by Tiana Laveen
They all gleamed in colors of silky ebony, crisp white with gold embellishments. The music continued to pump while the five-minute intermission came to a close. Then, the host stood to his feet, the only man on the stage, and approached the podium. He grabbed the microphone, cleared his throat and moved around a 3x5 card with a few handwritten notes scribed upon it.
“And now, I’d like to introduce the final speaker of tonight’s Annual Goddess Convention. The nationally acclaimed radio talk show host of New York’s Xenia Aknaten Show and former co-host for ‘The Morning Tea.’ She is a hard working black Queen, a mother of three blessings and the wife of our own notorious and beloved, Dr. Saint Aknaten. I would like for you all to give a hearty welcome to the beautiful, talented, elegant, Xenia Aknaten!”
It seemed as if everyone jumped to their feet like Jacks in the box. Xenia felt her eyes grow wide and she was certain her smile matched as she approached the stage, careful to not trip over her long, white one sleeve gown that hugged her just right—classy, soft and elegant. A gold roped belt hung loosely around her waist, and long dangling gold earrings had been paired with the ensemble, truly making her feel like a full-fledged, majestic Queen. Her hair stood high and wavy from a masterful braidout and on the side, a golden floral pin with diamonds along the petals. A gift from Saint, which he presented to her before they left the house. She ran her French manicured fingers up and down the sides of the podium, waiting for the crowd to simmer down and return to their seated positions.
“I want to first thank Nick Johnson for that wonderful introduction.” She looked over her shoulder at the man who was now sitting in her seat. He offered a benevolent nod. “You are too kind.”
Swallowing hard, she turned her attention back to the crowd.
“Good evening, Goddesses, Queens and Empresses.” The room lit up with applause. “This entire venue is sold out. Ladies, we’ve outdone ourselves tonight!” More applause broke out. “Look at you all,” she said, moving her hand towards the sea of people, smiling as she surveyed the ladies dressed to the nines. “You’re wearing beautiful gowns, your hair is done to perfection but most importantly, your minds are open to receive the gifts that the other two speakers bestowed to you. Tonight, you heard about the psychology of the black woman in this country as it pertains to our self-image. That was an excellent place to begin. … You then heard about healthy living choices, such as the foods we consume, exercise regimens we should consider for de-stressing, and overall health, as well as ridding ourselves of toxic people in our lives. All of this amounted to one thing, and one thing only—how to take care of yourself so that you become a better version of you.” She pointed out into the audience.
“As many of you know, my husband, Saint Aknaten, is here tonight amongst us.”
The crowd bristled up once again, mostly women jumping to their feet and clapping, causing many to burst out laughing at someone’s screams of hysteria.
Xenia shot Saint a glance, her lips twisted in disbelief, which only forced him to burst out laughing with full gusto—holding on to his side, teeth all showing—acting as if his ass wasn’t eating it all up. She grinned a bit wider, shook her head, and continued.
“Obviously, he needs no introduction. However,” she said, stepping away from the podium, now relying on the microphone pinned to the top of her gown. “I do…
“I spoke at one of Saint’s conferences previously. It was impromptu, unplanned. Tonight is an important evening. I’ve been deliberating on what to say to all of you lovely ladies for months.” She paced slowly, her high heels clicking against the polished, wooden stage.
“And then, I realized that my own story, and the lessons I’ve personally learned, were just what the doctor ordered.” She winked at her husband, who, on cue, winked right back and blew her a kiss.
“Saint, from my understanding, brings me up at every single Rainbeau conference he speaks at. So, many of you who are married, or your husband, that have attended the Rainbeau Conferences, already understand how devoted he is to our needs as black women and what he thinks of marriage and family. When I met this man however, I did not know that. Matter of fact,”—she paused and shrugged—“I didn’t know who he truly was at all. You see, I was working in Los Angeles, which is where I’m from. I was the host of a popular nationally syndicated show that many of you probably listened to and we’d have guests come in several times a week. Some were recording artists, some were actors and comedians. I was afforded the opportunity to travel all over the country and sometimes outside of it, such as Canada, The Bahamas, or Jamaica, for work related ventures. I was able to rub elbows with some of your favorite singers and music producers.
“I had a good life, or at least that is what I believed at the time…and then I met a different guest, Saint Aknaten.” The crowd grew to a hush. “Yes, he was a guest of mine. A doctor that specialized in the ‘grown and sexy’ topic,” she said, putting her fingers up in a sign indicating quotation marks. “That of sex education. The thing was, he paired it with other topics, things that would incite, infuriate and anger many people not just across the country, but across the world. Saint had a fresh perspective and insight into interracial relationships. The problem with me, however, is that I was not open minded enough to receive the information he was trying to share on my show.” She touched her chest earnestly.
“Matter of fact, I was completely revolted by the notion that he could have anything worthy to deliver. I’d read a couple of his books in preparation for my interview… I do that, you know? I’m one of those people that never has a guest on my show unless I’ve heard their music, seen at least a couple of their movies or read a book a two. I don’t feel that is proper preparation if I do anything less. So, I thought I was prepared for him and I already had my eyes set on him and my mind made up, before he arrived at my studio. I was planning to attack all of his key points, but what I didn’t expect was how very angry I became during that interview.” She gritted her teeth, paused and continued.
“Ladies, I was looking into this man’s beautiful eyes, and when I say beautiful, I mean that sincerely. You have to be up close to him to see all the unbelievable nuances of his appearance, but his eyes are like the color of the sun as it goes down for the evening, in Sahara Africa… They sparkle with gold, amber, a touch of green…changing colors.” She winked at him once more, causing him to smile and drop his head in shyness. “So, I had to look at this beautiful man that I despised before he could even properly introduce himself. I looked into these eyes, these hypnotizing eyes with the longest, most lush dark eyelashes I’d ever seen on a guy, and I hated that I found him fine as fuck!”
The crowd burst out in laughter and clapping. Xenia laughed in response, enjoying to the fullest this trip down memory lane. “You see, he was going to have to pay for that. Because not only did I want no part of interracial dating; not only did I believe he only saw black women as sexual objects; not only did I on some level find him to be vile, overly cocky and annoying… I was attracted to him, and it was strong, ladies. It wasn’t just his physical being; it was the way the bastard walked!” More applause came through, as well as laughter and whistles. “Ladies.” She smiled and lowered her head, shaking it. “Saint walks like he has something important to say, every. damn. day.” Snickering meandered through the crowd. “He has a big presence, and even if he were only 5’7 instead of 6’3, or 6’4, depending on who you ask, he would be just as big, because that is just how his aura is. It was also the way he smelled, ladies. Don’t we just love a man that smells great?!” Many women in the audience smiled and nodded in agreement.
She grinned, surely blushing a bit as she reminisced. “He smelled…like a man. As simplistic as that sounds, I mean that in a good way, a great way. His cologne wears him, he doesn’t wear his cologne.”
“Whew chile!” someone screamed out, causing more laughter.
“And…his voice.”
Several women popped up from their seats and applauded.
>
“Ladies, I know you’ve all heard him on radio interviews and many of you have heard him speak in person last year for the first annual Goddess Convention. He could be singing, ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer’ or all the lyrics from the theme song to ‘Scooby Doo’, and it wouldn’t matter!” Xenia burst out laughing, causing others to do the same. “He would still sound cool and sexy. Now…” She cupped her chin and looked out at the audience. “I’m no fool. I could tell he was flirting with me. He wasted no time in doing so. That made it even worse for me, you see…because he was confirming the attraction was mutual. That made me even angrier at him. He just couldn’t win…
“I had decided that this man was nothing more than a person who hated himself, his culture, possibly his mother, and was obsessed with the sexual prowess and possibilities he felt were exclusive to women of African descent. I had never in my life dated interracially before, unless you include the half Mexican and half white boy from fifth grade who I had a crush on. His mother made these delicious strawberry cookies, and I wanted to be his friend so I could have some all the time.”
Xenia waited for the chuckles to subside before moving on.
“But as an adult, I did not entertain the notion of interracial dating and marriage. And the crazy thing was, it wasn’t that I was against it, but I felt it would contradict my stance regarding the black community. I’d feel like a traitor, you see? How could I love my people and myself, then lie with the enemy?” She paused, allowing the crowd to marinate on her words. “There were times when I’d do a double take at a cute white guy; there were other times I’d see some Asian or Latino man smile or wink at me before I’d even met my husband, and sometimes, I’d think, ‘Yeah, he looks nice…’” She let her voice trail away as she disappeared in the recollections. “But that would be it. I simply wouldn’t entertain anything more.
“Despite the fact I was ready to settle down, despite the fact I wanted children and I wasn’t getting any younger, I still didn’t consider expanding my options. Black men make up 6.5% of the US population; Black women, a bit more. If I wanted to just date black men exclusively, that number dropped even further because gay black men were not checking for me. Some black men are not interested in dating black women. I had my share of that, too. So, that made the amount to choose from even smaller. I was not checking for black men that had been repeatedly incarcerated, either. I saw what happens, they are in my family. It messes up their chances of having a decent job, and there is resentment and anger. Many in my hood growing up had been locked up, sometimes due to no fault of their own, I want to make that perfectly clear because the justice system aint just, but I had to sit back and witness the effects of this—whether they were wrongly jailed or not … and that brings me to the crux of my discussion with you ladies tonight. We are in the middle of gang warfare…”
Saint glared at her, his eyes narrowed, a brow raised as he folded his hands thoughtfully over his lap.
“You see, before I can talk about what I have right now, today, and how I got over the hump, I have to tell you where I came from, and my mentality. I grew up in the hood. Every day, I heard gunshots. I could look out my window and see palm trees, children riding on their bikes and the wooden sticks leftover from a delicious red popsicle in my front yard—and the music to that visual soundtrack was loud! Arguing, domestic violence, fighting in the streets, and twenty-four hour gang activity—it was all there and more. My mother, my father, my aunts, my uncles, and most of my cousins are a part of one of the most notorious, prolific gangs in the US and now, internationally: the Bloods.” A hush came over the audience.
“I’ve never made any secrets about my past. My grandfather was one of the founding members. I know here in New York, gang violence is quite prevalent as well, but in L.A., it had a different flavor, if you will. Let me give you some brief background. The Bloods, just like here in New York, live blood and die blood. It is an oath. Here in New York, you have the U.B.N’s.”
A few women in the audience nodded in understanding. “And, since I grew up in ‘the life’, for some of you unaware of all of this, Blood stands for: Brotherly Love Overriding Oppression and Destruction of Society. This was serious, it was my life. The East Coast Bloods would sometimes congregate with my people, the West Coast Bloods. We knew who they were from the dog mark burns on their arms, whether they were reppin’ red or not. The dog mark, ladies, was a burn mark on their arms,” she said, pointing to her shoulder, “It was created from the heated barrel of a gun. They called each other ‘dogs’…black women sometimes call men ‘dogs’ and to this day, we still hear men saying to one another, ‘That’s my dog’, as a term of endearment.” Xenia took a deep breath then continued.
“They also used the number five and the five-pointed star. The number five is associated with the Illuminati. Now, I’m not here to get into all of this spiritual stuff, but I am making some key points so that when I move on and tie this all together, you will understand what I am trying to express to you.” She paused briefly. “The five pointed star obviously has five points, and in this case, each point stood for something. Those points were: Body, Unity, Love, Lust and Soul. Those are the five components that you need in order to survive and live a good life, but notice, not one of them was dedicated to Brain…”
Many women jumped to their feet, applauding.
“To me, if we were really thinking about what we were doing, then it would all unravel, fall apart. Happy people, content people, don’t join gangs in order to cause destruction and pain to others. People who feel loved and appreciated rarely join a gang at all, for any reason you could imagine. The people that join gangs oftentimes feel trapped and alone. Some are power hungry, but many fear their own streets and desire protection. Some need a family, and this complicated network, if you will, provided that. Now, our rivals…the Crips, they had a star, too. It was six pointed, and their number was the number six. Most of you know that the number six, especially when tripled, is associated with satanic references.”
She could feel Saint’s glare on her. She couldn’t help herself; she was in tune, and it was time he knew just how joined at the damn hip they were.
“Bloods, because they are such a large gang, are made up of smaller groups called sets. Now, imagine your life, ladies. Imagine that you were born into a gang, and in this case, that gang is the black community. Each neighborhood that is majority black then becomes a set. You have your own culture, your own words in the form of Ebonics and slang, and you greet one another with a fist pound, high five or fancy handshake that outsiders have trouble duplicating. Now, imagine that you had brothers and sisters clear across town, right? They were Bloods, just like you. There is a certain code of conduct that one is supposed to follow to be a part of this black community, and if anyone deviates or steps out of their zone, it could anger some people. One incident I’m fully aware of is that of the New York Bloods targeting what we called Neutrals—it is like our military men targeting civilians.”
This time she met stares with her husband, and didn’t miss how he was leaning forward in his seat, a grave expression on his face as he hung onto her every word.
“That is what was happening. The New York Bloods were doing what we called 150s, which was slashing someone so badly, they needed a hundred fifty stitches. To me, ladies, that is the fear that comes when we step out of our comfort zone; we are afraid of receiving a hundred fifty emotional, verbal and mental stitches from the only people we’ve known, the ones we call family!” Her voice shook. “We become the outsider, the neutral, up on the chopping block and no matter the few of our brothers and sisters that say, ‘Hey! That’s not right!’, power and the need to destroy will propel others of the group forward and the crowd will follow!
“I was a member of that crowd! I knew something wasn’t right with my outlook, Queens. I knew that I didn’t agree with the changes I was going through, based on my own preconceived notions of what the black community was about, and should and shoul
dn’t be doing. So when my husband showed up and challenged that, I was livid. He is a leader, not a follower! And he looked at me like he was going to take me down.” Over half the audience lit up in applause as Xenia elevated her voice, and it reverberated about the theater. “I knew I had a damn problem!” Loud clapping deafened the place.
“Saint was my Crip! He represented everything I believed was wrong with the world. He wasn’t a white man, but in some ways, he had ‘white man’ privilege because he had money and hell, he wasn’t black, so he could never know our pain! He was an outsider, and in my mind, quite foreign to not only me, but my human experience on this planet, my plight. How could a man like him ever understand a woman like me?! This was gang warfare! Coincidentally, Mac, the founder of the East Coast Bloods, was from the Bronx, just like Saint. And in East Coast Blood fashion, if I were to ask Saint, “What’s poppin’?”, if he can’t answer me with, ‘Five poppin’, six droppin’, crip killa, ’til my casket drop. Five alive, six must die, rest in peace, to OGI Tye.’—If he couldn’t say that to me, he is supposed to get sprayed! And that’s what I did, ladies. I did it because Saint, despite being in the Bronx, where the roots of the Bloods on the East Coast originated, couldn’t say it to me—because he wasn’t black! He was not a member of my set! I had given up the gangs, but still clung tight to that gang mentality and didn’t even realize it!
“Saint had become my public enemy number one, and I didn’t know him from Adam, just like I didn’t know the people I assaulted back when I was a teenager. Just like I didn’t know these Crips personally, that I was supposed to hate! I didn’t know them; we just hated one another because we were told we were supposed to. Now, Queens and Goddesses, you must be warned. You are a gang member, too. Your damn gang is Blackistan, and the only public enemy number one is the damn brainwashing that has eaten your heart out with hatred under the guise of self-preservation and unity! You’ve been fooled by your own self, assaulted, received your 150 at the hands of your own fears!”