I met a Song on a corner in Berkley one perfectly warm Sunday afternoon. After church, me and Kenya would walk down to Ashby Bart station to visit the flea market. I loved doing stuff like that, being around art, music, and community. The drum circle took my spirit to an ancient place, the exchange of goods and services gave me hope for what our people had the potential to be. I always thought of myself as black hippie. I mostly identified with hippies because of the freedom they seemed to possess. After purchasing licorice sticks, dining on African cuisine from the food truck, stocking up on body oils and the latest bootleg DVDs, I was stopped in my tracks by a Nubian queen strumming a guitar.
The light surrounding her was beaming from inside. She had on a yellow sundress and a brown floppy sun hat. Her dreadlocked hair flowed freely, and her smile beamed as she sang the lyrics to her melody.