Aya: I gave what I could

"Aya refers to the 'fern.' It is a hardy plant with thin evergreen leaves, which has the ability to withstand almost all weather conditions and soil types.

This symbol points out the ups and downs of life. The survival of mankind requires strong-will to face challenges and vicissitudes of life. Lack of strong will and endurance in difficult situations exposes a person's vulnerability, which could be capitalized on by their opponents. Knowing the meaning of this symbol, gives one the power to overcome challenges. The symbol signifies endurance and defiance of difficulties in all aspects of human endeavors.

The symbol teaches that life is full of uncertainties. However, one must persevere. It teaches the sense of adaptability in any condition. It also encourages individuals and nations to be independent, self reliant and resourceful. This is a symbol of defiance and endurance."


The Adinkra symbol for defiance: aya. I fell in love with it. It characterizes so many aspects of my personality and mindset. I will not let go. I will not back down. I will not budge. I may falter but I will persevere.

I bought this neat little book filled with Adinkra and Agama symbols this past weekend. I bought it in the city of Kumasi. This was our first weekend excursion and as already stated we visited Kumasi (the former royal city for the ancient kingdom of Asante). It was wonderful and unforgettable. Such an old town. Such a rich history. Such a forgotten people.

We visited the Manhyia Palace Museum where they gave us a tour and explained to us the current and ancient royal situations. The museum used to be the residence of Nana Agyeman Prempeh I and Nana Sir Osei Agyeman Prempeh II, the 13th and 14th kings of the Asante Nation. "The building was put up in 1925 by the British Government for Nana Agymean Prempeh I who returned from exile in the Seychelles Islands in 1924, as compensation for the Asantehene's Palace at Adum which was destroyed during the Yaa Asantewaa war."

There was pretty rich stuff in the museum/former palace and I felt like the African royalty that all dark people of the world should feel like. Such a shame though...the kingdom raped and replaced with a palace...

We also visited this well...there's a tale about this famous man who was born with locks on his head. Apparently he had special powers so he was always performing feats to show his power. He planted this sword in the ground and swore that the day that sword was pulled out of the ground was the day that would mark the demise of the Asante people. To this day no one has ever been able to pull out that sword (not even Mohammad Ali, and he surely tried).

We also visited this famous lake (the name slips my mind right now) and a Kente village. At the village they weaved the famous Kente cloth. I bought some strips as they were pretty expensive. What I'll remember most from the village though is the children. They swarmed us and although this happens pretty much everywhere we go it touched me a little bit more here...

they gave us all these notes asking us to send them school supplies. Mere pencils and pens and erasers and paper...They begged for money or clothes or jewelry. Anything. Something. This also happened at the village by the lake. I gave what I could. I met some beautiful children: Sheila and Isaac and Benjamin. They want to be doctors and judges and presidents. They were optimistic and beautiful and I fell in love over and over again...

man, someday, someday soon. I gave what I could. But, I couldn't help thinking that even if I gave each and every one of their families a thousand dollars each I still wouldn't be helping them. I wouldn't be changing their lifestyles or predicaments or mindsets. I wouldn't be able to go back before colonization and the wars and place their dignity and pride and power back into their hearts (where it rightfully belongs). I wouldn't be able to remove the pain from their hearts and the blood from their tears. They are there. They were put there by white men with guns and mirrors and sharp objects. They have stayed there and continue to stay there...


I bear the same scars...across my chest and heart. I cry tears of glory. I bleed when I cry. I hurt just as much. We may live on different continents and bear different shades of mahogany and molasses and live in different sized houses and wear different clothes but we fight the same fight and struggle the same struggle. We are shit to the white man regardless of whether we live in Kumasi or Accra or Maryland or Pittsburgh or Haiti or Holland.


Little does the white man (and woman) know that they are shit to us also...
disgusting pieces of pale and lazy shit.

To my people: We are the same. We are one. We are love and civilization and earth. I gave what I could but I know that I can do more. And, I will. Trust, one day I will change the world.


"I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me,
He had me feeling like black was the thing to be,
And suddenly the ghetto didn't seem so tough,
And though we had it rough we always had enough..."