Bamberg Apocalypse (early 11th century) f.19v Manuscript created @ Reichenau island, Germany. (Revelations 8:1-5) Se7en Angels with the Trumpets of The Most High, Angel at the Altar with Golden Censer containing Prayers of Saints.
The Last King of America: An African King in Bolivia
“Tucked away in an isolated part of Bolivia, there is a royal family whose existence is as surprising as it is humble. Despite his title, King Don Julio I and his wife live in a small apartment atop a small store in Mururata, Bolivia, where he farms coca leaves and other crops.
Yet this modest monarch can trace his lineage to [Central] Africa, where his ancestor Prince Uchicho was enslaved in 1820 and taken by the Spaniards to work in the silver mines of the region. That era gave rise to the country’s Afro-Bolivian population, which sustained the tradition, which was largely ceremonial, said Susana Giron, a Spanish photographer who was intrigued by the life of the current king, who was born 73 years ago as Julio Pinedo.”
“I had read stories about how there was a king hidden in the jungle,” Ms. Giron said. “But the story was not very good and the pictures were poor. There was nothing serious that took time. So I decided to document it in depth.”
She had actually stumbled across the story while researching projects to do in Bolivia, which she had planned to visit after participating in a 2012 exhibit in Argentina. It turned out the royal house had a website, which put her in touch with a Spanish diplomat who had been helping the king and his family, paying to send their son, Prince Rolando, to school in La Paz. Through the diplomat, Ms. Giron arranged to stay in the king’s town, being put up in an office across the street from the royal residence, spending the night in a sleeping bag with blankets provided by Queen Angelica.
According to the website and Ms. Giron, after Prince Uchicho was enslaved and taken to Bolivia, other slaves recognized him and persuaded the owner of the hacienda to let them work more hours so the prince would be spared having to toil. He was succeeded by others until the mid-1950s, when King Bonifacio I died, and none of his children took the royal mantle.
Ms. Giron said that a historian who purchased the old hacienda — where the Pinedos had taken the names of the slave owners — learned about the royal connection to Africa and set about to find an heir. His efforts, she said, led him to Julio Pinedo, who was named king in 1992.
“He is a symbolic figure,” she said. “For the Afro-Bolivians, he is important because he gives them a cultural identity. It shows they are a people descended from Africa. It is about their history and culture.”
The history of Africans in Latin America has been coming more and more to the fore in recent years. In Bolivia, it was not until recently that they were even counted in the national census, with their 2012 population pegged at some 23,000 in a country of 10 million. They still face discrimination and socioeconomic obstacles.
“He doesn’t feel like a king,” Ms. Giron said. “He told me, ‘A king lives in a palace, not in misery.’ He is shy and doesn’t talk much. He would rather talk about agriculture than being a king.”
In fact, to gain Mr. Pinedo’s trust, she spent a lot of time with him, at first accompanying him on his daily tasks, in the fields and in town. She said it was important to be discreet and helpful. He ran a small store that sold basic goods — refreshments, oil, bread and vegetables — as well as cultivating a coca patch, whose leaves he harvests, with Prince Rolando’s help, and sells at market.
When he is relaxing, in the store or at home, the king prefers to watch television. His wife on the other hand, is more outgoing. Ms. Giron said she participated in a lot of local events and goes to literacy classes, too.
Ms. Giron has returned to the town to continue documenting his story. There is even talk of the royal family visiting parts of West Africa that may have royal relatives.
“There have been symbolic connections, but they have never traveled to Africa,” Ms. Giron said. “He accepts that humbly, and he would go. He accepts being a king, though it does not excite him. He’s not comfortable in the world of diplomacy. He’s a farmer.”
I’m currently launching a t-shirt campaign in which I used a personal hand drawn design and would love for you guys to share and show support by possibly purchasing one.
What of this ‘hood nigga?’ This…real nigga. These little boys posed as men. From what I’ve seen they are so lost. I cannot speak on such things without my own flaws being thrown back in my face. Many of which stem from the disappointment in what they believe makes them men. They spend hours on end playing a video game, passing money back and forth amongst each other. Whether they get together or not, no matter what day of the week they poppin bottles. All their money goes towards gambling, drinking and trying to look fly. Their kids, their women become an afterthought in the competition for who can pretend they ‘that nigga’ the most. I understand. Growing up surrounded by abandoned houses, liquor stores and overwhelming police presence can weigh heavy on a person. Mixed in with poverty and poor education, the brainwashing is easy. It’s sad to sit back and watch. I try to teach him what it is to be a family man, but do I really know? I’m not a man. I didn’t grow up with enough of a male presence to know. I only can go by what my pop pop and dad showed me. He’s come such a long way. But those poisonous habits will forever lay dormant in the back of his mind. And it’s only a matter of time before it starts rearing its ugly head again. I wish these black men could see what and who they really are. They would move so differently. In such a more positive vibrational way, without these walls built up so high that no one can get passed them. They would lead. They would see each other as kings and us as their queens. But here we are. Niggas and bitches. Hating each other. Functioning from our lower selves. Fueled by hatred, fearing vulnerability. And here I love my black man through it all.
In the hood it’s all about stacking paper. Getting that money. Hustling. Yet the black community is overcome with poverty. Why? The hood mentality is all about looking good. If you got the right gear, whipping the right car…you that nigga. It doesn’t matter if you live in ya mom basement or living off ya bm. You are a good parent as long as ya kids rockin them Js. Nevermind that they acting up and bringing home bad grades. Nevermind that you screaming in their face, cussing them out everyday. They got what they wanted for Christmas! The concept of building wealth is not understood among black youth in the hood. They do not realize that their behavior is a direct result of social engineering. TV tells them who to be, what to wear, how to talk, what to care about. White corporations take the money we throw at them for petty material things, and build empires with it. While we lay in the slums of our communities poppin bottles, killing each other and pumping our chests. The loudest one is the weakest one in the room. Go on Facebook(Trenton) and you’ll see a bunch of young black youth screaming to the world how great they are. How wonderful their life is. You’ll see a bunch of poppin off. A bunch of holier than thou mentalities. But what you won’t see is unity. What you don’t see is knowledge of self, dignity, self love. But who cares as long as you are driving that benz, right? You can tell how irrelevant a person feels by how badly they need to be seen. And in the hood, everybody wants to be seen.
So there’s this scammer “exposer” called “scammer payback” on YouTube (found too many right wing propaganda being funneled my way to continue hanging out there too much) and one of OP’s profiles of the “scammer” featured the scammer having brown skin.
I can even BREATHE out of furor.
STOP ASSUMING THAT JUST BECAUSE SOMEOME HAS AN INDIAN ACCENT THAT THEY ARE BROWN.
Assuming otherwise…well, ya racist, buddy !! Racist against brown pxople.
It’s society’s damn fault that they sexualize everything and if you think think otherwise YOUR A PERVERT MISOGYNIST WHO OBJECTIFIES WOMEN and that is WHY the most disgustingly implicitly sexist thing called DRESS CODES is being FORCED upon wxmen around the world I can’t even like akskfbeoekd cbskelendbfneke AHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
God I hate this world idk where men come from but they’re LITERALLY systematically sexist beings that ONLY exist to control wxmen’s bodies for their villainous glory.
Also, if you see this, share this as much as you can. It’s really nice when I can get my art out there and reach out to people
UPDATE: We broke up in May, this is for sale lmaooo. DM for price if interested. It’s 60x42. It’s large enough to be used as a tapestry or whatever you want it for. Title of painting is “Gold Soul Theory”. Original will cost more than print. Post link
I saw a pic of Mo’Nique following her in studio interview with HOT 97 and did a double take. Over the last three years, the Academy Award winning actress has lost an impressive 82 lbs through diet and exercise. Having shed 103lbs of my own using the same conventional methods, I understood the smile on Mo’Nique’s face, recognized the pride in her stance and the relief in her eyes. She was saving her own life.
I Instagram’d the picture and within minutes hundreds of you shared in my joy for her, reposting, tweeting and liking the flick. The general consensus was the comedienne had done good.
Then there were the few of you whom felt differently. The complaints ranged from, ‘she looked better fat’, ‘and now her head is too big ‘to’ now she won’t be funny anymore.’ But I think the most telling criticism – the most popular one – was ‘what happened to representing for the big girls?’
I bring this up for a reason…
Last night, episode 7 of The Gossip Game began with a scene between K Foxx and myself at ooVoo. I’d seen her interview with the beautiful Brittany Sky, the lead from Kendrick’s ‘Poetic Justice’ video and posed a question that unfortunately didn’t make it into the episode: Don’t you feel that ‘colorism’ in any form (light over dark or dark over light) is wrong?
It was that question that began the exchange that was aired. K Foxx felt passionately that the mass mistreatment of darker African-Americans (particularly women) warranted some recompense and was puzzled why I didn’t feel the same. She was sure I’d experienced some of the same color-biased disrespect that she’s encountered over the years.
But I haven’t. On my best days my skin is a glowy pecan, on the average day I’m more the color of a Popeye’s chicken breast. My skin sits between two shades of most foundations (this told to me repeatedly by accomplished make-up artists). I choose the darker so that even when I sweat, I won’t look ashy. I don’t consider myself dark skin or light skin. I’m fully aware that the color-bias does exist both ways, and it angers me but I’ve never experienced it first hand. I’ve always simply fallen in the middle. I’m brown. I’m never included in the discussion. And I’ve never really been told that I’m ‘dark skin’…Until K Foxx.
By this afternoon hundreds of viewers had made a point to tweet/Instagram/FB message me. The comments ranged from, ‘how could you be ashamed of your dark skin?’ to ‘girl you are not lightskin’ to my personal favorite, ‘You’re darkskin, if this were slavery you’d be in the field with the rest of us.’
Finally, I put it all together. Let’s go back to Mo’Nique.
At my highest weight, I’d traveled to New York from LA and was out with my friend Jai, who had just lost over 70lbs of his own. I remember struggling to keep up as we roamed the village, I can still recall the contempt I felt when he ordered a grilled chicken breast and salad for lunch while I indulged in a burger and fries. Jai scared me. He represented what I couldn’t see for myself.
I understood the hate against Mo’Nique, a great deal of which came from those who appeared to be struggling with their own weight. Where her loss should’ve inspired, for some it shown a light on how far they themselves had to go to get there. They felt abandoned. Even though Mo’Nique had done what was (rightfully)best for her, she’d carried the torch proudly for so long that her fellow P.H.A.T. Girls felt she’d left them, alone and unrepresented.
As I sat still and made myself look through the profiles of many of you that took the time to let me know your thoughts on my complexion, the pattern I noticed was unmistakable. Very few of you were of a lighter skin tone. A great majority of those who contacted me boasted things like #TeamDarkSkin and ‘Chocolate Queen’ in your bios. And now I understand.
I appreciate the love I’ve received over the last two months from those happy for my inclusion on the show and proud that I’ve kept my focus and composure. I understand how my network and others have actively mishandled our image so I came into this show resolved that I would be true to who I am and represent my culture.
I am a Black woman. It’s one of my favorite things about myself. And no one or nothing could ever make me anything but proud of that.
Many of you felt that by me saying I wasn’t dark skin, I was somehow rejecting you. You thought I was leaving a team that I actually never even played for.
I refuse to help divide us. Light skin, dark skin or in between, we’re still being hunted every single day by poverty, educational bias, poor health habits, law enforcement and so many other things that I will be damned if I continue a discussion started by slave owners so they could place a dollar amount on our heads. Miss me with all of it. If you need me to identify with a particular skin tone in order to relate to me, then you were never going to relate to me anyway. We’re all Black. I understand the pain of color-bias and will gladly champion discussions on how to stop it. What I won’t do is allow anyone to push me into a corner and saddle me with his or her own hypersensitivity. This is not a game I’m going to play and I encourage you to stop playing it as well. What we give power to, will control us.
I am not #TeamDarkSkin, just as I am not #TeamLightSkin. I’m not even #TeamBrown. I’m #TEAMBLACK. And know that I am not now – nor am I ever – leaving you.
