Business…this week’s column is on McDonald’s preposterous idea to use hip hop to sell Big Macs. While they’re at it, why not have Spigg Nice of the Lost Boyz do commercials from jail dressed as the Hamburglar?
Well, woke up this morning and saw an inordinate amount of log-ins, many of which were from Tanzanian domains. I shoulda been smart enough to know what that meant, but I found out a few minutes later that Paul Bomani passed away this morning (the power of Google is mindblowing to me).
‘Til the other side, Ambassador.
But this brings me to an interesting conversation I had Wednesday afternoon…

My brother’s name is named Patrice, after the incomparable Patrice Lumumba of the Congo. Should you not know much about Lumumba–the leader, not my brother–run a Google search, then rent Raoul Peck’s “Lumumba.”
Anyway, my buddy’s lady friend asked me what my brother’s name was, and I told her it was Patrice Lumumba. She asked me if she could call him Patty. I started by telling her to calm down, but I then told her to get up on her African history. Though I realize that there are few places to get hip to African history in primary and secondary schools, I find it amazing how few people know anything about African history.
But the killer was her response…
“Why? I’m not from Africa.”
Aye-yi-yi.
Like Ricky Ricardo, not the Ying Yang Twins.
See, I’m not sure what being from Africa has to do with anything. This particular girl is from Trinidad, but I’d hate to think her knowledge of history is purposely limited to those from her island. Or, god forbid, that it’s voluntarily limited to Trinis and various Europeans.
I’m not from Africa…fuckouttayere.
You know, considering how we Negroes seem to value empowerment, I find it amazing that someone wouldn’t want to know something about a group of people that successfully fought for just that, even though the results have been less than desirable (in the Congo, that can’t be blamed on Lumumba. Talk to Mobutu, Eisenhower, and King Leopold of Belgium the next time you’re at a seance).
But the knowledge and interest–or lack thereof–that so many people have of African history is appalling, especially among college students. College is the time to get hip to things on one’s on, the best environment for broadening horizons in and out of the classroom. At the very least, students should be able to give one sentence about significant post-colonial leaders. If one leaves college without knowing who Lumumba, Nyrere, Senghor, Selassie, and Kenyatta are, something just ain’t right. And I’m not talking about knowing everything about them…just a sentence.
And if you don’t know anything about Nelson Mandela other than that he was in the joint for a few years, get on it.
And get hip to the crooks like Mobutu, also. Lots of probative value in those suckers, too.
But I don’t recall ever being that flustered by someone’s innocent response in my life except for the time someone asked me “what is Malcolm X” in middle school. This was before the movie was released, but “what”? When did Malcolm stop being a name?
But that was from a white person, and expecting white people to be hip to negritude is setting one’s self up for the okeydoke.
But I ain’t hypersensitive about this stuff, I don’t think. I take it and roll when people ask why I refer to my friend Che as “Ernesto.” Never mind that I’m pretty sure the poster in his room of Che says “Ernesto” on it, and never mind ’twas his old girlfriend that first asked me why I call him Ernesto, and she spent plenty of time in that room.
This thing with Lumumba, however, was inexcusable. Ignorance is one thing, but when it exist willfully, I get a bit flummoxed.
But really, am I trippin?
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Also, give that new Sigel a new listen. Beats are off the chain, and there’s a fire Bun B verse on there. Man, I can’t wait for THE TRILL.
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I’m out…lemme know if I’m buggin, for real.