I love Islam and cream soda

When an inmate gets out of prison, it is a rebirth - and there are questions they confront in order to start a new life.  One of the most important ones is, "Where am I going to live?"  As a society, we have no idea of the reality that the majority of inmates get out of prison and that they will become our neighbors. I know this - because I was that inmate, and I am now "that neighbor".

It was July, 2010. That summer, my daughter was preparing to move to Baltimore with her mother, who had recently married a brother living there. Being the dutiful father and Muslim, I helped my ex pack and straighten the apartment for their departure. As I was gathering up Umarah’s things, I came across as small, girly-pink notebook labeled, “JOURNAL”. I’ve said it before – as a father, when it comes to kids, I am nosy. Unapologetically. I don’t subscribe to Leave-It-To-Beaver notions of parenting. Being a step/father to girls made me super vigilant, super protective. And super nosy. Sue me – and good luck. All that, of course, is to say, I opened and thumbed thru Umarah’s journal. What I read ripped my soul out and tied it in a knot.

Racism is an exercise of xenophobia and low self-esteem - negative core values that people reflexively cover up with Confederate flags and misplaced adulation of President Trump/hate for Obama/probable cause traffic stops. What follows is a list of activities that any Alt-Right Racist Cornball can engage in that will rid them of their discriminating schizophrenic prejudices and fears and have them trading in their robes and tiki torches for basic humanity.

Click HERE for Part 1 I got out of prison in August of 1996 on a Friday, released early from my sentence to community based supervision in a halfway house. I was initially housed at the County Jail, awaiting bed space, and was given the opportunity the following Monday to hit the streets after 7 years. I made a bee-line to my wife’s apartment on the Eastside. I had just missed her leaving to work but the kid's were home. A bunch of hugs and high-fives later, everyone was off doing homework and chores and I stood in the living room soaking my freedom in and basking in the glow of my new castle. The responsibility didn’t escape me, though. I was a full-fledged stepdad, and my wife was also my baby mama, being a couple months pregnant at the time. “You need to protect those girls.” That edict from my Sister rung over and over again in my ears. I not only had to provide for my step-kids as head of household, I had to keep them safe from a predator (allegedly) w...

“You need to protect those girls.” These were some of the first words my Sister told me after I had gotten married (for the first time) – words about my new stepdaughters that rang out to me very loud. Very clear. My first marriage occurred while I was still serving time for a robbery I committed at 19. I was 25 and Muslim and despite my circumstance (and very much because of my spiritual transformation) I had been lucky/blessed enough to snag a gorgeous, devout, and intelligent woman who took an interest and liking to me. My wife had been a friend of a friend – a blind Pen Pal hook-up that quickly blossomed into matrimony. Maybe too fast – because not long after I got a cautionary letter about my new nuptials.  Among a couple red flags waved at my marriage was this: my wife’s ex-husband was a suspected child molester.

In 2000, Shwayyah got married for the first time, to a young brother from Egypt named Mohammed. The backdrop of this event saw me and her mother Asiyah going thru a brief separation, one that extended to my relationship with Shwayyah as well. In the meantime, Mohammed approached some of the brothers in my mosque, inquiring about marriage to any available sisters - they brought up Shway for consideration and one of the brothers in a leadership role, Mikal, stepped into the role as her wali (representative), a role that was mine traditionally but for my absence... Asiyah and I reconciled as Shway's marriage entered its final stages of confirmation - the signing of the marriage contract. It was a poignant time because one of the things that drove our separation was us battling over my role as head of household and as a father and stepfather. My marriage to Asiyah was my first, but her third, and it came after a long period where she was a single divorcée of 4 kids and, I felt, us...

Clink the link below and catch me at minute 12:00 in this amazing project conducted by renowned poet Mohamed Hassan. http://www.radionz.co.nz/programmes/public-enemy/story/201826249/public-enemy-episode-1