Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Kingston Writers Festival, 2011

I really enjoyed the panel with Y.S. Lee and Susan Olding (host). Actually I loved the more formal format of the Kingston Writers Festival held last September 22-25 in the Holiday Inn, on the waterfront. I was actually given a personal helper/ handler, Carol, MacDonnel who was just wonderful. I daresay Kingstonians are very posh! I wish I could remember the special designation given to them but it's gone now lost in my memory. I will never forget eating gnocci, for the very first time, which choice I made because I had read an interesting description of it in Camilla Gibb's "Sweetness in the Belly". The singular down moment was finding out that the festival bookstore did not have my book but I shrugged that off, too. Things happen and I still had a wonderful time reading, talking and listening to other panels.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Storytelling the Coffee Break

It was with great interest I engaged in my daughter Stephanie's short movie project, which assignment was to depict change in a 90 second video. She was the writer, director and producer while Dorothy Odartey-Wellington and I acted. It's nice to see storytelling manifesting in the genes of my baby girl, and I can't wait to see what more she has to offer as she is still in high school. Enjoy!

Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Guelph Symposium on the War of 1812


On Saturday February 25th, I attended the Guelph Symposium on the War of 1812 and was surprised at the vibrant market place of history, by way of talks, books, period costumes and fashion shows, and everything for sale or on exhibition from shoes to muskets. And to boot, there was a real drum major ushering us in to our various halls on time. I delivered on Richard Pierpoint. A man who has taken me on an amazing journey so far.

Sunday, February 12, 2012


I do apologize for ignoring this blog for so long. I got really busy and instead of blogging my events and activities, I abandoned my blog for Facebook. I am planning a return and I hope to find the best strategy to keep up and keep you interested.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011



Long natural African-woman hair

Sub-Saharan, tightly coiled

Curly-wurly iron ringlets

Easy to comb and rearrange

No pain, more gain

No lye, don’t lie

Here, find inexpensive

Silky locks, black or grey

Without costing hours and a day

No extensions

Demanding a monthly wage

Beautiful hair to cover those horns

To lure brave men to bosom and care

I have considered all things

When it comes to my hair

I have joined the exclusive club of dreamers

Lying beneath the apple tree

Waiting with Newton for the apple to drop

Monday, August 1, 2011


Long before you searched my secrets

I am she who began life with nothing

but a handful of dust in a basin

I was told to squat thereon

Upon stocky muscled legs

To hatch my young ones

Yearning to be born

I was advised to till the land

And grow fruit trees

For the feeding of the nations in my womb

Instead I spilled the dust

Of the birthing bowl

Upon loamy soils

Where meandering tributaries of great rivers end

The Nile, the Congo, the Issa Beer

After miles of winding and branching

And years of thinning and tapering

Among palm trees and olive groves

Where sweet date and pomegranate grow

With sugars rich and succulence

There pools of water were found

Where hippos swam and elephants drank

And hunters drew the lessons of the hunt

Carved out and dyed on old rock faces

I called aloud to my wayward children

Cried to my grandchildren to trample my back

Ease the knots between tendon and bone

With chubby brown fingers

They drew pictures on my back

Visions of a drifting world

On shifting sands stirred by the wind

Men on camels wrapped up and veiled

Carrying their homes upon their backs

Herding family, cattle and goats

From a country of sand to another of rock

The sand prevailed, the waters died

Salt remained within the rock

With one accord creation walked

Searching for the trail of the lost waters

In the valleys and gorges left behind

Calling for the waters between oases

To suffuse the air and return once more

To the sands as rain

So the serpent asked for a maid each year

To make golden rain for old Wagadu

Let sweep his waters through the sand

Deposit gold upon the land

The sacrifice was one we could not make

And Bida was slain upon the ground

So the sands creep on from day to day

Stirred up and whisked by a hot dry wind

I am she who remains among sand dunes

Mapping tributaries in the sand