind,” Mama interjects, smiling at her best friend. “Different people’s relationship to the culture is personal, and you must respect their frame of reference, too. In this life, all roads are valid,” Mama says, closing all the boxes before returning them to their cabinets. “And I’ve ceased caring about what white folks think about my way of life. Why the hell should I bite my tongue to please them when they couldn’t care less about my feelings, or my ancestors’ for that matter?” Mama looks at me and knows something else is on my mind. Now is as good a time as any to lay it all out on the table.

  “I feel the same way, Mama, and showed Reid exactly how I felt about him threatening me,” I say. Mama stands at full attention and puts her right hand on her hip, giving me a look that tells me to continue with the entire story. “Last night my dream was about me fighting off my enemies with our ancestors’ powers and yours too,” I say, continuing with my work while coming clean. Mama and Netta are silent, taking it all in. “And today I was able to use Maman’s powers on Reid. It was so cool,” I say, sounding like an excited schoolgirl who just learned a new double Dutch move. I wish life were that simple.

  “You did what?” Mama asks. She and Netta are both now staring at me in disbelief, but I think they’re still a little proud of my spiritual development.

  “Oshune be praised,” Netta says, dramatically raising her hands to her mouth as she salutes our mother orisha.

  “Netta, not now,” Mama says, cutting her eyes at Netta, who immediately busies herself with shutting down the rest of the shop. It’s time for all of us to go. But from the way Mama’s green eyes are glowing, I don’t think she’s finished with me quite yet.

  “Jayd, I’m glad that your dreams are becoming more powerful and that you’re excited about this recent development, but you can’t use your gift of sight like that, especially not at school, girl.” I knew Mama would feel this way. I should’ve kept it to myself for a little while longer, at least until after we got the African Student Union officially recognized as a legitimate club by South Bay High’s administration.

  “But what if I get attacked again? Reid really feels threatened by me and so does Laura.” I also just like having the power on hand to cripple their conceited asses when they get carried away, but I’ll leave that part out.

  “And rightfully so. That girl tried to steal your crown and you got it back, just like any other Williams woman would do,” Netta says, glancing sideways at Mama while collecting the trash bags to dump once we’re outside. Her husband should be here any minute to pick her and Mama up.

  “Netta, stop encouraging her,” Mama says, snapping at her homegirl, but with nothing but love in her voice. “The girl’s got too much power and you know it.” Mama walks over to the sink and washes her hands. Her salt-and-pepper hair gently bounces off her shoulders as her shapely frame seemingly glides across the hardwood floor. Mama looks like she could be my mom’s older sister more than the mother of eight grown kids.

  “Yes, but so do you. Isn’t this what we’ve been praying for?” Netta says, not backing down from her stance, no matter what Mama says. Netta always has my back in situations like these because she thinks I’m going to make a great voodoo queen one day, just like Mama is. I don’t think anyone can be as bad as Mama, but if I can call on her powers when I need to, that would make me almost as gangster with my sight as she is with hers. And I’ll take whatever I can get, even if it’s only temporary.

  “Jayd, I’m glad the ancestors have blessed you with the ability to bring some of the things that occur in your dreamworld back with you when you wake up, but this is one gift you’re not ready to receive.” Mama walks over to where I’m standing and hugs me tightly. My head melts into the softness of her body and I let a few tears fall within her sweet embrace. I knew she was going to make me give it back, and I know she’s right. I can see myself abusing the gifts of my lineage, and that’s not what they’re here for, no matter how flyy I feel.

  “Well, what do I do when Reid threatens me again?” I ask while wiping my face dry. “You should’ve seen the look on his face before his head started to throb. He was so smug about shutting down the club. I know he won’t quit until I lose.” Mama strokes my ponytail. I forgot how good it feels to have someone besides me playing in my hair.

  “Some people need to grow up, plain and simple,” Netta says, putting extra combs in the cleansing solution near the wash bowls before moving on to the brushes and the rollers now that she’s completed all of the mandatory nightly duties. We can never be too prepared. “And then there are those who refuse to leave their comfort zone and feel they never have to grow. That’s a very privileged perspective that we as black women have never had the luxury of knowing.”

  I know that’s right. South Bay High is full of the privileged and comfortable. And Netta’s right about them wanting to stay that way. They never leave their beautiful beach areas to deal with our reality, while we’re supposed to willingly assimilate to theirs. Whatever is what I say to that idea.

  “And you, little girl, have to know when to stop. You have more knowledge than some people will ever have, and that can be a disadvantage as much as it is an advantage. You have to learn when to talk and when to listen. Humbling yourself will be difficult, especially with your crown. But it’s necessary for survival, and you are living for more than yourself. Remember that and your head will never overheat again,” Mama says, feeling my forehead as if I have a temperature and her hand is the thermometer.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, looking up into Mama’s eyes through my watery vision. I can already feel the gift leaving my eyes the longer Mama looks at me. She takes her hand off my forehead and looks at Netta watching us. Netta shakes her head from side to side and lets out a deep sigh, knowing Mama’s already started to strip my new powers away.

  “It’s time for your remedy, little girl. And with that wild dream you had last night, I’d say the sooner we suppress your premature powers the better,” Mama says, indicating to Netta that she needs her assistance.

  “But Mama, I love this newfound road of walking in my ancestors’ shoes. It feels empowering. Do we have to wash all of the sight away?” I plead, unwillingly following Mama and Netta to the shrine room. I don’t want to give my powers back. I’m just getting used to them.

  “We have to. The things you can do in your dreams are out of order with your life experience and wisdom. Too much power too early can be very destructive,” Mama says. Netta lets out a final sigh of disapproval before turning on the lights in the back room.

  “Okay, if you say so. But I think the ancestors’ teasing me with this has been a cruel and unusual punishment. I think I should be able to keep a little souvenir, given all of the drama we just went through.” Mama looks at me and smiles like she knows something I don’t.

  “Consider your memory a souvenir, Jayd. Now let’s get moving. I’ve got work to do at home and so do you when you get back to your mother’s apartment. You also need to write this entire experienc
e down in the spirit book.” Mama follows Netta to the shrine and instructs me to kneel on the mat while they pray.

  While kneeling in front of Netta’s shrine, the black velvet painting of a woman kneeling at a river begins to glow. The picture changes every time we’re at the shrine. Once finished, Netta pulls a small, blue cloth bag from the top shelf of the shrine and hands it to Mama. Mama gives me the bag of herbs and instructions for taking the bath once I get back to Inglewood. Netta then hands Mama a red envelope.

  “You’re going to dissolve a teaspoon of these herbs from the red pouch in a glass full of water and swallow swiftly. Don’t think about the heat as it goes down,” Mama says, handing the red envelope to me. “Once you’re done bathing with the mixture in the blue pouch, gather the herbs with a strainer and put them in a plastic bag,” Mama continues, grabbing her purse and shawl from the coatrack behind the door upon hearing Netta’s husband honk their truck’s horn. Netta does the same thing and turns off the lights as we each head to the front of the shop where my car is parked. “Bring them to me in the morning. And don’t forget to take the entire dose, Jayd. We can’t take any chances.”

  “You have no idea how powerful your bloodline is, little Jayd,” Netta adds. Mama looks back at her friend, who promptly shoos her out of the front door so she can set the alarm. Mama hates for Netta to brag about our lineage, but she and I both know that Netta’s telling the truth. Mama doesn’t like to act too proud, mainly because she says that it incites jealousy in other people. And jealousy can make people do some crazy things. We can all testify to that.

  4

  So Fine, So Furious

  “I hate you so much right now.”

  —KELIS

  When I finally arrived at my mom’s apartment last night, I was so tired that all I could do was take my prescribed bath and go straight to bed. I took the entire portion of the dried herbs in water and collected my bath herbs for Mama to throw away. I didn’t recognize all of the ingredients, but guinea peppers and cayenne were two of the strongest peppers in the red envelope. The mixture was so spicy I could swear that my blood was boiling. I got so hot in my sleep that I sweated out two nightgowns and the sheets on the small couch that doubles as my bed on the weekends.

  I wish I could’ve kept the use of my other powers. That was the coldest shit ever. But like Mama said last night, I have to master my own gift of sight before I can use anyone else’s effectively. It’s still nice to know that my ancestors have my back when I do need them and that a large part of my powers—once I mature a bit more—will be to call on my ancestors and elders in my dreams when need be.

  I don’t remember my dream last night, but I can tell that my sight is back to normal, whatever that means. Thank God I got some good sleep last night, and because it was uninterrupted, I’m ready to start my Saturday off right, even if it is too early to be up and out on the weekend. I have to stop at Mama’s house before I go to work, which means I had to get up extra early this morning. Hopefully everything worked according to Mama’s plan so we can leave the shop early this evening, leaving me with some time to chill this weekend. We should have a shop full of heads today and I’m anxious to get started.

  When I get downstairs to my mom’s car I notice a note stuck inside the windshield wipers. I free the paper from the glass and get in the car to warm her up, tossing the letter into the passenger seat without opening it: I already know it’s from Rah. It takes a good five minutes before I feel like everything’s flowing just right in the eleven-year-old vehicle before I put her into first gear. There’s still a lot of zoom in my mom’s compact Mazda, but it takes a minute to get there.

  I put my headphones in my ears after making myself comfortable in the driver’s seat. Pulling the zipper closed, I place my Lucky Brand bag on the passenger’s seat and flip through my playlist for the perfect morning soundtrack. My iPod’s the only sound I’ve got in this little car and I’m not complaining. Whether the music’s coming out of the speakers in the car or the travel ones in the passenger’s seat, it makes the half-hour drive to Compton more enjoyable.

  Before I pull out of the parking lot and onto my mom’s street and head toward Mama’s house, my cell rings with Kelis’s lyrics announcing my first call of the day. I reassigned an oldie but goody ringtone to Rah, since he’s always coming back with the same bull year after year. I push the ignore button without guilt and keep it moving. He promptly sends me a text message asking if I got the note. Is he watching my every move now or what? If he keeps it up, I’m going to have to get a restraining order to keep his stalking at bay. When Rah starts tripping like this, I know he’s feeling like shit—as he should.

  I can’t believe Rah and I are fighting again over Sandy’s trifling ass. Sandy suckered him for the umpteenth time and the more and more I think about it, the less sympathetic I become. I admit I’ve felt like crap ever since last Saturday, when I found out about Sandy and Rahima moving in with Rah while she’s on probation. I miss him as I always do when we’re not talking. But then I think about the unfair exchange rate ever present in our relationship—which is usually to his benefit—and I get even hotter. How could he do this shit to me—again? How could he do this to us?

  After a smooth drive through the various hoods between Inglewood and Compton, I arrive at Mama’s house. It’s only seven in the morning and that means most of the neighbors are still asleep, except for a few elders outside enjoying the morning air. Mr. Gatlin—our asshole of a neighbor across the street—is watering his lawn. He’s so meticulous about his property that he calls the police on anyone who sets foot on his lawn. Why doesn’t he just fence himself in? That’ll save us from having to deal with his crazy ass and protect his precious grass. Sounds like a win/ win situation to me.

  After parking the car at the house across the street to our left—two houses down from Mr. Gatlin—I walk over to Mama’s house and open the back gate.

  “Hey, girl.” I greet Lexi, Mama’s guard dog, and follow her back to the spirit room where I can hear Mama already working. Usually she’s opening the shop with Netta by now. But this morning we’re going to be a little late.

  “Good morning,” I say before opening the screen door to the little house attached to the back of the garage. The smell of maple syrup and molasses lingers in the air, causing my stomach to growl. My mouth was so hot this morning from last night’s concoction that I forgot all about eating breakfast.

  “Are you hungry, baby?” Mama says, directing me to sit at the kitchen table where a piping hot bowl of oatmeal is waiting. How did she know I’d be hungry? I take my seat, placing my purse and the bag of herbs from my bath in the center of the table.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, claiming the spoon sitting to the right of the bowl and digging into the hot cereal. Mama gives me a kiss on my cheek and takes the plastic bag full of wet herbs to where the shrines are housed on the other side of the small kitchen. There isn’t much space in here, but it’s enough to get our work done and that’s all that matters. Sitting right outside the door, Lexi barks at the sound of our next-door neighbor—and Mama’s biggest hater—Esmeralda’s back door opening and shutting. She must be letting her three fat cats out for the day. She’s been pretty quiet since Mama kicked her ass in the spirit realm last week, but we’ll see how long that’ll last. Esmeralda’s always up to no good, and Mama’s keenly aware of that unavoidable fact of life.

  “What is this I see? You don’t come home to me. When you don’t come home to me I can’t deal, can’t bear.” I reach into my open bag and grab my cell, silencing Rah’s call again. Why is he jocking so hard this morning?

  “Problems with Rah?” Mama asks from her kneeling position on the bamboo mat. The white candles provide a warm glow in the room this morning, along with the bright sunrise gleaming through the windows. I can’t help but feel calm when in the spirit room.

  “How did you know?” I ask, finishing the last spoonful of the sweet cereal. Damn, that was good. Ironically, she and m
y dad make the best oatmeal I’ve ever tasted. Even if Mama can’t stand him, I’m glad they have that skill in common.

  “Girl, please,” Mama says, now emptying the contents of my small baggie onto the mat with her cowrie shells and other tools for divination. “Any song with such strong lyrics belongs to that boy.” She looks up at me and signals me to join her on the mat now that I’m done eating.

  “I’m still in shock over him and Sandy shacking up,” I say, kneeling next to Mama. She looks me in the eye, checking for herself to see how I’m doing. Without another word, Mama takes one of several glasses of water from the ancestor shrine and begins pouring the libation, beginning the reading. Because we have to get going sooner than later, Mama performs an abbreviated version of her regular prayers and asks for direction on how to dispose of my medicinal bath herbs, now that we’ve suspended my extra powers for the time being.

  “Ashe Oshe,” Mama says, calling out the name of the odu—or spiritual story—that accompanies the five cowries facing up on the mat. Each combination of the sixteen flattened shells has a story and name behind it. And in this case, the odu Oshe, which belongs to our mother Oshune and father Legba, comes up and that’s a very good sign.

  “Ashe,” I say, acknowledging the odu as well. Mama throws the four coconut pieces known as obi, which are also housed on the ancestor shrine, and asks for a simple yes or no answer so we can close the reading and get to work. But the answer is a solid no, indicating that an offering has to be made before we can leave.

  “Jayd, have you been truthful in your association with the boys in your life?” Mama asks, obviously seeing the same thing I do. “Oshe deals with all of the sweet things in creation, but it also warns against jealousy and rivalry,” she says, now asking the ancestors and orisha what exactly they want us to do.

  “Yes. It’s they who haven’t been truthful with me,” I say, watching as Mama recasts the obi. I can remember playing with the shells when I was a little girl and how much fun it was. I like divining because it reminds me of a math game. But I can’t officially cast the shells until after my formal initiation into the priesthood, which is coming up soon.