#even extended to understanding some Truth which has to be known here even if winston doesn't think that already himself

[unproduciblesmackdown]

further thoughts re: [idea behind mitb] & [winston billions]

that ofc the specific situation of mitb of even being so thrown into a seismic shift in perspective in this moment, brought on by like whoa what if actually being alone / rejected by the person who was always on my side, like winston in canon can't ever be in that position lmao like even with the continual [people turn on him] moments, nobody was ever actually on his side in the first place & people only Turn from [less of negative attention upon him] to [more]

But then pointing to like wait, one thing, the very ending: all you know about me is my name / awesome party, i'm so glad i came [cha cha cha] like assign that to winston's departure from straightforward in-office employee with the fun details of: • we don't even know his name, rare No Last Name Ever Bothered With for any recurring character, much less one who's been around for seasons. just quant things • probably only any party b/c he arranged it for himself (what arrogance, as opposed to being pointedly ignored / denied baseline acknowledgments as deserved) & • nonzero people pointedly refusing to attend b/c they hate him more than anything, as opposed to the people who do attend to express hostility & contempt as per the I'm The Ultra Cool Guy Normal Person(tm) ideal of "if i interact with / observe someone & consider them such a Lesser / Other to me & issue whatever disparaging cues, any third parties would totally recognize my superiority" uhh nnnyeThis guy, umm ohh kayyy lol. scoff sneer etc. Extremely epic yes

also shoutout to billions for both Needing to show us that "uh lol winston can't just Get to Leave" expression of contempt / vicarious power trip But also that's not enough lmfao like he really can't get to leave, casting its yugioh card of "essence of [most dangerous time in an abusive relationship? trying to leave it]" like again, You Don't Get To, then Uh Oh winston in leaving is not only acting without permission but in doing so is denying us our property! time for some assaulting & stalking & killing :) figuratively we swear but who would know what nonexistent mitb happens :)) wheee haha Hell yeah so affirmed & fulfilled in our power & superiority. wretchedly like why is this also what happens with wendy & axe at the end of s5 as axe resents wendy not acting like his property / without his permission & gets vindictive & aggressive & it's like okay well with the stalking & surveilling in the mix i'm sure wendy will now finally get to be Done. wrong! reveling in romance (dragged over glass) as wendy is sooo special that she can still just Understand & Choose Loyalty even as unideal as axe was, truly, she's powerful enough to handle axe :) unlike other bitches who'd get all hysterical & give up. selfish

also speaking of the "you have to pay attention & listen to how this guy feels for 5 minutes" like with pointed [my personal perspective & considering Just Like Real Life] i don't like, especially with canon, really have that for winston in terms of like that even if people Had to listen, which would be the only way they did b/c winston Does express how he feels at all & it gets pointedly ignored / suppressed / punished, like they wouldn't change their perspective lol. when i consider "well winston could hope they would, think they might, want & try for this" like i don't consider that it would work lol, definitely not based on canon dynamics, where Just Like The Perspective Of The Show Itself like winston can seize some opportunity & express himself "perfectly" but it wouldn't work b/c everyone's already decided to think of him as inferior & not a person & will continue choosing to do so / choosing to play into the idea of their superiority rather than letting it be threatened, much less embracing that & questioning themselves / that concept. Oops Same Essence once again when like all that's questioned about Power is that only Meritous, Truly benevolent godlike individuals ought to have it :) no problems detected when wendy is really exactly the same as prince b/c of course she'd have to be when it's just "nothing wrong with seeing people as inferior, in fact it's inevitable & necessary & good & we love it, just so long as Really superior people are correctly arranged in the hierarchy over Really inferior 'people' who i'm not really hurting or wronging or using when they bring it upon themselves & are wrong in their lesserness"

so like shoutout again to "billions is like, the song 'be more chill' in be more chill, seeing the squip as the protagonist like yes wheee yay tell jeremy everyone's right to treat him as they do & he brings it upon himself & should be dead & twist his arm however you want to get this" only i think in bmc you can interpret that the squip really does want to "redeem" jeremy by forcing him to become a different person & all & just conform to the norm & play & win the game....billions might Supposedly want that, framing wendy using & toying with other people's lives & feelings as she sees fit as Necessary, Correct, & Magnanimous, but really like oh no wendy doesn't even really "fix" people b/c welp there's still the hierarchy of ranking on everyone's Inherent unequal personhood & we can't all be the most special best person in the world like wendy but she can Redeem us a little bit if we're not the lost causes too inferior to recognize & defer to Her superiority. plus she's busy with the enrichingly complicated & important cases of: enabling someone like axe :) like billions is just into the power trip really of like "wow yeah you're correct in judging that person as inferior & bringing it upon themself" & "really" fixing someone by killing them & replacing them with an allistic person e.g. isn't actually of that much interest b/c then the power trip would, theoretically, be done with. no thanks

meanwhile perhaps some restraint for this last point brought on by Oops already verbalizing a lot but the one thing i did only just think of was like, obviously winston comparable to jeremy & the material surrounding jeremy But i was like oh hey i kind of think of the winston & tuk dynamic as glimpsed in canon & extrapolated upon thusly as respectively michael & jeremy esque & sure never framed it that way to myself lol. this duo of like the ultimate losers around but who can kind of obviously also bond / deliberately unionize over this; winston as the "well they'll treat me like this either way so i may as well do my own thing fully at least" more confident one while tuk is similar enough & it's like oh i can be not just myself but More myself with this person than maybe i even am Alone alone & we like each other & have fun & i'm encouraged &c & so on, being a bit more "ah jeez :( i do kind of try to see if i can manage to play by the rules better & maybe be killed less," & even sure have thought about the conflicts that could arise as like "yeah it's good if winston being around me can kind of insulate me & involve encouragement But Then Also downsides like, can it feel overbearing if just feeling eclipsed by winston's personality, if feeling like yeah following winston's lead helps me but what if that defines me too much / what about getting by outside that, can encouragement from that Confident Vivacious personality feel pushy?" all very much like that conflict jeremy & michael have of jeremy wanting to change things up & figure out his relationship with himself & what he can do through that a little bit more, hardly able to express that to himself much less michael, michael who doesn't know quite what's going on & but of course is also affected by how people treat him, as we did know but yknow impossible to have real serious feelings & act vivacious & cheerful, & feels supported by his relationship / dynamic w/jeremy too....wouldn't be the same b/c there's no high school scifi plot & also like, no [um frivolous teen problems are for teens only. adults don't do the bullying & popularity & insecurity &c] as has been said lol like it doesn't just Stop, but that like they Are older so probably could have an at all easier & more successful time talking through things & understanding their own feelings, but always fun to imagine some drama & conflict sure lol like even just a period of some Confusion / Mixed Feelings like ah new good friends with tuk but maybe tuk withdraws / avoids winston a bit then to try to take a breath & get perspective from a step back, maybe it can seem to winston like we're having a good time what a promising new relationship but then sudden/confusing irritation with me / some apparent rejection, an easy issue is just like as seems to be canon lol like well nobody's known winston for eons here, just met, winston's Already got the independently big personality / doing his own things mode, could be hard to warm up to that / even Understand it, especially in [hierarchy play the game kill each other it's them or you] bullying world anyway. however also tuk has ben who is also sort of relatively on the Less outwardly bold seeming side who is also there to buffer or insulate or intervene, But that can also just be [same issue parallel to jeremy/michael] lmao like does it mitigate it or exacerbate it or bit of both / varyingly, depending. do we all kiss at the same time

[rockofeye]

Calling Out and Calling In: Jessyka Winston and Haus of Hoodoo

It’s not uncommon for me to receive asks or messages asking me to verify that a particular priest or a particular sosyete is valid/authentic/traditional/etc. By and large, I don’t answer these because it’s not appropriate in that there is no reason for me to comment on a particular person or sosyete. That’s not how you make friends, maintain a religious community, or serve the spirits.

And, there is the truth that, in Haiti and on the island in general, there is variety in practice. I talk a lot about regleman, which is the appropriate order for things, and I talk a lot about what happens when folks just want to grab what they thinks looks cool or spooky for their own purposes (no, Papa Legba is not a cocaine-sniffing demon, no, Ezili Freda does not want to be saluted with twerking). Discernment is a thing, and well-trained priests have it; folks can sniff out fraud versus ‘huh, we don’t do it like that but it makes a lot of sense that other people do it this way’.

This doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of fraud and fraudulent folks who use the trappings of the religion to make a lot of cash. It happens a lot. A LOT. It happens in Haiti and it happens outside of Haiti. The birth of social media has given folks, legitimate and not, a place to showcase what they do and connect with people whom are seeking the spirits or, conversely, whom the spirits are seeking. It was that for me; I reconnected with an old friend on Facebook after at least 5 years of no contact and, through a series of Very Fortunate Events, found my way to my spiritual mother’s door from there.

Social media has given a platform for fraudulent people to really dig their heels in. Instagram (the platform I love to hate) is particularly awful with this. Folks who have not had exposure or training in the religion see beautiful photos and assume that what they are seeing is true and authentic because it looks like it must be, or someone is a very talented writer and uses generic photos along with compelling, persuasive text. This is not the fault of the folks looking—how can they know?--but the fault squarely of the people trying to trade the sacred for power, adoration, and, often most importantly, cold hard cash.

This reality often brings up a very difficult conversation to have that contains a lot of hard truths: the face of fraud in Haitian Vodou is not always white and birthright (or the presumption of birthright) can be abused.

These two things bring us to the topic at hand: Haus of Hoodoo and the person behind it, Jessyka Winston.

Haus of Hoodoo is a small business that began online selling fixed candles and posting lovely photos. Within the last 6 months or so, a retail location opened in New Orleans. It’s a cute shop (I like all the plants), and she portrays it as doing well.

Where things have gone from cringe-y to whose-child-is-this to ‘you have got to be fucking kidding me’ complete with the sort of strangled laugh that doesn’t come from something funny is around Haitian Vodou.

Let me be really clear: I have been watching this for a good long while, and I didn’t want to say anything for the reasons outlined above and because, quite bluntly, I know this is going to bring a whole lot of unpleasantness to my doorstep. Jessyka likes to flex, and how she flexes is making statements that she feels are intimidating/fear-inspiring, going in on character assassination, and, frankly, talking a whole lot of shit. She threatens sending spirits after someone, with the stated intent that a person will die or be made food, and she spins into this cyclone of nonsense that she thinks leaves her looking authentic and traditional. It doesn’t, and I don’t attach weight to those sorts of things or get scared of them. But, I have known that’s what is in store as soon as this is published and I had to kind of have a talk with myself to make sure I have really been willing to take that on. At this point, I am willing because what has been said is so incredibly untrue and, in some cases, downright harmful or unethical. There are times to be quiet, and there are times to speak. This one of those times to speak.

After the cut, I’m going to lay things out the best I can with the receipts I’ve got and the knowledge I have been blessed to gain. It’s going to be image-heavy and with a lot of text, and there’s a LOT of it.

But, before we get there, it’s important to acknowledge some things upfront:

Haus of Hoodoo/Jessyka Winston is alone in what she is saying. She is not gaining support from anyone and no one is standing up to agree with her. She has been a topic in the Haitian Vodou community for at least a year, and no one has said much of anything to her because, sadly, no one seems to be invested in her.  I really do think this is sad. Haitian Vodou is familial in nature, even across sosyetes and lineages. Folks disagree with each other and argue, but they still come back and call each other sister and brother. She has said she is a part of no community and eschews what community means, but I can’t imagine what it must be like to not have anyone who will either support you because what you are saying is true for your corner, or anyone who cares enough to say ‘hey, I know you mean well but you’re really off-base here. Maybe you should walk it back’. I think this is why she has turned so poisonous. I know I have benefited greatly from a spiritual parent and siblings who have helped me right my course and/or given me a kick in the butt. Not having that is a huge loss and a huge spiritual hole.

I also do not think Jessyka is without redemption. She can change what she is doing and change the current course she has set for herself. While the things she has said will never go away, she can take responsibility for the inaccuracies she is spreading, the outright disrespect she is showing to Haitians and the people who made it possible for her to even have contact with the religion, and the harm she is inflicting. With the lwa, there is always a chance to do things differently. The function of community, in this moment, is to call out the hurt and harm she is spreading, and to call her in so that she may come back to center and work on repairing not only what she has perpetuated but work repairing herself as well.

(Quick note, some of the image formatting is weird and some images are darker than others. If you are having trouble reading something, let me know. I regret that I cannot caption each one. Additionally, I have removed the actual photos from the images for time and bandwidth)

With those things in mind, let’s take a look at what has been going on:

To timeline things for context, Jessyka initiated in Afa vodoun and Mami Wata practices in Ghana in early 2017. After her return to the US, she began talking about Haitian Vodou and began attending ceremony in New Orleans with a New Orleans spiritual community and a Haitian Vodou sosyete with their US temple in NO. At some point in here, she did a lave tet under the lineage head of the sosyete, and then followed that with kanzo in Haiti, where she was made a manbo asogwe. This is really fast and potentially really ill-advised. When you initiate somewhere, your head needs time to settle down and you need to get to know your spirits. When you spin through it and don’t give your head a chance to settle, things get messy—you are unbalanced, your head is unbalanced, and your spirits are unbalanced. A wise person once told me it takes 5 years to be proficient enough in something to have a basic understanding, and this rings true spiritually.  

This is where things get sticky. Not too long after her kanzo (about 2-3 months, maybe a little more), she left the house she was made in, stating that she was taken advantage of. At this point, she had left her long-term partner, gotten involved with a Haitian man, and returned to Haiti to have other ceremonies done, somewhere near the end of 2018. I have receipts for these things but, for brevity and bandwidth, I’m not going to insert them all. If you want to see them, hit me up.

This is sticky for two reasons:

She wiped her Instagram of all visual cues attaching her to this house. She had written a LOT about them and a lot about the relationship she had with her initiatory mother, but she chose to try and re-write her history after she left. This is not how kanzo works and, in reality, not how the internet works. I saw a lot of what she had written myself.

Allegations of fraud in the way that she insists happened are hard to address because they often involve matters of secrecy that only another priest can recognize. I can’t say for absolute certainty what happened in the djevo/initiatory chamber she went into, as I wasn’t there. That’s not shade, it really just means what it says: I can’t pass judgment because I didn’t go inside that djevo. I would expect that sosyete to say the same of me in that they were not in the djevo that I went into and cannot judge the absolute correctness of what happened there. Priests are pretty solid on not extending opinions of things that have not verified with their own eyes.

What I can say is that Jessyka has posted things that are very true about kanzo (initiation in an asson lineage), and many, many things that are false. The largest problem with this outside of potentially betraying oaths of secrecy that I know she took is that she doesn’t seem to know the difference between what is true and what is manufactured, either by misinformation she has received or by her own lack of experience, as she has never stood inside a djevo on the other side of kanzo. She never went back to see how it was done, and she didn’t stay long enough to be taught.

I saw her post something once that she should know better than to post, and I addressed it as my one-and-done (or what I thought was one-and-done) shot at saying something, priest to priest, in the hopes that they would right their wrongs:

@anbadlo is my Instagram account that I use to post spiritual work and art, however infrequently, and I’ve mentioned it here before. It has the name I am commonly known by on the internet, which is pretty easy to link up to this blog and to my other online presences attached to Vodou. I wrote fairly quickly in my response below hers because I knew I was on borrowed time, as she blocks anyone who disagrees with her or that she perceives to harm her business (which is her prerogative, of course).

What I didn’t get a chance to screenshot before she blocked me was her further response saying that she would humiliate me with what I didn’t know about Haitian Vodou and that I should try going to Haiti before saying anything to her or anybody else. This was sort of eyebrow raising not because it upset me but because a) there is nothing humiliating or shameful about not knowing something and I am pretty open that I am always learning, and b) she spoke without giving a thought to who might be speaking to her. If someone was to pull me up online for posting something inappropriate or inaccurate, I’d at least click on their name to see who they were before asserting that I was an authority who could humiliate them. I also did not and do not understand why someone who claims to be a spiritual leader or authority would want to humiliate someone. Folks can be corrected without character assassination or purposeful embarrassment.

Far more interesting than those things, though, is that she denies she was made asogwe which is untrue based on her own words:

She’s since deleted this post, but it was a post that quite a few priests saw and saved. To be honest, I sort of chuckled about this because what is written here is not true about being a houngan or manbo asogwe but it digs at something more serious: her attitude and orientation of being more authentic-than-thou and being what she perceives as the most traditional of the traditionalists. Like, I come from a traditional Haitian lineage that is known for doing things traditionally, and all of this is above and beyond. I talk frequently about how Haitian Vodou is a practical religion, and it’s not practical to go bother the lwa if you want to have sex, shave your legs, or stay out late. There are situations where some of the things she has said might be true for a very short period of time, but no one does this nor is it traditional. Haitians are not going to their tables every time they want to get their hair done.

It is possible that she had some deep misunderstandings about what she was taught, it is possible she made it all up, or, perhaps most likely, it is possible that she offered all these things up to her lwa and they took them. Spirits can be opportunists and they love attention. If you commit to giving them a chicken every week, they will expect a chicken from you every week and are going to be displeased when you don’t deliver. If you offer things up, they are going to hold that as their standard. This is why discernment is important, as is maintaining ongoing relationships with a teacher and (IMPORTANT) asking before you make an offer when you are new to a religion and a religious office (priest).

It is also equally important to note that when you kanzo and come out a houngan or manbo asogwe, that’s an indelible mark that cannot be erased. You can point middle fingers at people and walk away, but that doesn’t change what was put on you. Other work and other ceremonies can be done (however ill-advised), but it can never erase what you willingly consented to and had placed on your head. Her desire to separate herself from this and her asson lineage of kanzo doesn’t mean it is erased, no matter how much you want to re-invent yourself.

But, this was kind of a fore-runner and warning sign of what was to come in terms of more-authentic-than-thou and, bluntly, honesty. In retrospect, if someone had sort of nudged her and said ‘hey, you don’t have to be doing the most of the most to be a good manbo’ maybe we wouldn’t be where we are. On the other hand, people have to take their own roads and it is not the place of any priest to really step in when there is no harm done to others. Like, if you want to tie yourself up that tightly, it is certainly within your rights to do so.

More recently, what she has posted has taken a turn for the truly bizarre. Her Instagram is a sort of echo chamber—some vodouizan read and largely do not interact, and a whole lot of people follow her who don’t have other exposure to the religion but, as before, she is standing alone. She says things and presents images that fit a narrative she creates, and it hits a nerve with folks seeking spiritual meaning or it fits an internal narrative they have, even if it is not a narrative reflected currently or historically. This is not a slam to folks who follow her or who have followed her and thought she was reflecting the Real Vodou she says she is, as we are all human and all searching for where our heart and heads feel at home, and sometimes that search has a pit stop or side quest.

She really got going with what amounts to flexing: she presents herself as powerful and untouchable, and makes statements that people she perceives as standing against her or attacking her will be harmed or killed:

At first glance, these things are laughable, literally. It is perhaps not my proudest, most enlightened moment as a person or an houngan, but I saw this litany of fear and I just chuckled because...c���mon. COME ON. This tells a really transparent story: someone got to her or she presumes someone got to her, and she’s Bothered. So, she posts these things about how spirits are going to eat people, she’s going burn things down, people are going to suffer, etc etc etc. This is a traditional internet spiritual song; I Have Been Wronged, Let Me Put On My Robe And Wizard Hat.

In Haitian Vodou, when these moments play out publicly, it is a moment when face is lost. Haitian culture and, as follows, the religion very much has an element of ‘don’t let them see you sweat’. Like, broadcasting that work was thrown at you means they win because acknowledgment is the loss. Haitians can be super stoic when things go sideways, and they don’t tell anyone that will listen (or the internet) that they are suffering. People want reactions, so you don’t give it to them. In some ways, this is where the chuckle comes from. In Haiti, it’s the aunties cackling.

Instead, you do your work. Do. Your. Work. You go to your spirits, you do your thing, and you get on with it because when you have the juice/power to do your work and take care of your business, you don’t have to tell people that you have it. The priests and workers who are the most intimidating and who can back it up are the ones who say nothing about what they can do—they just do it and wait for the conclusion.

And, like, after a chuckle, I have compassion for those moments of outburst because I’ve been there. When you feel you’ve been hit by work or are faced by things that feel like they threaten your livelihood, it can be hard to know what to do with that as new/young priest. These are things we unpack with our initiatory parent and our siblings who have been in the same spot. This is what the family and communal function of Vodou is for.

All chuckles aside, there are things to unpack here.

Intimidation is really about control. Statements (and actions, like she is talking about here) are made not to communicate a truth, really, but to bring about a desired outcome. Like, not having people publicly question the veracity of a statement or to create an environment where, if a person steps out of the perceived line, they are the target of the same vitriolic statements and actions.

There is also the perceive importance of the statements; that the spirits supposedly showed up in a dream and named names, that people will die, bloody imagery, that she has no control over things now. For vodouizan, this is kind of front-street pedestrian stuff. Dreams happen, sometimes they are violent, we keep it moving.

But, this takes what is meant for one person and tries to use it as a bludgeon to illustrate what Jessyka wants to be taken as fact: that she is something powerful to be feared. Beyond that fear is situational only, fear does not translate to respect. When you try to assert power by fear and intimidation, you only hold people by how violent you can appear. In Vodou, that might work for a minute, but it eventually backfires.

And, this sort of atmosphere is only maintained as for as long as those who are watching are not aware that this is fear, not necessarily substance. The folks who are wowed by threats of spiritual violence are the folks who have not yet seen Haitian Vodou is practice. The illusion falls when the cracks show and when seekers see anything else. In some ways, what has been presented is another version of the emperor has no clothes.

These kind of things—the threats, the descriptions of violence—play into a Western-dominated narrative of Haitian Vodou as uncivilized and dangerous. I showed some of these posts to my roommate, who is very much not a practitioner of anything spiritual, and their remark was ‘...and this is why people are scared of Vodou’. They are right. When we start playing up this idea of warring, bloody violence as what Vodou—and Jessyka claims she has ‘real Vodou’--we perpetuate the idea that Vodou is something to be feared, that Haitians are people are somehow inherently violent, and that Haiti is an uncivilized, backwards country. This is the dogwhistle of white supremacy, and has been since the first “zombie” movie was released in 1932.

And yet, there are more serious consequences to sort of gleefully portraying Vodou as something that always punishes and never embraces. For decades, Protestant missionaries have hammered on Haiti as a godless, devil-wracked nation, and used isolated images of animal sacrifice as a bludgeon to withhold aid or set requirements of conversion or church attendance on receiving aid. Those isolated images combined with a Western narrative that amounts to ‘yeah, I’m going to send my spirits at you’ gives that sector more ammunition than they could ever need. It may not hurt Jessyka or me directly, but it hurts Haitians living in Haiti who suffer the consequences.

The thread that gets tugged when even the slightest criticism of this comes up is that what Jessyka has is “real vodou”. She’s said it a few times, in a few different ways:

These are curious statements in a couple ways. From the top, anyone who tells you they have the absolute truth and are here to wake you up or that they have the real deal (versus the “fast food”) is looking for some kind of buy-in, whether it is someone falling into the same thought patterns or a financial buy-in. These are loops to get folks who may not have had access to information before on the hook. Everyone wants the truth, right?

This is manipulative and an attempt to control—if you’re getting the truth here, why are you listening to these con artists who are only out for your money? I’m giving you the TRUTH. The Bonewits Evaluation Frame for cults and new religious movements is useful here. It’s aimed at neo-pagans, but the criteria is universal.

It also perpetuates that everything in Haitian Vodou is secretive and mysterious. It’s really not. It’s a bit of a pet peeve of mine because it perpetuates this otherness that doesn’t need to be there. The religion has moments of secrecy and seclusion, but it’s really not as much as people would like others to believe. Here, the idea that she has the truth is communicated with videos of things that she seems to think no one will have information about or have seen before, or with commentary that creates this aura of exceptionalism. It’s simply not true.

This is a video of a chèche fèy ceremony; where leaves are gathered for initiation ceremonies or other large spiritual work. Often Gran Bwa comes down and selects the leaves himself, for some folks Simbi might come down and do this work. In the video, you can see several of the folks bearing leaves on their heads are possessed or close to possessed, and they are wearing the country-style outfits that are worn for particular types of work.

This is a pile fèy ceremony, where, as she says, leaves are being crushed for spiritual work, under the gaze of Gran Bwa. In many asson lineages, the act of crushing the leaves is part of a larger ceremony ahead of initiation, stretching for three nights to make sure all the work is finished for the new would-be initiates.

This is a video of a spiritual feeding for Danti, or Danti Bitasyon, Danti Demanbwe, and other names, who is sort of the conglomeration of ancestral spirits issuing forth from a particular plot of land. Generally, Danti possesses people who are blood relatives of the lineage celebrating the feeding. The caption is interesting because it’s an interesting read on what is happening as this is OUR spirit blessing us. Like, it is certainly possible but it’s curious. When you go to ceremonies regularly, you see spirits behave like this a lot (leaning on folks or falling into them while dancing and then dancing around the room/space) and, truly and honestly, what it boils down to is that the spirit is not yet seated fully and is sort of getting adjusted to it’s meat suit or you are simply in the way. Here, Danti is waiting for the sacrifice, which is happening or being prepared just out of view on the right in the corner, and is dancing while they wait.

The idea that it is a spirit that belongs to Jessyka and her husband is...interesting. When people talk about their spirits coming to get something or coming down, it often refers to the spirit mounting their head, ie ‘my Ogou came down at the fete last night and took his bull’. I certainly have face recognition with spirits who take the heads of others, but my spirits come in my head.

It’s also worth checking in on what Jessyka is referring to as the truth.

In Haiti, there are two main lineages of what folks call sèvis Ginen or sèvis lwa; also known as Haitian Vodou. One utilizes the asson/ason and is often called the asson lineage or some variant, and one utilizes the tcha-tcha, and is often called the tcha-tcha lineage or Deka Vodou. Additionally, there are numerable family practices specific to nuclear families that are passed to family members only.

After that, there are things that folks often refer to as secret societies, which is a weird term..they aren’t secret on the island at all. They have many names—Bizango, Chanpwel/Sanpwel, Makandal, Makaya, Zobop, etc—and a good way to describe them is Ginen-adjacent or Vodou-adjacent practices. They operate differently than most/many ason lineages or tcha-tcha lineages, and subscribe to different methods/means of building relationships with spirits and different ways of bringing people together. There are often specific color combinations and symbols (black/red, red/green, sometimes red/yellow, black/blue, coffins, etc) and an understood hierarchy explained with government-related terms like emperor, prezidan/president, renn(queen)/rwa(king). There’s often talk about being given a throne (Googling Bizango throne will show beautiful examples) and being in command and similar. A lot of people have a lot of feelings about these things, but it’s really just another way to do things. Lots of folks who have the asson also will have Vodou-adjacent practices as well; it’s pretty common and fits well together, not unlike folks who have Lucumi and Palo, or Candomble and Umbanda.

Why go into all this here? Jessyka codes and displays things a particular way that describes a Sanpwel-influenced practice, whether she knows it or not. Sanpwel is often very rooted in more rural areas and might combine with a family practice or exist alongside one. The temple complex in her videos is painted red and black, some of the dwapo displayed are styled like many dwapo in Vodou-adjacent practices are, and a lot of her language around being part of a manbo-houngan pair or the ‘chiefs’ who over see a ‘bitasion’ (bitasyon in Kreyòl Ayisyen) reflects this. None of this is a bad thing, but the idea that it is the true Vodou or the real Vodou on the island stems from folks like E.A. Koetting (of Become A Living God infamy) who got wow-ed by skulls with mirror eyes and manufactured the idea of more-authentic-than-thou. There’s no need to go all cloak and dagger about what you do, unless the cloak and dagger serves your agenda.

This sort of coding shows up when she talks about her ‘bitasion’/bitasyon. She has posted extensively about what a ‘bitasion’ is in the last few weeks, and she seems to have some confusion about it and is mixing it with other concepts from Haitian Vodou. A bitasyon is literally the physical seat of your home; your lakou/yard where you were born or where your parents had their home or where your family has lived over time. There are certainly spirits tied to place there—a family may have a Simbi who really likes one particular basin, or Freda may show a great preference for a particular tree—but how she is talking about it is curious:

There’s a lot here that is weird, but there’s a few things to pull out specifically. She describes her ‘bitasion’ as the land she and her husband have inherited, the specific land from where her lwa spring, and the land that her family has lived and died on for generations.

So...if she says that she and her husband have this ‘bitasion’ together, she is communicating that her family and her husband’s family are related and/or the same. This would be a huge oddity in Haiti. Even relationships between initiatory siblings can be frowned upon, nevermind actual blood relations. Further, she is saying that her family has lived on this plot of land for decades, so they’d be REALLLY related. Like, brother-sister related. I can’t imagine that, if true, this would be something she would talk so much about on the internet. I assume she has misspoken or misunderstood.

It could be that she thinks you inherit a ‘bitasion’ when you marry a Haitian, as she had, but she has an odd idea about it. Like, if that’s where she is thinking on it, she’s close. When you marry a Haitian, you become acquainted with their bitasyon. Like, your spouse brings you around and you greet the land and the spirits there and are welcomed as their spouse, but you are not greeted as a blood family member would be. Marriage doesn’t change things like that. Like, folks joke rather crudely that I am Haitian-by-injection (since I am married to a Haitian man) and I am acquainted and welcomed by his family, living and dead, and can go visit his various bitasyon as his spouse. If he was in some sort of trouble, I could go to one of his bitasyon on his behalf and ask for their help...but none of that makes those my bitasyon.

She uses this idea of ‘bitasion’ to batter people, saying over and over that you must have a ‘bitasion’ in Haiti to be able to initiate into her idea of true Vodou:

She repeats this all over the place over and over. She hammers on it.

There’s a lot to unpack here. A LOT.

She out and out says that Haitians born in the Diaspora are not real Haitians and cannot be called a priest in the tradition. Not only is this deeply inaccurate, it’s jaw-droppingly disrespectful and displays a lack of understanding of Haitian Vodou. A Haitian child born in the Diaspora (outside of the country) has a bitasyon. Several, in fact, and more if they have two Haitian parents. If I have a child with my Haitian husband, they will have several bitasyon in Haiti.

The same goes for Haitians who were adopted out of the country, who were orphaned, and/or Haitians who don’t know where their bitasyon are. These realities are deep wounds in Haiti and for many Haitians, and who goes around deciding, essentially, who is and is not Haitian? Like, this isn’t even addressing the spiritual fucked-upness of those statements, but purely from a human standpoint. No one gets to decide who can access their Haitian lineage or call on their birthright. It’s not just insensitive, it’s rude.

This pulls up what actually made me upset when I read a lot of these posts: the temerity of a non-Haitian to make pronouncements about Haitians and dictate what Haitians can do. Like, a legit priest is a legit priest and has the authority to speak on the religion, but the caveat—PARTICULARLY for non-Haitian priests—is that you speak with grace and a bit of elegance, especially around issues of identity when it comes to the identity of the people who allowed you into the religion.

There was a particular example that tapped into some anger and was the straw on the houngan’s back that made me decide to write this entire post. Unsurprisingly, it comes from a post about ‘bitasion’:

I missed it on my first read because there’s just so much to read, but when I saw it I had to put my phone down for a bit and go do something else. Out of all the stuff that’s here so far (and all the stuff to come), this is truly what made this post a reality.

How do you show up and do this in a country where the average weekly income WAS (because ain’t nobody really working right now when it is essentially civil war) less than $4USD a week for Haitians living in urban areas? Are you really going to put poor rural folks through the indignity of having to ask to cut some firewood? This is a brand new version of an outsider trying to show they are a gwo blan via power and control. These days, people in Haiti are used to it because it comes via missionaries and NGOs and the voluntourism of folks who show up to take pictures with orphans and hand out candy.

There used to be a different word for an outsider who punished folks working the land to survive: overseer. 

This is the re-institution of colonial systems, and it’s pretty ugly, particularly coming from someone who is not Haitian. You can certainly be the sort of priest who wants to punish rural folks for cutting some firewood and then brag about it, but should you be? Really?

But, the biggest issue about her saying that you must have a ‘bitasion’ in Haiti is that she seems confused about where her ‘bitasion’ actually is. First she was born in Cuba:

Then she was born in the DR with lots of family memories and history from there:

To be completely blunt, I have a hard time swallowing someone else’s requirements about a Haitian bitasyon when they do not have a consistent story about their own bitasyon.

Next to the thread of what Jessyka believes is true vodou is this thread of confusion. It’s visible when she talks about her ‘bitasion’, her background, and it leaks out in a lot of other places:

There’s so much here that it is basically word salad:

There is no religion in Haiti (or on the island) called Asogwe. Asogwe is a rank of initiation in the asson lineage

Any temple that only has one manbo or one houngan is not a thriving temple. The idea that a temple will only make one houngan and one manbo per generation is hilariously uninformed. Go into any temple in any part of Haiti, and you will find a wealth of houngans and manbos spanning generations because the ceremony doesn’t go without many hands made to do the work.

Yes, initiation costs money. I paid $8,500 plus airfare for mine, and, after going through it and going back to work the ceremonies each year since, I think my mother should charge more. I know exactly what was purchased with my money (I got an itemized list), and I know that my kanzo was done ethically and as equitably as possible—each person who worked on my behalf (at least two dozen houngans/manbos, innumerable singers, drummers, people who cooked, people who slaughtered animals, people who did laundry, people who drove, and on and on) was fed and was paid for their labor. No one should be asked to work for free, and no one should want a low-cost kanzo because no one should be wondering if corners were cut in the making of their head.

If she thought her kanzo was empty and meaningless, perhaps it was because she left before she could learn.

 It is true that I and other non-Haitians do not come from a bitasyon in Haiti, but I descend from my spiritual mother’s demanbwe (essentially a field of ancestors not tied to place), which is a key facet of why the asson lineage exists and why it has spread...there must be ancestral approval before extending the asson for ‘adoption’.

It is perversely amusing that someone who left an asson lineage less than six months after they completed their kanzo elects themselves as an expert who can dismiss literally hundreds of years of lineage and ancestral work and Haitians, all to sell some candles.

She has a core misunderstanding on what a “zombie” (zonbi in Kreyòl Ayisyen) is. A zonbi, at very base, is a soul held in servitude and controlled by the person who created it or by the lwa who owns it. They don’t mount people and they aren’t given in kanzo as she thinks. White folks and non-Haitians get mounted and it’s not uncommon. There’s even video out there, embarrassing as it may be, of me beginning to get mounted with a spirit. She’s uninformed and is speaking on things she has no experience in.

People should read these posts very closely. Remember when I said way up there that I like to watch people because they will show you who they are? This is Jessyka Winston showings us who she is.

She is out of ceremony less than a year. She walked from previous commitments after two months. Now, she is telling you how she will initiate you. She says over and over that an asson lineage initiation is a scam, but this is a blueprint to take money and do nothing.

She will initiate you only as a hounsi, but you’ll be the manbo of your ‘bitasion’ IF your ‘bitasion’--the land and the spirits passed to you by your family—tell HER you are valid.

If they tell her yes, she’ll give you a manbo/houngan initiation so you can go be a manbo/houngan of your own plot of land….but you are not a manbo/houngan in their temple because There Can Only Be One

You can’t fake it, because they will know.

There are no lwa involved in any initiation.

They’ll know if you’re lying, but it will also come out in divination.

You can only serve your spirits of your ‘bitasion’, but the spirits of theirs will recognize you as a hounsi

Ancestors cannot be sold or bought.

They are going to do things differently

So, to serve your ancestors as a priest, you must pay for two initiations, and it’s going to be pricey because, as she says, her work is VERY expensive:

She is willing to charge $157 for a non-specific half hour spiritual consultation, and will require a $28 fixed candle and a $12 headscarf be purchased for that as well, so it’s not going to be an initiation that tries to keep costs low.

That first initiation is to hounsi, which makes you a servant of the house. You’ll be expected to show up and help with things, and probably financially contribute.

If you have the desire to be a manbo or an houngan, she is the one who is going to speak for your ‘bitasion’, which is a plot of land but also ancestors, and tell you whether or not you have a future as a houngan or a manbo. If you do, it’s another initiation which you will pay for and probably pay quite a bit more because you’ll be a priest. When you start propitiating a bitasyon, that requires big ceremony to feed them...so animals, people to dispatch animals, cook the animals, drummers...all kinds of stuff. In Haiti, with the way things are going, you’re looking at more than $10K for that...and they’re going to have to do it for you, because you’re not a manbo or a houngan yet.

There are no lwa involved in this, because that’s a scam. There can’t really be any ancestors involved, because you can’t buy or sell them and so they can’t really do anything for you there except feed your ancestors….? Except she thinks that’s a scam, too:

Even after you’re a manbo or a houngan of your ‘bitasion’, you’re still a hounsi with them and still have a responsibility to their spirits..even though you aren’t from their ‘bitasion’. I guess that means you’re still dependent on them, right? It keeps you a servant?

But, what’s a little dependency and servitude when you’re a manbo or houngan of your own ‘bitasion’. They’ll assign you a ‘main ancestor’ to work with...but that’s not like a met tet that they would pick out of a magician’s hat. So, you’re good, right? Oh:

I want folks to go look at the Bonewits tool again. I want folks to have that open in one window, and this open in another. Read carefully. She is not yet saying she is doing this, but she is paving the road to make this look authentic. It’s not, it’s psychobabble word salad with a price tag attached. She is telling you right upfront—doing things differently, changing the fuckery—that what she is giving is not traditional Haitian Vodou. She is making things up and planning on bankrolling her retirement home on someone else’s back.

She doesn’t even have any support for this because she doesn’t consult elders, she just goes ‘straight to source’:

Haitian Vodou is based on family. Vodou-adjacent rites have hierarchy. If she is not adhering to this, she is not practicing Vodou, she is practicing Jessyka Winston with Haitian trappings and accessories. The religion changes and grows, but it is never at the behest of one individual and her husband—it is at the behest of the lwa, who we serve and there are ways that happens, which is well-documented over the last couple hundred years.

She is telling you who she is right now, PAY ATTENTION.

If you have been saving up for a $157 half hour consultation/$28 fixed candle/$12 moushwa value meal, you are better off throwing your money in a bonfire and cracking a beer. Don’t buy pretty packaging when the insides are rotten.

It is one thing to create this atmosphere of disinformation on your own, with your own name, but literally within the last 24 hours, she’s gone further:

Now she is naming specific people as not being real Haitian Vodou. The kicker? Manbo Carmel was the manbo Jessyka did kanzo with in 2018. In roughly a year, Jessyka has decided she has enough experience and knowledge to determine what is real and what isn’t, and what is Haitian Vodou and what is not. The sheer balls it takes for a non-Haitian to say that what a fairly well-known Haitian is doing is not Haitian Vodou is staggering. This is not brave or anything, it’s just unchecked and uninformed arrogance.

This is not the first time Jessyka has done this, though. Not that long ago, she came for my mother and the sosyete I’m initiated into:

She sings an old tired song and performs a busted old dance. The line that white people are too stupid to function is one that she likes to repeat regularly, and she keeps going in on cost like she won’t be asking people to pay for her back-issue-magazine-collage version of an initiatory experience. She brings up a rumor that’s been dead for years, and makes it clear (for folks who have been around for more than 10 minutes) where here info comes from.

The worst part is that this is what she did when someone shared their process, and she did it as a priest because she had already kanzoed at that point. That’s a level of immaturity that someone needs to be better than when they call themselves a manbo or an houngan. Operating on rumor and spreading gossip is what teenagers do, not priests who care when people are coming to them asking questions.

And, like, “not to talk shit..”? Come on. Come correct on stuff like that. If you are going to talk shit, then talk shit and own it and own that you are spreading rumors that you were not a party to because they have been floating around out in the ether since before you even thought about making kanzo.

 There are also ways to speak to and about elders when you think misaction or harm has been done. If you really thought Manbo Maude was out here hexing her children and hurting her lineage, there are ways to approach it. Like, she’s not hard to reach or hard to find; you could call her directly. I know she’s spoken about it to people before, one of them being me because I asked when I heard the rumor. Or, you could approach one of her numerous, visible children and ask them out of concern for their well-being and safety. Or, you could approach any of the priests who make their friendship with Manbo Maude and Sosyete Nago known, which is easy to track down on Facebook or in any of the documentation about what the sosyete does that’s online. But, when your goal is to defame so you can elevate yourself above all of that, this is what you do.

Since she proclaims she knows and understands Haitian Vodou, she should understand the culture Haitian Vodou has high expectations of how children and younger people treat elders, both in age and in religious settings. You don’t do this. You don’t go out of your way to character assassinate an elder, even if you think they are absolutely 100% fraudulent. You can disagree, you can say it politely, but you don’t act like an ill-mannered playground bully and you don’t pot-stir. This is basic cultural knowledge.

My initial reaction when seeing this was ‘well, she really tried it, didn’t she?’, and that was followed by showing it to a sibling or two and noting that if I ever did something like this, my manmi (Manbo Maude) would have my head on a platter. Like, I would get a phone call and the conversation would go something like “right or wrong, you do not do this. I raise my children better than this”. I have been very gently pulled up for much more trivial things, and when that has happened I have wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole because I was so embarrassed. Not because Manbo Maude embarrassed me, but because she sat across from me, looked me in the eye, and told me she expects better of me because she knows I can be better.

Sadly, Jessyka does not have this grace in her life, because, as noted above, she believes elders are a scam.

And yet, she keeps digging. This morning, she went in on a transwoman who pushed back at her assertions that everything that does not flow from Jessyka is fake news fake Vodou and called her a man:

Like, you can disagree with someone (and Blair, the person Jessyka is talking about, and I have disagreed) and still not disregard humanity and gender. Again, Jessyka is showing us who she is.

Then, she starts flexing, because she’s catching some heat:

First it was send the spirits, now it’s haul out the Masons. Maybe it’s watch out for little green army men outside your door? Like, folks who have the power don’t need to say they have the power. They don’t need to say their boys are coming, because their boys are already there. This is immaturity on display, and she should know better and be held to better by people who care about her…that freedom horn is just the sound of her own voice, echoing into the depths of Instagram, of all things.

 And none of these people who she keeps posting quotes from are speaking for themselves. Not her husband, not her Mason friends, nothing. Anyone who has spent five minutes in a group of Haitians knows that, when folks have something to say, they don’t need someone else’s mouth to say it.

And, like, why not try some chante pwen on your *Instagram story* when you need to look hard? Girl WHAT? I had some inappropriate laughter because This Is Not How Things Work:

She goes on at length about people not coming to her page to discuss with her…but why? Like, why invest that way when she deletes and blocks and throws Instagram temper tantrums? She doesn’t want to hear anything but what she knows, but desperately wants engagement. She tells Haitians how to be Haitian, but then doesn’t understand why the folks she aims at—houngans and manbos who have had the lwa on their head for longer than she has been alive—won’t engage with her.

There’s a really simple and straightforward answer that has come up already and that is really at the root of all of this: they don’t care. They are not invested in addressing whatever random, strung-together nonsense some blan who cannot describe where she comes from or how she came by what she has post on the internet, because their spirits and their lineages speak for themselves. Likewise, she keeps wondering why non-Haitians keep speaking up, and it’s because it’s the job of non-Haitians to collect their own. Why would anyone expect Haitian practitioners to dig in to this?

If someone did care and was invested, maybe she would have gotten some mentoring around this. Maybe they could have talked things through with her and helped her clarify what she was thinking and feeling so that she could post organized thoughts, instead of a stream of consciousness laced with words she might think give her an air of authenticity and threaded with threats and intimidation. Maybe someone could pull her up privately.

But, we are here. There’s a lot more and it looks like she is posting more by the minute. She couches it as it being co-written by her Haitian husband (maybe for authenticity?), but it is her name on it and no one else’s. She wants people to be scared, but there’s nothing to be scared of. She wants people to be intimidated, but there’s nothing intimidating here when you know how to see past the frothy, frenetic posting and really see what she is/is not saying. She wants to keep identifying people and why they are not valid in her eyes, she can keep going.

She’s probably going to try and tell me some things about myself or insist that she’s going to have her spirits kill me or that Masons are outside my house right now and….whatever. It’s okay. I know who I am.I don’t walk around scared.

But, I mean what I said in the beginning: Jessyka is not beyond redemption or repair. She can turn all this around in a heartbeat and make a different choice. The lwa have immeasurable grace for us and all our human failings and, if we can be humble, they can give that to us when we need it most. She has a spiritual sickness and deep spiritual problems, but that’s nothing that can’t be treated because we have the treatment.

We. Us. Community.

She has set herself apart, but she doesn’t have to be alone. We are a community, and if she reached out there would be an answer. Part of calling out bad behavior is calling someone in to heal. She can heal what is clearly a hurting heart and a confused head because we can heal a hurting heart and a confused head. When one suffers many suffer, and her suffering is palatable. I would invite her to bath with cool water and fresh basil, and to sit with Legba for a bit and look for the other path. We are always given two paths, and we can always make a change. Ginen promises us balance, but only if we seek it.

Today, for Jessyka, for folks reading this, and for the general atmosphere of dis-ease and confusion, I pray for cool heads and peaceful hearts, and for the knowledge that, if we are brought to the table, there is a unique place for all of us.

Blessings,

Alex Batagi/Bonkira Bon Oungan Daguimin Minfort

Pitit Antiola Bo Manbo, pitit Selide Bo Manbo, pitit LaMerci Bo Manbo

Sosyete Nago/Kay Manbo Maude, Jacmel and Boston

October 2019

[aleapoffaithfiction]

V.

"Love is not all about loving everything perfect, it is when someones  corrosive nature is the only thing that glues you to them which you  wished it were never there." ― Michael Bassey Johnson

“I heard you the first time ma.”

Curtains and dinnerware. She’d been going on and on about the need for both for nearly thirty minutes. I’d have to question my own mental capacity if I hadn’t remembered it. With the first day of fall already over two weeks behind us, she complained about the need to change all of the pale coral drapes in the house to be in accord with the season. She raved about multiple shades of red being the perfect color palette for the Brooklyn townhome she resides in but eventually changed her mind by randomly blurting out that it’s too early for things to be so Christmas-y and instead opted for brunt orange. As for the dinnerware, it specifically has to be the nearly five hundred-dollar twenty-piece lace gold Vera Wang Wedgwood set that she fell in love at Bed Bath & Beyond.

It took every ounce of energy I had left within me to get off of the couch, change my clothing, and drive over here per her request after an extremely loaded day at work, so the last thing I want to hear about is her trivial needs and yet...here we are.

“Well, I know it’ll be like pulling teeth to get you over here any other day this week, so maybe we can do a little shopping this weekend. We can pick up Celeste and take that new car of yours for a good drive around the city or maybe we can head back your way so that I can go to Walmart.” Or she and Celeste can take either one of their cars and go on their boring shopping trip without me. With mommy’s early retirement and Celeste’s somewhat loose schedule with her counseling and life coaching career, the both of them have more than enough time to be in and out of stores for the sake of having something to do.

Every now and then, they’ll pester me into joining them for the sake of the three of us spending time together, but I usually dread it. They’re the slow, look at anything and everything for no logical reason, shoppers who slowly stroll around the stores while discussing the most trivial things. And me? I’m usually trailing behind them while huffing and puffing in annoyance at it all. Celeste always deems me to be the annoying little sister who throws a tantrum when everyone isn’t doing what she wants whenever I react in that manner and I always let her know that she can kiss my black ass every single time she says it. There’s a lot more I can be doing on a Saturday besides walking around Walmart and looking at the same ol’ shit.

“Yeah, I guess so.” As she wiped her counter top in the kitchen, I broke off another piece of the piña colada pound cake she made with my fingers and dropped it into my mouth. Per the usual, the flavoring and moisture was to perfection.

“I know I thought you better than that. The spoon is right there.” I let that go in one ear and right out of the other. The only way I’d be using that spoon is if she had some vanilla ice cream to go with this cake and she doesn’t, because it’s the first thing I checked for when I arrived. She only has butter pecan. What is it with older people and butter pecan ice cream anyway?  

“Are you still going back home for auntie Shelly’s birthday or are you still thinking about it?” She immediately scoffed with a roll of her eyes and began to fold up the wet kitchen towel so that she could toss it behind the faucet as she always does when she’s finished wiping the counters.

“I’ll probably be there. She’s yet to stop calling and getting on my damn nerves about it. I’ve never known anyone to be more obsessed with their birthday than Shelly. You’d think that she’s turning twenty-one years old with the way she’s carrying on. Oh, and then there’s the part about her wanting a Gucci bag as a gift. She has a lot of damn nerve. Why do people automatically assume because you live in America, that you’re made of money?” And just like that, with her frustration, came her Trinidadian accent in full swing. Though they’re only two years apart in age, both mommy and auntie Shelly clash like no other and yet will give you hell if you dare to test either one of them. Even with the complaints, I won’t be surprised when she flies to Trinidad with that Gucci bag packed with her belongings because she plays the big sister role well and spoils auntie no matter how much she nags about her ridiculous requests. My grandmother, Auntie Shelly, and mommy migrated to the United States when mommy was seventeen and though she’s been here ever since, Auntie Shelly moved back to Trinidad to be with her now husband, Uncle Winston. Supposedly, mommy dated Uncle Winston first and that’s what caused their clashing ways, but that’s a story that I’ve never cared to look into. That skeleton and whatever else involves it, can remain in the closet.

“Because people stereotype. It’s a part of life.” And that’s the truth. You won’t believe how many family members believe my bank accounts are on Oprah levels because my face is on television five days a week. I dread family events for that very reason. I’m all for putting my people on and have definitely extended a helping hand for the sake of granting people opportunities but there are so many people who have no interest in working their way up to where they want to be in life. How do you expect to be somewhere in life without a foundation under you? More than anything or anyone else, the esteem you have for yourself after having busted your ass for an achievement is magical.

“Celeste said that she’d fly down with me for the birthday party if I do decide to go. Why don’t you come too? It’ll be a nice getaway for you and I’ll be able to have both of my children with me.”

“It all depends on the scheduling. I have to warn them weeks ahead if I decide to take a trip because they have to reach out to other analysts or athletes to find creative ways to fill in for me while I’m gone. I can’t just pick up and go. If it’s a weekend thing, I can probably fly out on Friday right after we wrap up on air and just skip out on the Podcast. That should get me there by like Friday evening.”

“Sounds fair enough to me, for as long as you come.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“So how is work?” My eyes instantly widened at the question because it’s one she never asks.

“It’s going great, honesty. I can’t complain even if I wanted to. How can I? I have one of my dream jobs. I’ve always wanted to have a show on ESPN and now I’m apart of a panel for the highest rated show on the network. I’d be a fool to have a single complaint about that.”

“I’ll never be able to understand how sitting around and talking about sports all day long is so interesting but that’s who you are, I suppose.” And there it is; the condescending dismissal of what I love.

Being a tomboy was something that happened to be within my nature while I was a kid, I didn’t ask for it nor did I go seeking that identity. I had no interest in playing with dolls and doll houses, I wanted soccer and basketballs. The whole kitchen and tea party thing was more of my sister’s style. I urged daddy to sign me up for the Boys and Girls Club, every summer league in Brooklyn, and to buy me game systems so that I could play them on those rainy or snowy days when I couldn’t or didn’t go outside and play. Dresses were for church and Easter, as far as I was concerned. Jeans and sneakers were more of my thing and still are; I just sex them up whenever I feel like it because I’ve confidently come into my womanhood and can be multifaced in the way that I dress myself.

I compromised with her by learning how to cook, only because she would constantly drill it into Celeste and I heads that she refused to have her children go out into the world without knowing how to feed themselves, but other than that, all of my thrills were in exciting times like those NFL wildcard games to clinch playoff spots, Venus and Serena Williams coming up in the ranks, or that kid from Akron, Ohio who was deemed to be the greatest human being to touch a basketball while still in high school. Hell, I remember when all of the girls around my way had a crush on Coney Island’s own Sebastian Telfair, meanwhile all I wanted was to play a couple of games of one on one with the guy right in the projects where he, his older brother Jamel, and their cousin, former NBA player Stephon Marbury came up. Though us two girls were all they had, daddy would always happily boast and brag about me being his best friend because I was the best of both words all made up into one. As for my other parent, she refused to understand it and even now, the stubbornness still gets in the way of the potential for us to bond more than we do.

“I’ll never be able to understand how you sit around and watch all of those Housewives shows and yet I don’t judge that you do. If anything, you should be thrilled that I’m accomplishing my goals and doing something positive with my life.”

“Oh, I know you’re doing something positive with your life. I’m not disagreeing with what you do. I’ve told you many times that I’m proud of you, but you know that I’ve never been into those things. You are your father’s child in that aspect and Celeste and I relate more in terms of our interests.”

“That approach is silly though, because despite my lack of interest in a lot of the things that the both of you like or entertain yourselves with, I at least try to figure out a way to enjoy it for the sake of the both of you, but neither one of you grant me the same courtesy. I’ve offered for the both of you to come and visit Bristol and see the studios and you’ve yet to take me up on the offer. I’ve asked you guys to come to games or events, but you haven’t come. So, I stopped asking. What’s the point in wasting my time and setting myself up for disappointment?”

“Sarai, don’t be ridiculous. You really believe that I can sit through hours of a bunch of guys dribbling a ball up and down a court? I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“You believe that I wanted to be a part of that purposeless and stupid debutante ball? I mean just think about how sexist and elitist the concept of it is. It’s a ball to present young ladies to the high society and most of all, to display her to eligible bachelors so that she can marry into a rich family. How shallow can you get with something like that? And yet I did it, for you. I hated every single minute of it, including Chase Williams, and his weird topics of conversation. I can’t believe you thought he and I would ever hit it off.”

“It was at that same debutante ball that your sister met her now husband.”

“Okay, so what?” I was seventeen at the time. I wasn’t worried about finding a husband. Shit, I wasn’t even concerned with a boyfriend. I didn’t date in grammar or high school. My greatest concern at the time was gaining acceptance into the undergraduate program at New York University’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. I wanted it more than anything else and yet during my senior year, I juggled trying to keep my grades as close to perfect as possible while obliging her erratic decisions for me. Chase Williams being my future husband was a failure, but my acceptance into NYU was a success.

Despite journalism being my major and broadcast and multimedia being my minor, I also had to choose a second major within the College of Arts and Sciences and I ended up going with computer science and economics. If the journalism side of things didn’t work out, I planned to go in the cyber security route or I was going to get rich or die trying by trying to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Thankfully, journalism was truly my calling. I was accepted into the honors program during the spring semester of my freshman year and was given the opportunity to work on an in-depth multimedia piece over the course of one academic year that ending up being reported on by The New York Times. Arguably the best part of my undergraduate years was six rigorous weeks of a summer program in Ghana where I worked as a foreign correspondent. It was an experience that I’ll never forget.

“I wanted you to be a part of that ball to expose you to things beyond yourself. Sports aside, you were so caught up in just you. I believed you needed to see there’s a lot more to life than balls flying all over the place and the occasional outings with your teammates.”

“Yeah, that’s what family vacations are for and even when we did those, it was never anything I liked. I asked you for Knicks game tickets and you took Celeste and I to see Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera House instead. I asked you for a ticket to the U.S. Open and you took us to see Swan Lake at the American Ballet Theater. For my birthday, you told me to pick anywhere in the U.S. to go for a family trip and I chose the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Massachusetts and where did we end up going? Niagara Falls.”

“You sound so ungrateful right now. This is exactly what Celeste talks about when she says that you throw silly little tantrums when you can’t get your way.”

“I’m not being ungrateful. You’re calling this a tantrum because I’m telling the truth?”

“Well, Sarai, in a lot of cases, you chose things that myself nor Celeste would enjoy so I tried to find things that I thought would interest all three of us.”

“An opera and a ballet show? For me? And even then, I didn’t even complain about it. I just figured out ways to enjoy it despite being internally angry that I couldn’t go to the places that I wanted to go. I had to get a summer job for that.”

“What about when I took you two to Disney World?”

“It was nice.” And it was. It was the first and only vacation I enjoyed.

“Okay then.”

“But, if we’re going to be technical, the only reason why I was able to see all of the things that I liked is because of auntie Shelly. I spent most of the time in the park with her.”

“Sarai, please. All that matters is we went and you enjoyed it.” In a gesture that she’s been doing in response to my complaints since I was a child, she waved me off with a roll of her eyes and turned her attention to the touch screen display on the right-side door of her brand-new Samsung refrigerator that I’d gotten her for her birthday. She threw enough hints out about the two thousand five-hundred-dollar state of the art gadget to convince me that it would be an essential part of her kitchen and I made it happen.

“Daddy would have taken me to all of those places though. That’s for sure.” I went to my first Knicks game with him. I saw my first home run at the Yankee stadium with him. We saw the Nets together back when they were still in New Jersey. We even went to a Jersey Devils game, though I wasn’t that into hockey at the time. In the summer time, we’d go stand outside the gate at the Rucker Park and watch the guys hoop while we enjoyed ice cream cones from the Mister Softee truck lingering on the corner. I had every pair of Jordans that hit the shelves and my poster collection on my bedroom walls? Unmatched.

“I’m sure he would have but he’s no longer with us and I’m not sure why you feel compelled to bring up what he would have done if he were.”

“I guess because it’s the truth.”

“Well he’s not here Sarai. I’m sorry if you don’t think I was a good enough parent for you. I had a roof over your head, I put food on the table, clothes on your back, and made sure you were in a great school. You had good birthdays and Christmas’. We went on vacations, whether you were grateful for them or not. I tried to do my best as a single parent so don’t come in here throwing it into my face what your father would have done. I did what I could and he would have been damn proud of me.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t a good enough parent. Daddy just understood me more.”

“Well guess what Sarai? He was my husband. You don’t think my time with him was cut short too? I miss him just as much as you do. While I understand that he was your everything, I don’t think he would want you to be behaving in the manner that you do. Parents bring children into the world with the expectation to raise them and then one day leave them behind to be here to make a legacy for themselves. Your father’s life was cut short, but ultimately, he was raising you to prepare for a time when death would happen. I’m not going to be around forever either.” The pitch of her voice suddenly increased as she leaned forward to align her eyes with my own.

“I attempted to break you out of that odd mold you were creating for yourself and to expose you to different things because I don’t want you to do exactly what you’re doing right now; being alone out in this world. You’re so hostile towards life itself and it’s such a horrible mentality to have. I’m surprised you’ve kept Taylor around for so long because all you do is push everyone away. You think your father would want you behaving like that? He would have given you a never-ending earful. I’m sorry that he’s no longer here Sarai, but Wesley isn’t coming back. It’s been sixteen years. You have to move on.”

The tears that were once burning my eyes, came trickling down the sides of my cheeks. Many of our conversations always end up here, with her making this point, and then dismissing any criticism that I have for her as me unfairly measuring her up to my father. It’s never been about that. I don’t believe we have a poor relationship with one another, I just know that it has the potential to be so much better than it is. It’s not even about the past, because I don’t have to bring it up, but when I do, it’s always to point out how things are still the same when it comes to her stubbornness about who I am, what I do for a living, and my interests. I’m not as extreme with my tom boyish ways as I used to be, but I’m also not a prissy girly girl either. I’m just me.

“Move on like you have?” She hasn’t. It’s been sixteen years and she’s never remarried. The government funded support groups helped with her coping skills but anything beyond that? It’s been a slow burn progress. When I do attend church with her, I see guys checking her out and smiling in her face all the time, but from her view, they may as well be speaking to a wall. She still wears her rings and his on a necklace that she always wears around her neck and there are pictures up around the house with him in them as if everything is still as normal as it was before our world came crashing down with his sudden death.

“Don’t worry about me and what I have going on. You’re still wet behind the ears with a whole lot of life ahead of you. Don’t waste your time by trying to be like me. You’d be a fool for that. Your happiness is somewhere out in the world waiting for you and it’s up to you to find it or accept it when it finds you. Dry your face.”

I could barely finish off the second slice of cake as my stomach dropped for the millionth time at the sight of the season ending injury that snapped Beckham’s ankle during their week five match up against the Chargers. The sight of him lying on the field clutching his ankle in agony as tears began to pour out of his eyes is still as gut wrenching as it was when I watched it from my couch yesterday and the many times ESPN replayed it as we reported on it this morning. It’s always disappointing to see a player injured but the manner in which it happened to him drew emotion out of me that I hadn’t expected and yet, I didn’t have enough courage to pick up the phone and check on him. I just…couldn’t.

How could I when I spent the last two weeks ignoring any form of communication that he attempted to have with me? His text messages had gone from being sweet messages wishing me a good morning and his own opinions on the segments from the show, to being filled with confusion as to why I refused to respond to him. He attempted to call me three times but I simply stared at the phone and watched it ring. I thought after the unanswered phone calls his persistence would cease, but he then reached out through a Twitter direct message where he asked me if I was alright, because he was worried. A day or so after that, I believe he’d gotten the hint that I was deliberately leaving him unanswered and he stopped.

I thought I would have successfully disappointed and discouraged him when I spoke on the conflict of interest between myself and any athletes beyond the professional setting but it all went into one ear and right out of the other, so I needed to go another route and ignoring him was that. In the midst of the necessary barrier I built between he and I, I hated that I would find myself looking at my phone in anticipation that he’d try again. I scolded myself for lying in bed wondering about him and hoping that he still watches the show. Last night, I berated myself for the tears that I shed in sympathy for what he’s going through right now.

It felt like the Giants were cursed that day. Dwayne Harris left the game with a fractured foot, Brandon Marshall and Sterling Shepard left the game with ankle sprains, and Beckham with a fibula fracture. It was somber in New York, especially for a team that wanted to redeem themselves after such a terrible season ending playoff lost in the prior season. It pained me to read off Harris being out for the season, but it completely sent my mood into a downward spiral when I had to state the same exact verdict for Beckham. As such an explosive player and someone who only gets sixteen games a season, excluding the playoffs, to play the sport that he loves, I can’t even begin to imagine his disappointment.

I spoke with Heather. When I reached out, he was still in recovery from surgery. She said it was successful and he’s okay.

I reached out to Taylor a short while ago and asked her had she heard anything about his surgery. Everything took place today at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan.

Okay, good. Thank you.

The remaining half of the additional slice of cake I was having went into the garbage. I then slipped into my jean jacket and grabbed my car keys.

“Ma, I’m leaving. I need to run somewhere right quick.”

“Will I see you this weekend?” I knew she wasn’t too far away. She was right there in the living room wrapped up into what NeNe Leakes has going on in her drama filled life.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, then. Don’t catch an attitude when I call you.”

“I never do.”

As I neared the door, something within me told me to turn around, and I swiftly approached her and planted a kiss on her forehead. No matter how many disagreements we may have, that’s my mother, and I’m always going to leave her on a respectful note.

“Drive safely. Are you going to see a guy?” The gleam in her eyes instantly evoked the rolling of my eyes.

“Ma, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

My first stop was Scott’s Flowers, a florist I frequent when I feel like putting a brighter smile on my mother’s face or whenever an occasion calls for someone to receive flowers. They’re so familiar with my face that I don’t have to call ahead of time for most of my orders and today was of no exception. While swiftly flipping through a booklet of floral arrangements that weren’t impressive enough, I tossed it aside and opted for one hundred long stem yellow roses inside of a cylinder glass vase. In the corner of the room was an assortment of teddy bears that caught my eyes, so I chose the biggest one they had. I know if I had surgery, I’d want a teddy bear to keep me company. Scott slipped in a number of sly questions about who I was spending four hundred dollars on at this time of evening, but I avoided lying by diverting the subject matter. I considered grabbing some chocolates but I ultimately chose not to because I’m not sure if he likes it. The bottles of wine he raved about while I was on my way out of the door were pointless too. Wine can either be nice for a celebration or a painkiller for sadness, but it can’t be either for him because I’m sure he’s on a ton of actual painkillers.

“Tell Dominique I said hello.”

“Will do.” Yes, mommy’s name is Dominique. Mrs. Dominique Nicole Thomas-Nazaire. Trini to de bone.

The drive to the hospital was twenty minutes of bad nerves and conversations with myself that drowned out whatever Hot 97 had playing. I hadn’t even announced that I would be showing up and yet, here I am, in the parking lot, about to intrude on he and his family’s privacy as he recovers from surgery. I’ve always considered myself to be a thinker even though I think too damn much at times, but I didn’t spend much time taking into consideration all the things that could go wrong with this mission to do a good deed tonight. Who I am to even think that I may be able to slightly cheer him up with some tired ass flowers that’ll die within a few days, a teddy bear that his little brother will enjoy far more than he will, and two “Get Well Soon” balloons that I grabbed from a dollar store five minutes before arriving here? And I didn’t even take into account that it’s fucking me. I’m not Oprah known, but I’m known enough for people to make a narrative that is far from the truth if I’m seen here.

“You can be such a dumbass Sarai.” I panned my eyes over the parking lot. “Fuck it.”

I cleared my conscious as I slipped out of the car and retrieved all that I’d gotten for him out of the backseat. With the click of a button, I locked all of my doors and quickly trekked through the sliding doors and to the lobby’s information desk to get a pass.

“Good evening, how are you?” The short, stocky, and elderly woman warmly smiled at me while watching me manage to juggle the flowers, bear, balloons, and my purse.

“Hi. I’m well. I’m here to see Odell Beckham Jr.” 
“Are you on the list?”

Oh. My. God. See? I’m stupid. How and why didn’t I think about there being a list? He’s only one of the most high-profile athletes in the whole fucking world.

“Um, I’m not sure.” I’m not. Obviously.

“What’s your name? Also, I have to note that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Sarai. Sarai Nazaire.” Great. Just great.

As her fingers went to tapping away at the keyboard, I began to strategize my escape plan so that I won’t suffer in embarrassment when she tells me that my name isn’t there. While on my way out, I’ll trash all of this, because they’re obviously not going to make sure all of this gets upstairs to him due to it being a security risk.

“Sarai?” I couldn’t mistake that voice. As my head twisted to the left, Heather stopped squinting her eyes and brightly smiled at my presence. God decided to be gracious towards me today. I definitely have to go to church this Sunday with mommy. I’m not going to use cramps as a poor excuse like I did yesterday. My period ended Saturday. Lord, forgive me please.

“Hey Heather.” She adjusted the strap on her Chanel bag while approaching me and immediately engulfed me into a hug. Much like her son, I don’t know how anyone can ever become angry with this woman. She’s just one big ball of positivity.

“I’m so glad to see you. O’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

“They said that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re in good standing with the surgeon. Once you’re upstairs, no one’s going to bother you. I stayed here all night long last night.”

“How is he?”

“He’s alright. He’s in good spirits even though he’s in both mental and physical pain. I know that sounds like it doesn’t make sense, but it does to me. He could be a lot of worse, you know? As I told him, it’s a minor setback for a major comeback.”

“That’s true.”

“And the surgery went extremely well. The fix is as perfect as it’s going to get so I can feel a lot of weight being lifted off of my shoulders and his, even though he’s not going to admit that right now. He has a long road ahead of him before full recovery and of course him getting back to the athletic O that we all know and love, but the fact of the matter is that he’s going to recover. There are people who do not, so he’s blessed.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. When I saw his ankle bend like that, I literally yelped out loud.”

“Oh, so did I. I just about had a heart attack. Thank God I was here. My nerves would have been shot to hell had I been back home.”

“Were you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head back to the house to freshen up and get a bit of rest. He sent everyone else home about an hour ago. I was the last one hanging around. He claims everyone needs to go and chill out for a bit, but honestly, I think he was tired of the crowd being in the room. He couldn’t get much rest himself with everyone hovering over him and doing all of that talking.”

“Oh my gosh, well then, maybe I can just have this sent up and I’ll just head out. If he’s trying to rest, I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh no. Don’t be silly. Please go up, I insist. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, I know he’ll be happy you came by.”

“Okay.” Maybe I’ll stick around for ten minutes.

“I should be back first thing in the morning. Oh, and thank you so much for the words of encouragement you spoke this morning for he and the other wide receivers who were injured yesterday. You’re so awesome Sarai. Truly.” Yet again we were hugging.

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me. I hate to see players get injured. It’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. They’ll be alright though. I just try to think positive. I grabbed him a light dinner earlier because he’s not fond of the hospital’s food and he has some snacks up there too, so he should be okay. He knows to call me if he needs me. You can also call me if anything comes up. You have my number.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll be sure to call.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight.”

As she walked away, I realized that she hadn’t given the receptionist clearance for me to be able to go upstairs.

Shit.

“Sarai right? I placed your laminated pass right there. I just need you to step back a bit so that I can take a picture with the camera and print one out.”

“Oh, everything is okay?” My brows raised in confusion.

“Of course. Your name is there.” She said it so nonchalantly, it almost went over my head that my name was indeed on his visitor’s list. I’m sure the picture she took looked foolish and that was confirmed once she passed it to me. How is my name already on the list?

“He’s on the fourth floor. The room is on your pass. The elevators are right over there to the right.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Flutters filled my core as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor. The feeling worsened as I stood in front of the closed door to his private room.

What will I say? If he saw this morning’s episode, then I don’t want to be repetitive with the words of encouragement. Then again, does he even want to hear that? I know I wouldn’t want to hear the cliché “it’ll be okay” after being told I won’t be able to play for the rest of the season. That’s not okay. Maybe I won’t say anything and I’ll just listen. After so much disappointment and a surgery, who wouldn’t want to vent? Either way, I came all this way, so I might as well go through with this. I’ll kick myself in the ass later on when I’m back home.

“Beckham?” I poked my head into the room. There was silence. As he lay there in bed, he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought until I interrupted him.

“Sarai?” He cleared his throat to rid it of some of the rasp as I stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind myself. Our eyes instantly met and the glossiness within them sunk my mood even further. I could tell he hadn’t been crying but it was clear that the weight of all that had happened to him over the last twenty-four hours was on his shoulders like a ton of bricks and right now, within this moment, he feels something he typically never feels for himself; helpless.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Wow. Flowers?” A bit of gleam filled his eyes and he chuckled at the sight of all of the yellowness in my hands. As I glanced around the room, I noticed a ton of balloons, two gift baskets filled with chocolate, but no flowers. “I’ve never received flowers before.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not. I’m flattered, honestly.” I found a nice spot near the window to place them down, so they’d be able to receive a good amount of sunlight and I placed the teddy bear on the couch just near the window.

“I figured I’d get them in yellow to bring some brightness around here. I don’t care what they look like; all hospitals are dull and glum to me. You don’t need that kind of energy around you right now. You want to hug the bear?”

“A hug from you sounds better.” It felt like someone punched a hole into my chest and knowingly squeezed my lungs once he said that. The hesitance was clear as my feet remained just about glued to the floor for a few seconds but I eventually began to inch my way over to his awaiting arms and laid my upper frame on top of his. With him laying down, I was only able to grip both of his arms as he wrapped his drawn-out arms around my body and pulled me close. The beating our hearts synced and somehow, I felt more alive than I did at any point during this befuddling day. A laziness filled me as the warmth of his body relaxed mine and the enthralling scent of his cologne coerced my eyes to close as we basked in the moment. The feeling his fingers lightly pressing into my back informed me of just how much he needed to be embraced and if that could give him just the slightest bit of comfort through this, I’m am willing to give him as many hugs as it takes.

“I ran into your mom. She said the surgery was a success.”

“Yeah, the doctor claims all is well. I have a long road ahead of me though.” Despite me sitting up to be able to look at his alluring face, I was still wrapped up within his arms.

“It takes about six weeks for bones to heel, but there’s a possibility it can be longer. We’ll just have to pace it. For the next four to six weeks I really have to chill out and keep my weight off of it as much as possible. They’re going to put me on a pain management protocol so I won’t be so dependent on the opioid medications which is great for me because I hate how all of that shit is making my body feel. I’m going to be in a splint when I get out here and I have to basically sit on my ass and elevate it ninety percent of the day. In about two weeks, he’ll take the sutures out and then I’ll get one of those boots that you can take on and off. I’ll be able to start slightly moving the ankle then and taking showers. They’ll do an x-ray in six to seven weeks to see how well the bone healed and if all is well then, I’ll be able to start putting weight on it and doing physical therapy.”

“Well, at least you really listened to all that he had to say.” I had to laugh at the way he easily listed off the way his life is going to be for the next month and a half. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it whatsoever, but he’s certainly well informed.

“Well, yeah I did. I can’t take not being on my feet for so long. All of that sitting around is going to drive me insane.”

“It doesn’t have to. Now is a good time for you to find other things to entertain yourself with.”

“You know what’s crazy? Remember when I said to you that I was praying to God for more time to do things that are beyond the football field like spending time with my family, friends, and the dogs? Now look.”

“Well, I don’t think God decided to grant you that wish by snapping your ankle, but at least you’ll be able to gain some perspective about life in the midst of this.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that it’s going to be alright. Minor setback for a major comeback.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you that.” His hands trailed down my back as he frowned in confusion in the same manner that I had been doing downstairs.

“What do you mean?”

“You snapped your ankle. You’re lying in a hospital bed. Despite what everyone is telling you, that’s not what you feel. This feels fucked up and pretty shitty. You’re out for the season and now you have to watch your team fight for victories without you. That feels even worse. So right now, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright because it’s still all so fresh and you have the right to feel that way. Be angry, frustrated, hell, even cry if you want to. It’s alright to have those emotions because this isn’t easy. There will come a time when you do feel like everything’s going to be alright, but tonight isn’t it…and that’s okay.”

I don’t know how anyone uses those ridiculous and yet absolutely insulting adjectives such as diva, asshole, little girl, and selfish to describe this man. The majority of the time we see him, he’s covered up in a uniform and is defined by the number on the back of his jersey. For sixty minutes, people create so many false narratives of who he is based upon passionate responses on the field and his will to win. It’s beyond unjust because the person that I’ve come to know is charming, compassionate, and has elements of shyness within him. He’s composed, observant, and aware. He has a keen eye for detail, listens intently, and thinks before he speaks. He carries himself with his head held high and brings about an energy into any room he steps into unlike any other. He puts smiles on people’s faces, tells the silliest jokes to lighten the mood, and shows genuine concern for the well-being of others. He’s unique; a one of a kind Baton Rouge born royal who has made his mark and is continuing to do so no matter what negativity his naysayers speak.

“Thank you for that, Sarai.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.” And suddenly I wanted him to let me go. I hate that he could easily feel the nervousness within my now tense fame. To soothe me, he ran one of his ridiculously huge palms up and down my back.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you ignore me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Beckham, you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“This can’t…” It was me who broke his embrace as the door suddenly cracked open. With one step, I dashed backwards to create some space between the bed and myself.

“Mr. Beckham, it’s time for your final round of medication for the night. You should be able to sleep with this one. Are you feeling any pain?”

“Nah not really. The only thing I’m feeling is flips in my stomach and chills from all of the medication.”

“Yeah, those are typical side effects, especially because we’re giving it to you intravenously. Usually when medication is going straight through the vein it can cause you to have slight jitters, chills, possible anxiety, or it feels like there’s this rush happening within your body. I promise we’re not going to give you anything that is dangerous for you. We’re just trying to keep your pain under control. Remember you had surgery today.”

“I know.”

“At least your girlfriend is here to keep you company. She’ll keep your mind off of it until you fall asleep.” My mouth fell agape at her assumption and he giggled like a young school boy as she viewed his chart.

“That’s true.” If I didn’t have any sense, I would have beamed my phone at his head.

“So, this is morphine and your antibiotic. This should last you throughout the night, but I’ll be in to check on you. Do you have to use the bathroom?” She began to check his pulse and blood pressure.

“Nope, because I’m not going in that bed pan again.”

“Beckham, don’t be stubborn.” I had to butt in. He’s in here for an ankle fracture and he’ll be back for a damaged bladder if he holds his urine due to being too prideful.

“I actually don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we try? I’ll get a pan.”

“I’ll step outside.” Their conversation was officially shifting into a privacy territory.

“You don’t have to step outside.” Beckham found her responses to be all too funny as I widened my eyes in disbelief. Uh, I absolutely do have to step outside and I’ll be stepping outside of the building if she continues with these assumptions.

“Nurse Meghan, I really don’t have to go. I’m okay.”

“What about number two? Have you had the urge yet?” And then it quickly became my turn to laugh at him as he frowned his face up in sheer embarrassment at such a question.

“No.”

“That’s normal. It may take a day or two for your bowels to open up but if it’s any longer than that we’ll give you a mild laxative to fix that problem.”

“I doubt I’ll need that.”

“We’ll see. Hopefully you won’t. Your blood pressure is great. I’ll check your temperature, insert your medicine through the IV, and you should be good to go. You need anything else for the night? I already showed you how to work the television. On the remote is a button for you to press to call the nurse’s station and I’ll be right here to assist you. You have water right over there if you want it. You want any extra pillows or blankets?”

“Nah. My mom brought me some from home so that I could be comfortable. I’m straight.” He lifted his tongue for the thermometer and within a few seconds she was jotting down his temperature.

“All normal. If anything should change, you know how to reach me.” I’m not sure why but my eyes followed her every move as she worked with the IV to properly insert the liquid within both syringes into the line. She was gentle enough to make sure she didn’t irritate his arm and the vein by pulling on or adjusting it.

“I do.”

“Alright then, I’ll check on you in a bit Mr. Beckham.”

And yet again, we were left alone. His eyes hadn’t panned back up to the ceiling like they were before I intruded on his thinking. Instead, they were directly on me while I leaned against the wall.

“You’re going to go to sleep soon, so I’m going to get out of here. You need your rest.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Why does he say all of the things that men don’t say but actually need to say?

“You’re going to fall asleep within the next ten minutes or so.”

“I’ll fight it. I want to talk to you.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I won’t fall asleep. Just stay for a little while longer.” How can I deny someone laying in a hospital bed?

“Okay.”

“So, I watched clips from today’s show on my phone. I couldn’t see the whole episode because I was in recovery and still under the anesthesia when it was on. Scott wasn’t there today, which made the show even better.” My laughter was louder than it should have been because that is one of my co-hosts after all, but gosh, he peeves so many people. There’s one side of him that deliberate does it for the sake of sparking debates and the other side is actually just his personality coming out to shine, often times, in the worst ways. He can be condescending, over exaggerated, and a large majority his sentiments causes our viewers to unleashed full on rants about him on social media but he is who he is and he’s yet to say anything controversial enough to be removed from the show. His disdain for Beckham, Tom Brady, Lebron James, and Antonio Brown never falters. We’ve all learned not to take him seriously whatsoever because if he were to meet any one of the three, he’d never keep that same energy in their faces.

“Yeah, Scott went on vacation with his girlfriend.”

“I see the way he looks at you. I think he likes you.”

“He does.” He flirts, he’s asked me out for drinks once, and his compliments can be overkill. I’m not interested nor will I ever be.

“You’re out of his league. He should know better than that.” Though he attempted to suppress it, I noticed the yawn and the way he attempted to pull the covers up over his body. I decided to help. If I felt the chill within the room, I’m sure it feels worse for him.

“How’s that?” I covered him up to the top of his shoulders.

“It’s great, thank you. So back to what I was saying, he’s out of your league.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m sure he knows it too.”

“So, who’s in my league?”

“No one.”

“No one?” I didn’t expect that answer. I figured he’d throw in some joke about it being him. He’s good for a flirtatious moment.

“No one. You’re definitely in a league of your own, but I’m trying to work my way up to bring drafted in. With the first and only pick in the 2017 Sarai Nazaire draft, Sarai selects Odell Beckham Jr. from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the New York Giants.”

“Shut up!” I knew it was coming. We roared in laughter because of that. He wouldn’t be himself without inserting some kind of joke into the mix.

“Sarai, you know after this you can’t ignore me ever again, right? You bought me flowers, a teddy bear, and balloons. You told me I could be as mad as I want. You were about to help me use the bed pan.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t.” The only way I would have done that is if it were truly an emergency and the hospital had not a single nurse within reach of him.

“Yeah, you were. You tucked me in. All that’s left for you to do is kiss me and then we can start talking about the rest of our lives together.”

“Go to sleep Beckham.”

“You go to sleep Nazaire.” This yawn came with his heavy eyelids struggling to stay open so that he could focus on me. He didn’t have the strength to say anything more. I looked on as he eventually drifted into the deep slumber that he was fighting against and the light snoring was a clear sign that he’d be out for the night.

The reclining chair directly next to the bed had a pillow and blanket neatly folded up in its seat and on the opposite side of the room was the couch. I had options and yet I chose to remain nearby. I’m going to assume this is where Heather slept. She did a nightshift last night, so I’ll do one tonight.

I gently lifted the yellow beanie hat covering his head just a bit and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. I, then, gave him a second one for good measure. As my eyes panned down to his slightly pouting lips, I mentally scolded myself for momentarily craving to feel them against my own. The man is laying in a hospital bed and yet I’m consumed with my own childish and temporary fantasies.

I kicked off my sneakers and curled up into the chair. I didn’t expect it to be comfortable but it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The cushion is soft enough to keep my back and bottom without aches throughout the night.

Lastly, I covered myself in the blanket smothered with his scent and propped up the pillow that smelled just the same right under my head.

“Sweet dreams, O.”

Within a half an hour, I was having sweet dreams of my own.

[susietimes]

Film Review – Nineteen Eighty-Four

Watch the trailer Here.

  Nineteen Eighty-Four is a novel by George Orwell (1949), published in nineteen forty-nine; to warn its audience of how technology advancement can give power to totalitarian regimes. Or even a utopia society just like the one we are living in at the present. This was later made into a film under the same name as its original novel, released in the year nineteen fifty-four; with the second version released in nineteen eighty-four. 

  I will be discussing the characteristics enhancing immersion towards its audience, and simulation features that encourage the audience to fully immerse themselves to the film Nineteen Eight Four.

Summary Of The Film

  Within the film, a totalitarian society so called ‘Oceania’ (Orwell, 1949) ruled under the ‘Big Brother’ is established; with continuous war against ‘Eurasia’ to better control the ‘proletariat’, its citizens (Orwell, 1949). The government monitors and controls every aspect of human life to the extent that even marriages between Party members had to be appointed for the purpose of baby making; for the service of the Party. Along with ‘telescreens’ (Orwell, 1949) that watches every action of its citizens. Winston Smith, a man who is presented as a key character throughout the movie shows his desire of freedom by committing to ‘thought crime’ (Orwell, 1949) as he writes on his diary in the corner of his apartment; avoiding the government watching him on the ‘telescreen’ (Orwell, 1949). At the same time, falling in love with Julia; as a ‘criminal’ (Orwell, 1949) to the Party. Although Winston works at the ‘Ministry of Truth’(Orwell, 1949) for the Party, changing the information and history by putting information that contradicted the wishes of the Party into the ‘memory hole’ (Orwell, 1949) where they got destroyed. Next, he would use the ‘speakwrite’ (Orwell, 1949) to edit the information. Later, Winston meets O’Brien, known as a powerful member of the Party. Who introduces himself as a member of ‘Brotherhood’ also; an organisation that rebels against the Party with the desire for freedom. This gives hope to Winston and he instantly believed in everything said by O’Brien. However, all of Winston’s rebellious actions gets found out by the Party, resulting in both Julia and Winston captured by O’Brien into the ‘Ministry of Love’ (Orwell, 1949). Where they were punished until they admitted to their actions and their love for ‘Big Brother’ (Orwell, 1949).

 Elements Enhancing Immersion – Simulation & Realism

  Nineteen eighty-four is a dystopian movie in the genre of science fiction and romance, released in the 20th century with its original novel written during the electronic age; with the establishment of newspaper, telephone, radio and television. This was a period just before the new media revolution in the 21st century, where the invention of the Internet took place. Therefore, as modern audience having experienced media convergence, we would see Orwell (1949) as correctly predicted the future. Whereas audience at the time would have seen the film as containing various futuristic features that were both imaginable and unimaginable. However, both past and modern audience would see the setting of the society shown as closely related to the one that they are living in. This sense of simulation and realism have caused the audience to be fully immersed into the storyline, along with the change of perspective after seeing the film.

Modern Audience:

  As modern audience, we would see the society of ‘Oceania’ (Orwell, 1949) as reflecting our society at the moment; which is a society in between utopianism and totalitarianism. Since the futuristic features shown in the movie are very much like ours nowadays, even though it is not clear whether or not we have been watched and given false information in our daily lives; but there has been some news and evidence of us being in that situation.

  We as modern readers could clearly see ourselves in the position of Winston Smith; Especially after the election of Donald Trump in 2016. This would have drawn huge attention to the audience, as we see Orwell (Orwell, 1949) creating a simulation society to ours in Nineteen Eighty-Four.

  For example, we could see a close link to the society created in the film to our own by recognising Donald Trump as the modern version of ‘Big Brother’ (Orwell, 1949). With England being part of ‘Oceania’ (Orwell, 1949), one of the three superpowers. Along with the other two being ‘Eurasia’ as the old Soviet Union, and ‘Eastasia’ being China (Orwell, 1949). It is shown that the three superpower states are constantly at war with each other. This could create a strong sense that the society shown in the film is of a simulation version to ours. This is further highlighted with the establishment of ‘telescreens’ (Orwell, 1949) that announced news but at the same time monitors every action of its citizens. Drawing parallel to the modern society in which surveillance and the use of social media are being increasingly concerned by people.

  Moreover, the statement that “fiction treats the visit as vacation and mobilizes all the powers of language to strengthen the bond between visitor and the textual landscape” (Ryan, 2001) is shown through the film; by establishing the manipulation of language under a totalitarian government. For instance, Orwell presents ‘Ministry of Truth’ (Orwell, 1949) where the government controls every source of information, managing and rewriting the content of all the news and history to suit their favour and the situation. As audience, we would realize the oxymoron meaning as being shown in the film right away. Drawing our attention causing full immersion of the audience; where we see the modern society being reflected in the film.

Audience at the time:

  On the other hand, audience watching it during the 20th century would be taking the movie as a science fiction genre but at the same time seeing how technology can take over their freedom. This is due to the fact that they have not yet been introduced to the internet or media convergence era. Drawing attention from audience at the time to paint a picture of an alternative future system which is connected to the current one, with the hope that audience would be frightened into changing the current society.

  For example, audience at the time would be faced with a society that can be seen as both the future and the past, as every newspaper and document has been constantly rewritten. This idea of simulation is further developed by presenting the ‘telescreen’ (Orwell, 1949), in which the audience would be shocked to see that the screen could simultaneously watch their every move. This sense of simulation is further developed by establishing ‘speakwrite’, which allows Winston to speak into it and his words would be displayed on the screen immediately afterwards; enabling him to change the history. Along with the use of ‘memory hole’ that leads any unwanted papers into the furnace, which represents the destruction of evidence of the past. These features within the film creates a sense of surveillance for its audience watching it at the time. However, they would most likely be taking the film as a science fiction film that is unimaginable in realism except from its background context.

  Moreover, it is clear that Orwell have been writing with his own political aspect of the society within the novel: Having witnessed the horrific totalitarian governments in Spain and Russia, Orwell (1949) created this dystopian world in the political novel Nineteen Eighty-Four in the purpose of warning readers in the West of the dangers of totalitarian government under the rise of communism. For example, the portrayal of the ‘Big Brother’ (Orwell, 1949) and how is introduced as the dictator of record in Oceania in posters and on the ‘telescreen’ (Orwell, 1949) seem to purposely mirror Stalin, who was a dictator within the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Within the film, the role of technology enabling power has been emphasised through the film as Orwell seem to pay attention to the widespread cruelties and oppressions in communist countries; with oppressive governments to monitor and control their citizens.

Overall:

  Both modern and the 20th century audience would have all been fully immersed into the film; as the first-person narrative have immediately drawn the audience into the sensation of having stepped into the story themselves. Along with the setting of the film closely related to the society that the audience is living in, as a result it shapes our perspective of looking at the society throughout the film.

  However, now that people watch films on multiple mediums meant that the message is likely to vary between each one. Just as McLuhan (1964) stated that “the content of any medium is always another medium” (McLuhan, 1964), suggesting that the society has being modified by the media; which in turn extends our perception to evolve new forms of content and medium.

 To watch the full movie (1st version) click Here

 Refencing

Ryan, L. M. (2001), ‘The Text as World: Theories of Immersion’, in Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media, Baltimore: The John University Press.

Orwell, G, 1949. Nineteen Eighty-Four. 2004 Edition. London: Penguin Classics.

McLuhan, M. 1964. ‘Medium is the Message” in Understanding media: the extensions of man, London: Routledge.

BRITISH LIBRABRY. Nineteen Eighty-Four [Online]. BRITISH LIBRABRY [Viewed 18th November 2019]. Available from: https://www.bl.uk/works/nineteen-eighty-four.

BBC NEWS. (2019). BBC NEWS [Online] 1st September 2019 [Viewed 18th November 2019]. Available from: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/stories-49527899/china-social-media-censorship-how-does-it-work.

thetrendsvideos. (1954). Nineteen Eighty-Four [Online]. Directed by Michael Anderson. [Viewed on 18th November 2019]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCZBnUt6rZ0.

Nineteen Eighty-Four. (1984). Directed by Michael Radford. United Kingdom: Virgin films.

[channelnewswire-blog]

Sciblogs|Coastal seas around New Zealand are heading into a marine heatwave, again

As New Zealanders are enjoying their days at the beach, unusually warm ocean temperature levels seem a harbinger of another marine heatwave.

In spite of the exceptional conditions during last year's heatwave in theTasman Sea, this summer's sea surface area temperatures to the north and east of New Zealand are even warmer. The latest NIWA environment evaluation shows that sea surface temperatures in seaside waters around New Zealand are well above average. Marine heatwave conditions are currently occurring in parts of the Tasman Sea and the ocean around New Zealand and aiming to become the new typical. What's in a name Presently, marine heatwaves are specified as periods that last for five or more days with temperature levels warmer than the 90th percentile based upon a 30-year historical baseline. Provided we are likely to experience a lot more such events as the oceans continue to warm, it is time to understand and categorise the strength of marine heat. The names Cyclone Katrina, hurricane Giselle (which sank the ferryboat Wahine 50 years back), hurricane Winston give a sinister character to geophysical phenomena. Notably they get graded into categories, so we can quickly evaluate their potential impact. An Australian group has established a classification

plan for marine heatwaves. The team used a method comparable to that used for cyclones and cyclones-- altering conditions can be slotted into to a series of classifications. At the moment it looks like we remain in marine heat wave classification one conditions, but potentially getting in classification 2 if it continues to warm. Turning the warm up on marine life A marine heatwave is potentially ravaging for marine communities. It is also an indicator that the hidden buffer in the environment system-- the truth that the oceans have taken in 93 %of the excess heat-- is beginning to change. Private warm seasons have constantly occurred, however in future there will be more of them and they will keep getting warmer. The Great Barrier Reef has actually already been hit hard by a succession of marine heatwave events, bleaching the iconic corals and changing the structure of the ecosystem it supports. Even more south, off Tasmania's east coast, a variety of species that normally happen in

tropical waters have extended their variety further south. A number of fish species, lobster and octopus types have actually likewise taken up home along the Tasmanian coast, displacing a few of the species that call this coast home. Mobile types can leave the warmer temperatures, but inactive plants and animals are hardest struck. In New Zealand, aquaculture industries will discover it

more hard to grow fish or mussels as coastal waters continue to warm. If the same patterns seen off Tasmania happen here, locations with considerable kelp canopies will struggle and begin to be changed by species typically seen further north. The effects will likely be really variable since the warming will be greatly affected by wind and ocean currents and various areas will feel modifications to a higher or lower extent.

NIWA's research study vessel Kaharoa has released Argo drifts in the Southern Ocean and in waters around New Zealand. NIWA, CC BY-ND Anticipating the seasons As crucial as it is to identify a marine heatwave at the time, dependable forecasts of establishing conditions would assist fishers, aquaculture companies and local authorities-- and in reality anyone living and working around the ocean.

Seasonal forecasting a few months ahead is hard. It falls between weather and environment predictions. In a cooperation between the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research and the Australian Bureau of Meteorology, we are examining how well long-term projections of ocean conditions around New Zealand stack up. Early projections recommended this summer season would not be as warm as in 2015. It now looks like this summer will again be extremely warm in the ocean.

Among the crucial points to remember is that when we are at the beach, we are sampling only the surface temperature. The very same is true of satellites-- they keep an eye on less than the leading millimetre of the ocean.

Sea surface temperatures are several degrees above typical at the minute. But in deeper waters, since of the high heat content of water, even a tenth of a degree is considerable. Temperature level in the deeper ocean is kept track of by a network of moored buoys on and off the continental shelf along the Australian coast. New Zealand has almost absolutely nothing that would be equivalent.

Measuring temperature in real time

What we can want to, in the absence of moored buoys, is a fleet of ocean robotics that monitor temperature in real time. Argo drifts drift with ocean currents, sink to two kilometres every ten days and then collect data as they return to the surface area.

These data permitted us to recognize that the 2017/18 marine heatwave around New Zealand remained shallow. The majority of the warmer water was in the upper 30 metres. Looking at today summer conditions, one Argo robotic off New Zealand's west coast reveals it is almost four degrees above normal in the upper 40 metres of the ocean. On the east coast, near the Chatham Islands, another float shows warmed layers to 20 metres deep. To the south, the warming goes deeper, down to almost 80 metres.

Our work using the Australian Bureau of Meteorology projection design highlights how variable the ocean around New Zealand is. Different concerns emerge in different areas, even if they are geographically close.

The research on categories of marine heatwaves reveals we will have to keep moving what we consider as a heat wave as the ocean continues to warm. None of this must come as a surprise. We have known for some time that the world's oceans are storing many of the additional heat and the effects of a warming ocean will be severe.