MissKorang

I'm going to have to get me a copy!

Once in the animal kingdom of Abapa lived strong, big and gluttonous Python. Python seemed to suffocate, swallow anything that had breathe and crossed his path. Once when Python chanced upon a Gazelle in labor, he didn’t consider the precarious position of mother and unborn, he attacked and swallowed the laboring Gazelle to the horror of an expectant father and husband. Python ate the Pangolin, Warthog, Deer, Parrots, even Porcupine with his quills was not exempt. He didn’t care what state the animal was in, as long as he could catch it, it was fair game.

Reports started trickling in to Lion, the king.

“Python just swallowed all my three babies,” Warthog complained.

“I believe we all agreed hunters should target the sick and elderly. Why has Python killed my able bodied son?” Questioned the Buffalo.

“Python is flouting all the rules of hunting. At this rate my bloodline will be extinct soon,” cried Papa Gazelle.

Everyday, complaint after complaint reached the Lion. The King did his best to caution Python but the more he cautioned, the more brazen Python became. Angry and out of options, the King offered a large, fertile piece of land to anyone who could successfully capture and imprison Python.

It was a sad day indeed, when the King made that announcement, because the animals knew attempting such a feat was practically a death sentence. For weeks they whispered among themselves how impossible the King’s proposed solution was.

And then Ananse visited the King's Palace.

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My afro. My black, collection of many curling and coiling hairs. It is thick and stubborn af. It defies gravity and reaches for the sun. I love it and I believe it loves me. I love wearing it natural because it makes me feel unencumbered.

But I didn't always love my hair. In fact I couldn't wait to finish high school so I could load it with chemicals and straighten it. I despised my hair because it was called any and everything but beautiful.... wait what? Are you thinking my hair was demeaned by white folks? Nah. It was black folks. My mother was the loudest. My hair was compared to goat shit!

I did grow to love myself and my hair. But the maturity that brought me clarity also brought me a husband and babies. And just when I began to adore my hair, I began to lose it to postpartum hair loss... Doesn't it feel as though God plays tricks on us sometimes?

Read more to see how I reclaimed my hair from the grips of postpartum hair loss.  

Thanks Troy. I loved listening to these folktales as a kid and I'm even relishing the retelling more.

Note: As my 98 year old grandma lays frail in Ghana, and waiting to transcend, I can only comfort myself with her tales...Enjoy

One day, a skilled, successful hunter entered the forest of Sompa in a bid hunt. While tracking a herd of buffalo, he noticed a cackle of hyenas stealthily following the herd. In Kwampa’s vast experience as a hunter, he knew the presence of the hyenas meant a much bigger predator was also probably stalking the herd, whose catch the hyenas intended to hijack. Or that the hyenas had gone long enough without successfully stealing any food, enough to push them to hunt. Whatever the case was, the good hunter knew to respect the balance of Nature and give the hyenas a chance to feed. So he fell back.

Along the way, in a little shallow burrow, tucked behind dense shrubbery, Kwampa chanced upon three baby hyenas, likely left behind to keep each other company while the adults hunted. Remembering his son’s request for a pet, the hunter skillfully trapped one of the cubs, bound its mouth shut with the twine of a honeysuckle, and put it in his hunter’s satchel. A gift for his precious, only son, an exotic pet indeed.

He happily muttered under his breathe, “You are the company you keep. Buffalo with buffalo, an obstinacy of prey. Lions with lions, a pride of hunters. Hyenas with hyenas, a cackle of thieves. Baby hyenas with baby hyenas, a defenseless cackle.”

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what kind of blog are you looking for? I blog here: https://misskorang.com

What is online grooming? And what are the stages of online grooming?

Grooming online happens when someone (usually an adult) ‘befriends’ and succeeds in gaining a  child’s trust in order to take advantage of the child for sexual purposes. Grooming allows sexual predators to slowly overcome natural boundaries long before sexual abuse occurs.

When children connect and communicate on the internet with strangers, they put themselves at great risks indeed. Internet predators intentionally comb sites where children are sure to visit, they may search for their victims by interests, location, gender and so on. 

Predators are able to piece together clues from their seemingly innocent communications with children and find out where a child lives, who their parents are, their school, closest landmarks or store and what their family situation is like.

Online grooming can take place either over a very short period of time or over a long stretch of. Predators are master manipulators who dedicate time and intentional effort to their craft. Initially, an online sex predator’s communication will appear innocent, they will present a kind and helpful posture, and then it progresses into dangerous territory, directed by the predator.

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I started blogging for the kick of it, and to spur me to finish my debut book. Then I figured I could monetize it. I love to write. You can find me at https://misskorang.com

What is your blogger strategy for the year? Happy New Year!

Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi

There was a world. Of Black humans. and their Animals. In tune with nature. Wealthy and healthy. Their kings traversed. and gave gold away like candy. No-one was hungry. Humans and nature harmonized. Homage each paid to the other. Until th colonizer came. With the word of their God. Close your eyes. The Colonizer said. Let us pray. When eyes opened. Black Humans had the colonizer's God. The colonizer had everything.

Black boys in the Library. Maybe can read history. Penned by black hearts. And business. Molded Mansa Must Style. And learn to fight back. With their minds. And wit. Black boys. In the library. Cannot be denied. Enlightenment so long denied.

Strange Fruit. Swinging in the breeze. Weighing on a branch. Their innocence heavy. Their bodies limp. Strange fruit. Hanging. Unharvested.

They fed me belly-full,

And sent me to bed

With an empty heart 

And a starved soul

And told themselves

What great parents they were

But they fed me.

They fed me belly-full,

And starved my soul.

They planted my rage,

And righteously questioned why

I was not like the rest…

My soul hungered for love,

Yet my belly hungered not.

...

Excerpt from My Upcoming Book Of Poems, "My Black Soul Dirges"

I would review it. And add it to my recommended list of books of cultural and racial learning for my readers if it fit. How do I get it?

I recently heard a sister talk passionately about the three bones for success as taught by her Grand Mother. It was interesting to me as it rang true. So what are the three bone for success and why should you bother about them?

The First of the three bones for success – The Wish Bone

The wish bone will keep you hoping and praying. Hope is the motivator but your dream is the driver. We keep going because we hope for tomorrow, that tomorrow will be better than today; hope is being able to see light in-spite of all of the darkness. Hope will motivate you to chase your dreams. Faith will push you to pray. A strong wish bone, intangible as it may sound is very necessary to your success!

The Second of the three bones – The Jaw Bone

The jaw bone gives you courage to speak truth to power. We have an obligation to lift our voice to try to make crooked paths straight in our own way. And we have an obligation to speak up for those who can’t or don’t know how. The jaw bone will give you your voice, make you heard, tell people your position, where you stand and why.

The Third of the three bones for success – The Backbone

Read more: https://misskorang.com/the-three-bones-for-success-do-you-have-them/

She is not transgender at all. In fact throughout her narration she makes it pretty clear, pretty quick that she is straight, very straight. She likes men, and loves one man. Tranqueray is a stage name her dear friend gave her at the start of her dancing career. 

I had no idea it had 'trans' connotations.

Have you seen her story? The  76 year old Stephanie Johnson who ran away from Albany to New York and became a very popular burlesque dancer in the 60's and 70's. Her mother couldn't bring herself to love her dark skin once saying to her through tears, "if only I'd had you with a white man, maybe a could love you." And yet Stephanie mother was as black as they come, but she was too bent on keeping white friends and white company, so much so that she was willing to deny her blackness and hate her own daughter. And then she sent Stephanie to prison for getting pregnant by a black man.

Stephanie recently regaled the internet with her life in New York's underworld. her tales are gritty with sordid details of prostitutes, pimps, madames, The Temptations, Alfred Bloomindales fetishes. The most incredible part of it is she got paid by fans for her story; $2.5M and counting...

I say that to say as a race, we do a lot of despicable things to each other, but when we rise up, it is phenomenal....

You can read more of Tranqueray here.

I must say I am too busy running after my four children and practicing self restraint not to yell, so much so that I have nothing left to spend on bad news. I watch the news to see the weather so I can take those four little Akuabas to the park, or not.

bad news depresses me. I know so I don't go looking to hear it.

Share the blogs sir. I read and re-read this. Still don't know how i feel about it. And yet i want to keep reading

I got a 404 error when i tried to visit

 I just sent you an email. I am interested in guest writing.

I grew up on folktales, from my beloved grandmother especially.  She's 98, bedridden and her life's ebbing away. I can't travel to see her due to COVID-19 but I honor her by retelling the stories she told me three decades and some ago, as best as I can I must add. Her stories taught me to keep striving, to smile in the face of rejection, to set boundaries, to fearlessly love, to honor myself and others, to know when it's time t run, to know when I should inch closer....

I hope I am doing her story telling justice with my writing, she is one hell of a story teller....

Let me know what you think. Leave me comments. Like and follow. If you'd like to connect as bloggers, I would happily oblige you.

https://misskorang.com/category/my-two-cents/ 

beautiful

WHOM AM I?

I am a woman, Black, African
From a lineage of
Steel, depth, sweat, blood
Tears ‘n’ resolve.

Grandma opened not a vogue magazine
She held a hoe
Dug the ground
Planted seeds.

She dined on her labor
Backbreaking. Hard. Labor.
Her fingertips caressed cocoa pods
Lovingly prepared cocoa beans.

Brown gold they call it
Yet her tongue savored
Not one chocolate bite
Did she even care?

She spawned Ma
Ma spawned me
I succeeded her, and those before her
Grit. Nerve. Poise. Strength

From a long line of strong underestimated women, I come
My blood tells a story, history is alive in my veins
I am history on legs;
Woman. Black. African

I am chains painstakingly removed,
With blood, tears, sweat and time
I am bloodied but unstained
I am tales told by the fireside

I am a wonder, an awe
Woman. Black. African
I am curves, the contours of life
Woman. Black. African
I am defiance, savagery
Woman. Black. African
I am the goddess to whom you will succumb
Woman. Black. African
I am mother of The Black Man
Woman. African. Black.

By ADWOA KORANG

misskorang.com