Chay Chay Poley: A Quick Lesson on Liberian English

[audio m4a="https://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/01-chay-chay-poley.m4a"][/audio]Song: Chay Chay PoleyArtist: Tokay TomahThe linguistics of the Diaspora is fascinating to me. No matter where we landed or remained, our tongues have been influenced by colonization. West Africa is known for its various forms of Pidgin or broken English, the West Indies for their patois and the United States for AAVE. When we look at these variances of Black people learning European languages, the syntax and patterns are often similar across the Diaspora. Noun verb agreement, order of words, inflections and speed, deletion of consonants; all of these things point to the linguistic and comprehensive nature of indigenous African languages and the overall evolution of the syntax Black people. There are many parallels in the spoken languages of the Diaspora. For Liberian English, there is a close relationship to AAVE, given the influence of freed American slaves.As Liberia celebrates its 169th birthday, I think it fitting to pay attention not just to our history of  war; but to our culture and traditions. As language and words define a culture, I want to discuss the unique vocabulary and expressions of Liberian Engligh, known as "colloqua".  The Liberian accent is like no other; spoken quickly and melodically. There are tonal inflections that indicate whether an exclamation stands alone or is in support of an independent clause.  For example,  "o" an exclamation that when used by itself, shortly and with an upward inflection means disbelief. When expressed longly, there is downward inflection and denotes sorrow. However, the same "o", placed at the end of a sentence is merely for support of the main idea, like, "I hungry, o.", this time, the "o" has little upward inflection and is there to support how hungry one is.  Even the pronunciation of the letter "r", pronounced  "ara", I thought R. Kelly was Ara Kelly for a very long time.Liberians are by nature a happy people, always ready for a good time. I think the accent is very telling of our that.  We speak in song and riddle. Liberia, with a population of indigenous Liberians, freed slaves from the Americas, and a Caribbean population mixed to create one of the best accents across the Continent.Fellow Liberians, feel free to add to the list in the comments section! Happy 26th o!Quick Guide to Liberian Englishla/ley: theda: thatyor: you all, y'allo: exclamation. used by itself, often in disbelief. or at the end of a sentence. either short or long in sound, at variance. example: i hungry, o.enh: suffix used as a question. example: you hungry, enh? or, you must be hungry, huh? also means and.yah: suffix. used at the end of a sentence for emphasis or affirmation.mehn: man. also used as emphasis  or support.jue: girl, womanold man/old ma: term of respect for elderseh yah: exclamation said in lamentation or remembrance.eh mehn: exclamation said in pity, sadness, or disappointmentjust now/jeh now: quickly. right now. at this moment.hobojo: a loose woman. prostituteyor how do o?: how are you?business: matters or affairs. example: that man business nah easy. or things concerning men aren't pleasant.fini: has finished. has occurred. completely. example: i fini eating long time. or i ate a while ago.fini give: gavego-come: to go and return in a short period of timetoo bad: very much.  example: I want him, too, too bad.to the: answer to question of someone/thing's location. example: where is Mary? She to the house.da lie: you're lying. that's a lie.nyama nyama: small thing. trivial things.don't add my frustration up: don't make me angry dry: skinny. thin.different-different: various typesplum: mangobutter pear: avocadoground nut/ground pea: peanutgoo goo: good good. tasty. pleasant.  example: da goo goo woman. example: that's a good/pleasant woman.country: referring to indigenous people, culture, traditionswaste: spilled. example: da whole thing waste or everything spilled out.what place?: where? example: da what place you at?why you looking so?: what's wrong with you?(but) wait now: hold up. similar to AAVE hol'upI coming go: I'm about to leavedress (small): move over. move to the side.make shame: to embarrasskwi: Americo-Liberian, Congo, bougieplenty:  a lot of. example: she made plenty rice. Similar to AAVE use.fine boy/girl: term of endearment. attractive man or womanyou boy/you girl: term of endearment. similar to AAVE use of boy, girl in conversationso-so: nothing but. example: so-so women were there. or there was nothing but women there.my people: referring to a group of people. or to one's family.  can also be used alone in lamentation. example: o, my people o."pronounced "my pee-po"your people: used when inquiring of another's family.move from here: stop complaining to me. can be used in disagreance.for true: for realhelluva: big, large.vex: angrysmall-small: a little; in amount or distancesweet: good. delicious. enjoyable. example: "dis rice eh swee' o."take time: be careful. A child's song sings, I was passing by/my aunty called me in/and she said to me/Jewel take time in life./You got far way to gopalava: trouble or argumentcarry: to bring somewhere. "come carry me to the store."doka flea: used clothingyou will see me: to show one self. said in anger.wetin . . .?: what thing? suffix to da, "da wetin?" or what's the problem?chay chay poley: a gossiper.da force?: have i forced you? (asked rhetorically) 

Back in the Day: On the Organization of African Unity

 [embed]https://soundcloud.com/crossatlantic/oau-welcome-to-liberia[/embed]  The Creator has given us this share of the earth that goes by the name of the African continent; it belongs to us and we are its only masters. - Patrice Lumumba, African Unity and National Independence, 1959By 1963, there were thirty-two liberated African nations. For any newly freed nation, the question of, "what now?" always arises, as forming policies and a flourishing nation post-colonialism is a hard task. One must understand how to unbind the country from the damaging grasps of white-colonial policies. The question of "what now?" was proposed in two ways; The Cassablanca Bloc of 1961, which comprised of  the so-called progressive states Ghana, Libya, Mali, Algeria, Guinea and Egypt, who believed in a federation of African states. Nkrumah, perhaps the most radical of them, also believed that a united African army would protect itself from colonialism.  The second asking of "what now?" came in the form of The Monrovia Bloc, consisting of Liberia, Nigeria, Senegal, Cameroon and other nations who believed in Pan-Africanism, however did not believe in a federated continent.These two groups merged and on May 25, 1963 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, these thirty-two African nations established the Organization of African Unity. The purpose of the OAU, was to, above all, create a better life for Africans. Member nations thought this possible through the objectives of the OAU Charter. By ridding the continent of white-colonial rule and apartheid, maintaining the sovereignty of the Member States and creating a coordinated political, economic, civic and social policies, the OAU felt true African liberation could exist.The Founding Fathers of the OAU Are:Kwame Nkrumah, GhanaWilliam Tubman, LiberiaHIM Emperor Haile Selassie I, EthiopiaAhmed Ben Bella, AlgeriaCoutoucou Hubert Maga, Dahomey (now Benin)Maurice Yaméogo, Burkina FasoKing Mwami Mwambutsa IV, BurundiAhmadou Ahidjo, CameroonDavid Dacko, Central African RepublicFrançois Tombalbaye, ChadJoseph Kasa-Vubu, DR CongoFulbert Youlou, Republic of CongoFélix Houphouët-Boigny, Ivory CoastGamal Abdel Nasser, EgyptLéon M'ba, GabonAhmed Sékou Touré, GuineaIdris I, King of Libya, LibyaHamani Diori, NigerNnamdi Azikiwe, NigeriaGrégoire Kayibanda, RwandaLéopold Sédar Senghor, SenegalMilton Margai, Sierra Leone (Margai was a Prime Minister, Sierra Leone was a commonwealth until 1971Aden Abdullah Osman Daar, SomaliaIbrahim Abboud, SudanSylvanus Epiphanio Olympio, TogoHabib Bourguiba, TunisiaEdward Frederick William David Walugembe Mutebi Luwangula Muteesa II, UgandaPhilibert Tsiranana, MadagascarModibo Keïta, MaliMoktar Ould Daddah, MauritaniaJulius Nyerere, Tanganyika, now TanzaniaWe Must Unite or Perish. - Kwame Nkrumah, Speech to the OAU, May 24, 1963Fifty three years after the creation of the OAU, the state of Africa as a continent is both disheartening and inspiring. Most of the leaders who founded the OAU are long gone, most by deception, exile or death. White-colonial rule has reinvented itself in various forms and still plagues us in the form of debt, foreign investors, foreign aid and missionaries, to name a few. Outside of the foreign detriment to the continent, many African leaders have sold their countries to the highest bidder in exchange for wealth; leaving a vulnerable and weakened continent.We must ask ourselves, what was the struggle for and how will that struggle not be in vain? As the child of immigrants, my African identity has always been important and a large factor in knowing myself. I am an African because it was born in me - to paraphrase Nkrumah. The pride that comes with being an African must not just be in name, but also in action. It is important that we use ourselves to the fullest capacity to ensure the longevity and prosperity of that great Continent.  What does Africa Day mean to you?  Song: OAU Welcome to Liberia (The Theme Song for 1979 OAU Conference, held in Monrovia, Liberia)Artist: The Liberian DreamAlbum:Writer(s): C. Alake Williams, Zack Roberts, Joseph Toomey, Geebah Swaray, Evan Dukuly and E. Tonieh WilliamsReleased: 1979

love poems: amuzu (part one)

friends, neighbors, countrymenlend me your eardrumsthis is the story of my fathermay his life be longpart onemy father is a street boynever had shitgrew up in voodolandwill put a hex on youthirty-six siblings because his fatherliked to spread his seed. this is what farmers doremember, my father is the son of a farmerso he learned to spread his seed toowas seven when Ghana freed herselfblack star shines foreverread by candlelight to learn the white man's gamethey call it capitalismyou have to winand if you losethey will call it third worldbut we call it homestreet boy grewhis hustle did too. all he knows is hustlerode train to Liberiagot a little bit of moneygold chains to show he's got itall gold everything because the streetsneed to see him shinestreet boy is a motherless childmeets girl who is the ghost of his motherthis will be the only time he rememberswhat love looks likehe will love no otherexcept the streetscause you can't take the street out the boyno matter how well he learns to play the gamewill dodge rebel bulletsdon't give a damn about your street gangsyour bloods or your cripsall his friends died with their throats slithe will follow the trail of their blood to americathey will call him refugee because the land he came fromcracked open and tried to swallow him wholebut he came up from the cracksand the prayer of the street boy is,"G-d, don't ever let me go back"so he hustledbrought his girl to foreign landher belly swollen with childLady Liberty looked upon them and said"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddle masses,unless it is black, unless you call it African,there is no freedom here for you."

Back in the Day: Before the War Came: Nostalgia and Liberian Independence

[embed]https://youtu.be/TRCMJCx7o6I[/embed] Song: Comin' HomeArtist: Tecumsay RobertsAlbum: Comin' HomeWriter: Tecumsay Roberts, Anthony James, Boni BoyerReleased: Bamboo Records, Year UnknownAll Hail Liberia, Hail:Liberia, West Africa was colonized by freed slaves from the United States of America, through the sponsorship of the American Colonization Society. It was their belief that freed blacks would have more opportunity for success in Africa, and more than five-thousand black Americans were sent to Liberia. These Americo-Liberians or "Congo People" as my mother references them, created a socio-political caste system that mirrored that of the United States; a minority ruling class maintaining complete control of the country's socio-economic and political endeavors. This imbalance of power lasted for more than one-hundred years and erupted into a twenty year civil war. Liberia, a country of almost three-million lost close to one million of its population.History tends to sterilize the effects of imperialism and neocolonialism; as a Liberian I am both politically and personally aware of how brutal the effects can be. I often see the word revolution and war thrown around loosely during these times of activism in the United States and I remain silent at the casual manner of it all. It is important to understand that revolution is not fancy, it is bloody and brutal and becomes entangled with politics and greed; civilians always paying the price. So when the term revolution is spoken, it is important to understand the total implications and how much it changes everything in an instant. My family's history and so many Liberian's histories are indicative of how swiftly life changes.It All Began on July 26, 1990:I recently read a letter that described the death of my grandmother during the First Liberian Civil War (1989-1997). The fourth line read, "It all began on July 26, 1990. . ." and went on to describe the events that led to the passing of my grandmother, Mary Jumah Stevens. The letter read like something out of a book on human rights I may have read in college; however what is simple political literary fodder for many is a part of my family history. For many Liberians, this mixture of personal tragedy and political history is not uncommon. Liberians were given the fate of knowing how bitter war can be. Yet, in all the bitterness  we continue to be resilient and happy with what life we are blessed to have; we are a prime example of black strength and survival.My mother is from Gardnersville, Liberia and my introduction to Liberian culture was from the source of the children of Liberia's Golden Age. An era before the twenty year long civil  that ravaged the country between 1989-2003. My parents met and married during the Presidency of William R. Tolbert, an Americo-Liberian who ruled under the True Whig Party, which ruled the country for more than one-hundred years under the hand of the minority Americo-Liberians.From their memories, I know of a Liberia that thrived economically and socially, my father worked for the government and my parents enjoyed a life of privilege, until the war came. There are always two memories I am given about Liberia; life before and after the war came. When the war came, my parents fled to the United States in the early 80s and my mother has not returned since. Her story is not unlike many others, which both saddens and inspires me. What strength refugees carry to make a life when their old life has been buried in political and literal mass graves.But Liberia Will Always Be My Home:I grew up in a house hold that always smelled of clean linen and red palm oil. Where we ate rice every day and cassava leaf was my favorite. Where at any time a revolving door of aunts and uncles and cousins visited and we would sit down to eat rice with them. I grew up attending weddings where I always wanted to have a partner as the grand march wrapped around the reception hall, eating rice bread and watching men discuss politics and drink Heineken, the women discussed the men. Everyone discussed the war. I grew up experiencing early morning phone calls, having to speak loudly because of poor connections and relatives asking for help because "eh nah easy." I grew up always scared when the phone rang, because more often than not news from home was not  good news. I grew up not knowing half of my bloodlines because civil war tends to split families apart and mine was no exception. Despite these things, I also grew up surrounded by a people who laughed and danced and ate and joked their way through trauma. I grew up part Liberian.Growing up, the word "home" always meant Africa. For my mother and various aunts, uncles, and cousins (usually not blood related), "home" always meant Liberia. In retrospect, everyone I grew up with was a refugee. So the idea of going home meant returning to a land that purged itself of its native sons and daughters. Even I, who was born in the States, have a heavy longing to return to Liberia, in order to know the part of myself I've never met. All of us yearn to see the faces of people who are no longer, to return to the places that are burned down. Going home for a lot of Liberians means to return to a place that no longer exists. This is the aching nostalgia so many Liberians experience; the longing of a time and space that was violently taken and the only thing left to hold on to are memories of people and places and things gone by.  

Love Poems: Mango

[embed]https://soundcloud.com/blackloveprjct/mango[/embed]i wrote this while i ate a mango with my right handi licked the juices that ran down my armmy mouth was full of yellow fruitand i imagined this is how your skin would tasteif i brushed my lips against ithow sweet it isi bite deeper into the flesh,peel the skin with my teeththis is how my mother taught meto eat a mango. this is how her mothertaught her to eat a mango. this is howLiberia taught us to eat a mango.to the bone. sitting down. close to earth.did you know that i see the weather in your eyes?we are in drought, my loveyou have not cried in yearsi want to know the things you've seenshow me your bonestell me real Richmond talesblack kinghow strange it must beto live in a world that does not bow at your feetthey have made a slave of youthey have made a slave of youthey have made a slave of you, my godthey have changed your name from man to niggaand sometimes you've answeredyour world is littered with black bodies searchingsearching for something better than thissearching for a way outsearching for a place to call homethis land of the free wants nothing to do with your freedomit wants you to die a thousand deaths in one dayit wants your sweat and blood and silenceit is the thing this country is made ofblack silence. black sufferance.white houses built by black hands upon red bonesthey have made a slave of youand every day is anotherchance at liberationbaby, get freefind that kingdom that rests inside your headand in the darkest of nightsas the world turns on your shouldersknow that my love is with youit is heavy and aching and patientto the bone. for the soul. close to God.this is how my mother taught me to love a man.this is how her mother taught her to love a man.this is how our bloodlines taught us to love a man. 

Love Poems: Monrovia on Wednesday

we who come from nothingwhose heirlooms are buriedin mass graves underAfrican skieswe do not hear our grandmother's voiceand cannot kiss her handswhile we sit under trees to praywe come from placeswhere bullets spraythey do not carehe is your brotherthey are not movedby your weepinghold it in and be stillthat is the African waythe world does not pityblack sufferanceour death does not shake themwe are rotting corpses and open woundscharity cases dyingon rich soil whose fruit we do not reapthey wear our blood on their necks and fingersbut how can you not see our soul?it is the thing that keeps usit is the thing we carry

Akwaaba Means Welcome

[audio http://blackloveproject.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/01-i-love-music.mp3]Welcome to Black Love Project!I am very happy and thankful that you've taken the time to visit.My name is Monique and I am a music lover. A deeply passionate music lover who finds a relative story in every song I hear. Music, for me, is a personal experience, seeping into almost every aspect of my life. This means that music finds itself woven into my love life. For every serious love affair or fleeting crush, there is a song, a chorus or sixteen bars to remind me of every memory. From every kiss to every heartbreak, there is a song or songs that serve as my personal soundtrack.The idea of Black Love Project came to me when I experienced what it is to love a musician. Our time together always felt like a love scene out of a blaxploitation film: brown flesh upon brown flesh, coarse hair and thick lips, a hazy room filled with music, there was always music. We created our own soundtrack of songs that mirrored how sweet and intensely passionate we were. And when the sweetness turned sour and sadness and anger settled in, the songs showed the same. It is no secret that art imitates life. It is the reflection of the people, an artistic immortalization of life's ups and downs. The songs that reminded me of him, I was sure reminded someone else of an old lover. As I tend to view and relate most things through a historical and musical perspective, I understand there is a great relationship between song and life, love most especially. The quest to study the link amongst relationships, socio-political circumstances and the art created during respective eras, blossomed into Black Love Project.Black history has often been written and told by others. However, the music, derived on that Great Continent, has been an important historical archive of black people. It is the tradition of our bloodline, to preserve our story through word and song. It is the continuation of tradition through the people of the Diaspora. It is the black story told by the black story teller. Black Love Project aims to explore and expose such stories. To create a soundtrack of our harrowing and rich history.I hope you'll join me on my quest and perhaps, along the way, share your own story of love, your own history.Thank you again for visiting.love,MoniqueSong: I Love MusicArtist: The O'JaysAlbum: Family ReunionWriter: Kenny Gamble and Leon A. HuffReleased: 1975