Editor's Edict ~

I have always loved the number “8” seeing as how I was born on November 8th. I find its soothing curves and intricate togetherness to be symbolic of say, myself, and I’ve always felt it is the absolute best of the numbers (as I also feel Scorpios are the best in the Zodiac.) I’m biased and that’s ok. This amorous affair with the number “8” has made my passion for this new year that much more profound. We all say it, and this year I really mean it: “2008 is going to be amazing!” Here at the sultry, sassy, sophisticated home of the Brown Betties Gazette, we’re well on our way to amazing with this month’s literary offerings:

In the feature section, “Two Sides to Every Love Story”, we have a follow-up to a story we posted previously that consisted of emails between a couple breaking up. We asked how things were going now -- several months after the break up -- and received “Take My Breath Away” as the new side of a new love story.
J. Nicole Brooks, a wonderful actor and writer, offers some sweet morsels of Harlem history in “But It’s My Voice” for the “In My Solitude” feature section. In our attempt to offer some self-help, we have our new advice column spearheaded by Brown Abbey! If you have a question that needs addressing, let us know! Once again my momma tells it like it is with “Stale Mate” for her “Momma Said” feature…and finally, we peek in on a woman’s journey to find love in “Unzipped” with her article titled, “The Goddess Yemanjá: Unwrapped”. Next month we’ll bring back more of our fiction entry installments of "Harlem's Awakening"...the back story to Harlem & Joe of “Harlem’s Night Cabaret”. As always, enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! And don’t forget to visit www.brownbetties.com for more on Brown Betties of Harlem’s Night Cabaret! If you have any comments, feel free to hit me up at brownbettiesgazette@yahoo.com

xo

The Hot One

A Brown Bettie Begins
by Peppur Chambers


Yemi Adegbonmire
Attorney
Legal Affairs, ABC


Meet Yemi. A Nigerian, Yoroba woman with more confidence in just one tip of her spiked jet-black coif than most have in their entire core being. Her full name is Arinolayemi Atinuke Adegbonmire….or “Yemi” for short. With twenty nine letters in her name, which she has been able to spell forwards and backwards since grade school, it’s no wonder Yemi has risen to the top of her class.

Whether it was through her smarts, lightening-speed wit or her ancestral guidance (Arinolayemi loosely means “at home in the midst of wealth” or “of royal birth” and Atinuke means “cared for since the moment of conception” or “the hoped for”), Ms. Yemi has found herself in ABC Entertainment’s Legal Affairs department where she is becoming instrumental in contract negotiations for some of our favorite network programs.

Why did you get into Law:
It was a natural nexus of my skills as a writer, critical thinker and orator. I also had a passing interest in working in entertainment as a writer. I think that art can translate the human experience…If I couldn’t do that as an artist, then what better way than to insure a passage for others?

You are a great orator. Speaking with you sometimes is such a treat!
I remember around 9 years old I could hold court with adults and in 7th or 8th grade I found Shakespeare accessible, lyrical. I figured that must mean something! Plus, I’m a Cancer with my moon in Pisces [Birthday = 6/26]…I’m a water sign and we are very emotional and deeply affected by things. I like to ruminate and reflect.

You’re from Baltimore, Maryland and spent some time in Washington, DC working in Public Health before getting your Law degree from Wake Forest School of Law. What was that like?
I wanted to help the underserved so I worked in the Department of Health and Human Services Bureau of Primary Health Care. The Director of the Bureau, Dr. Marilyn Gatson, was really making strides building trust with skeptical communities that distrust government...even getting them to come in for preventative services...emergency room utilization was down...and when the administration changed from Clinton to Bush, all of a sudden she was gone. I felt like, with so much momentum, “Why?!” I learned then that sometimes working in public policy wasn’t always about caring for the underserved…I realized as well that I was too young and too hungry to parish in an industry where it functions to serve itself.

You then started your “LA Grind”, as it were?
II got to LA in May of 2005, that summer I took the Bar and in November 2005 I got my results and found out I passed. In April 2007 I landed at ABC. In between all of that I hustled. In Fall of ‘05 I volunteered with an entertainment law firm, started my own practice in January of '06 where I shopped shows (and which I promptly shut down the first time I had to hunt a client down for my fees). I wrote articles; I did contractual work with larger firms; and I taught an after-school dance class in Inglewood where I was completely humbled and learned to appreciate and respect the personalities of children! And starting in April of '06 I worked with another attorney in her production company. By April of '07 I was at ABC.


What is your current objective:
To be the best attorney that I can be and to be effectively self-sufficient as quickly as possible.

Editor’s note:
Yemi Adegbonmire is bound to make excellent strides in her career as she makes an impact in the entertainment industry and beyond. Equally important, Yemi is an amazing soul with a deep well of insight, outlook and human compassion.

Her email signature sums it up:
"Our friendships are the currency of our lives."-Toni Morrison

Take My Breath Away
(Here's the follow up to Two Sides from our Brooklyn friend's bad break up. )

I remember in the 80’s when aerobic exercise was all the rage and the song, “Take My Breath Away” by the band Berlin was popular. A comedian was telling a story about a friend who suggested that he take up aerobic exercise, and the comedian’s response was “why would I want to do something where I have to be reminded to breathe?” It’s kind of funny when you put it that way. Particularly, given that we all benefit from the automatic function of taking a breath at fairly regular intervals without thought.

I used to be in a relationship that wasn’t so good. For at least a full week before I broke up with that guy, I remember the sensation of not being able to breathe like something heavy had fallen into the center of my chest and was crushing a part of my lung. I have a friend who calls it air hunger -- not the type of hunger a Baci chocolate or a tuna sandwich can cure. Depending on whom you ask, it can also be called anxiety, but I think in those instances you require a beta inhibitor.

I remember thinking about my relationship with that guy, and taking a breath, and it felt like something in my chest was blocking me from inhaling as deeply as I needed to. This led to my inhaling more frequently and increasingly frantic to the point where I was scaring myself. Let’s see, I think about him, and immediately after I try to take a breath, and I can’t.

I think there is already a problem when you find yourself trying to breathe. He had taken my breath away, and not in the poetic first glance, first touch, or first kiss kind of way, but in a “I’m chained to the bottom of a well and water is pouring in from the top” kind of way; an “End of my world” kind of way that scared me. I thought about my life, and I didn’t want to live this way, unable to breathe deeply. It scared me more than the thought of starting over with someone new or being alone. So on an unseasonably warm fall afternoon in upstate New York with leaves crunching beneath my feet as I paced in the parking lot, I made a phone call that began ”Can I come over tonight? I need to talk to you.” The little knots in my stomach started to untie and the slab of concrete in the middle of my chest began to break apart.

These days, I don’t have any breathing trouble at all. I’m much stronger and smarter about who I give my heart to. If I have doubts I give them ample consideration, and if necessary I walk away. It isn’t always easy, but my mind is clearer and I no longer equate mental and spiritual growth with how bad I can make myself feel. I think about that last guy sometimes because he tried to break me down, and I’m higher than I’ve ever been. I live in a better apartment, I make more money, I have a great new guy, and I feel, dare I say, content. Finally, I can breathe easy. My breath is only taken away in the metaphorical, poetic, or lyrical sense.

In My Solitude
Submitted by Dr. Slick (ne J. Nicole Brooks)

BUT IT’S MY VOICE…
Inn-hale
Exx-hale
Inhale
Exhale.
Selah.
Scottsboro 5
Little rock 9
Jena 6
Selah.
Fannie Lou cried I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired
I wonder if she ever thought of herself as being beautiful—
Hmph. That’s makes me wonder.
Did Soujourner ever look thru the lookingglass?
Did Harriet ever soak her feet and splash her body with rose water/neroli oil/or sip chamomile to ease her pain?
How did Corretta keep such lovely skin under such ugly free radicals?
Inn-hale
Exx-hale.
In my solitude I wonder what it’s like to have H Rap take me out for dinner,
To have Fela serenade me
To have Johnny Pacheco watch me roll my hips
To hear Pauls deep melodic voice say
“Gatdamn girl, you fine…”
With Mme. CJ in my hair
Lips red as a fresh fig
Hips aching to make ‘em all think we’re doing wrong.
What it must be to jump jive and wail all night on
Lenox
Amersterdam
Across 110th street
Maybe we could grind the night away at every Sepia Joint there is.
Go have yard bird from Sylvia’s
And rest on Sugar Hill.
Harlem, the world’s most exciting neighborhood.
We all reside there.



Learn more about J. Nicole here in an interview on her new play at Chicago's Looking Glass Theater!

Brown Abbey Aims To Please:

Dear Brown Abbey,

I am a 33 year old attractive female with a modest small business. I have been dating this guy for about six months now. I want to see this relationship go to the next level.…I got a phone call from a woman accusing me of sleeping with her husband. At first I was really offended and confused and I told her I didn't know who her husband was as the name she states is not familiar to me. She continues to yell and scream accusations at me and slams the phone down. When my boyfriend arrives he leans in to kiss me and I ask him, "Are you married?" The look on his face told me the truth way before his lips ever did and I was devastated. How could this be? How and why did this happen to me. I just knew he was the one and yet I was horribly mistaken.

I broke our relationship off that night, but I can't stop thinking about him. Now that the anger has worn off, I miss him terribly. A part of me wants to tell him I don't care about his marriage as long as we can be together but another part of me knows we shouldn't be together because he belongs to her. His constant calling and sending me presents and flowers and love notes is not helping.

Please help. What should I do??

Signed,

Caught in Confusion

_____________________________________________________________________
Dear Caught in Confusion,

First and Foremost I want to applaud you for trusting your instincts! Do you know how hard that can be for a person? So many women would have second guessed themselves and had so much fear of losing him that even though that little voice inside said, "Ask him. Ask him" they would have never said a word. Our intuition is all we have sometimes...continue to listen.

Now I know after the initial shock and anger wears off you begin to miss him. But think of it this way you received that phone call for a reason. You discovered this man was married for a reason. Did it ever occur to you that you deserve better. That you deserve someone who is all yours and totally devoted to you. Someone who loves and respects you enough to be honest and live their life with integrity.

Think about it...the fact that this man lied to you for six whole months says a lot about his character. And although you feel you love him, babygirl, who exactly are you in love with...he wasn't even man enough to tell his real name. He pretended to be someone else and that someone is who you fell in love with and makes the entire relationship a lie, because it was built upon a lie. Is that the type of foundation you want to build your life upon? Of Course not...Be strong and do not fall victim to his pleas, gifts, and love letters. This man is a con and if perhaps you did take him back and if he even left his wife...you would just wind up being her.

Also, PLEASE do not blame yourself for the actions of others, but rather think back to where there may have been signs in the past that maybe you dismissed. We all have a journey and a path we must follow. We may not always understand the meaning of this journey but we are to learn and grow from these experiences. Also, put yourself in her shoes and think about how you would feel and the pain it would cause you if your husband was dating a woman for six months behind your back. Know that you would be apart of this pain being afflicted unto this woman, your sister. You are now accountable, because you are aware of the situation.

Make a list of what you want in a partner and find out early on if this man has them…Be Direct... Ask. Most men won't just volunteer information...you are gonna have to ask. Of course, you may not find EVERYTHING you want in a partner, but he needs to possess what is most important to you. Don't waver...trust and believe that you are deserving of love.

So celebrate, my sister...celebrate that all was revealed before too much was invested (children, money, home, etc) into the relationship. Call up your girlfriends and have a girls night out...Date...do some of the things you used to do before he came along and took up your free time....start that creative endeavor that you have been putting off. (that just may boost up your biz) Remember when one door closes...another one will open. Have faith and believe that there is someone just right for you, and you only!

Love n Light

Brown Abbey
Have something to ask Brown Abbey? Email brwnbettie@yahoo.com.

The Goddess Yemanja': Unwrapped…
by Monique Taylor

When an invitation arrived by post for my friend’s wedding in Rio, I almost couldn’t contain my excitement. I had unsuccessfully been trying to visit Brazil for the past 5 years, but school and a couple of career changes shoved the thought into the doldrums of my mind. Then there it was, in a red envelope, an announcement for the marriage of my Haitian-American friend to the perfect French gentleman. It was a love story that I only partially understood, because the idea of getting swept off my feet was antithetical to my romantic entanglements. They had planed to pledge their commitment in Rio de Janeiro, the place where their love began. The ceremony was scheduled to begin a few days after Christmas, with celebrations continuing through to New Years. For the Brazilians, or Cariocas, as Rio natives are called, New Years is the most sacred festival aside from Mardis Gras. On New Years, hundreds of thousands of people dressed in all white, deluge the beaches to watch fireworks and to take part in the Yoruba tradition of offering gifts to Yemanjá, the sea goddess. In return, Yemanjá grants the faithful their wishes for the upcoming year. With the trip booked 2007 was officially coming to the end, but I was ambivalent about the anticipation of attending a wedding, because of the collapse of my own relationship. For nearly two years I had tried to see a relationship through, imagining it was only a matter of time before he and I would be traveling to some far off destination to get married. But that path to fruition simply trailed off into a thick forest, where both of us got lost. I attempted distractions from my confusion and focused on some of the requirements for the trip: a flat tummy, a firm ass, and a bare crotch. But all the stretching, squatting, crunching, and waxing could not make the lump in my throat go down. That lump, it turns out, was a mixture of angst and insecurity. I wondered if it would be obvious to my friend that although I was happy for her, I was hurting inside – and if she would misinterpret my pain as jealousy.

I flew alone on the 17-hour, two lay over, five movie, flight – a whole row to myself. The moment my restlessness ended and I drifted off to sleep, a stewardess was asking me to return my tray table back to its upright position for landing. Hesitantly, I lifted the shade covering my window, afraid that I had actually made it to Brazil. Being in Brazil would, in so many ways, signify a beginning and a bitter ending. I only had a few hours to get from the airport to the rehearsal dinner, and it would be the first time seeing the bride-to-be in nearly a month. While she was getting fitted for her wedding gown in Paris, I was letting go of the idea of ever finding someone who loved me in the way that she was loved by her fiancé. Finally laying eyes on her, the furthest thing from my mind was grief. Three languages floated around the open terrace restaurant in the hills of Santa Teresa – family and friends from across continents who had all made the pilgrimage to witness the union. She smelled like lilac, but I’ve never known her to wear perfume. It was like her heart poured out a fragrance that wafted through her pores every time she spoke of the day to come.

The afternoon of the wedding, the lump in my throat had come back. I couldn’t quite figure out what to do with my hands, or my feet, or even my words. Every move I made felt overly thought out, like I was saying to my muscles “Monique, be careful to be happy at all times. Be the perfect friend”. The air was thick with the smell of lime from caipirinhas and rose petals scattered along the walkways, a glorious mixture infused by the tropical heat. Guests in white slowly climbed the stairs lined with exotic plants and to the villa where the ceremony was to take place. I joined them, unable to find anything constructive to do while the bride slipped into her red gown. The sun dipped behind the hill just enough so that candles could be lit around the tree stood in place of an alter. This giant eucalyptus that lived longer than any of us, and whose love for the fertile ground was as strong as the bond between the couple that would stand before it and exchange vows. And they did. In a language the whole universe understands. As the new Mrs. turned around to throw her arrangement of roses, I tried to move to the fringes of the pack. Someone less emotionally exhausted than I would appreciate the deeply saturated pink flowers more. But as the bouquet flew through the air I had to stretch out my hands to keep it from hitting me in the face. Later that night, feet swollen from dancing and throat sore from laughing, I figured out what I would offer to the goddess of the sea.

New Years Eve I sat in my room plucking all of the petals off of the gift that had to literally hit me over the head. A present of hope and love fulfilled, and the promise of friendship to guide me through finding the person who would one day would end their search for completion with me. With every snap from the stem, I said a prayer. I prayed that my friend would find eternal happiness in her marriage, that my feelings for the one who I could not have would eventually fade, and that love would find me when my heart was fully unzipped. I held the box that contained my prayer soaked petals tightly in my palms as we boarded the yacht, which was set float just beyond the jetty opening up to the Atlantic to view the fireworks. Smoked filled the air, and while everyone’s attention was on the magnificent lights petals floated from the bow of the vessel. Yemanjá was satisfied.

Momma Said
by Vicki Rogers (my momma)

Stale Mate

Sometimes when you come to the end of a chess game there just isn't any other way to move without putting yourself in jeopardy. You sit staring at the game, wondering how you got into such a position. If you move one way, you lose; if you move another way, you’ll lose. You do nothing. Thus you are involved in a stale mate. You don’t actually lose but you don't actually win either. Life with a comfortable partner can be like the end of every interesting chess game that ends in stale mate.

When you can see how your comfy couch has become the chess board and you and your partner slide from one cushion to the next over and over again for the best position to watch yet another TNT presentation of “Bourne Identity”…

When you can see how your verbal communication about where to eat dinner turns to simple grunts or eventually telepathic strategic meanderings…

When you can see that you can pick this game up in six weeks from now and nothing has changed…That's when you know you have a "STALE MATE".

I remember growing up we had a tin bread box in a corner of the kitchen that was used for just one purpose, storing stale bread throughout the year. This bread would be used to stuff the turkey for Thanksgiving. The ends or heels of a loaf of bread would be put into this box to shrink and shrivel while they dried out and waited for rebirth after being seasoned and crammed into the private cavity of our holiday bird.

Somehow, when I come home to my comfortable partner after a hard days work and I’m greeted by my mate in a pair of his stale-looking, saggy, white, "day old" underwear, it makes me think of those wrinkled pieces of dried up bread. I skipped the dressing this past holiday season. Instead, I sat on the couch and wondered why I kept sitting next to my stale mate.