Nia (NEE-ah): Purpose
To restore African American people to their traditional greatness. To be responsible to Those Who Came Before (our ancestors) and to Those Who Will Follow (our descendants).
I mean...what in the hell am I supposed to DO for this? What does that mean..."restore African American people to their traditional greatness"? In what context?
This is sorta like that part in (insert any movie here) where the ghost/spirit/mystical figure says some cryptic shit like, well... "Restore African American people to their traditional greatness"...and when (insert bankable Hollywood star here) yells in frustration..."What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?!” the figure fades into nothing, leaving our star standing there looking stupid.
It's usually at this time in the movie when the phone rings...moving the story forward.
In my case, it was a text from my friend "A". He volunteers monthly with "The Momentum Project", one of New York City's largest organizations providing support and service to those living with HIV/AIDS. (Yeah, A's a unicorn ladies. My best friend and I plot weekly to knock off his mean-as-hell girlfriend. Pinky and The Brain style.)
He asks if I want to help hand out bags at a food pantry later on and BAM! There's my Nia! It's gotta be, right? I mean, why else would I get this offer out of the clear blue? You damn right I want to help A! 5pm? No problem!
But first things first. I have to do laundry. HAVE to. I mean, it's DefCon-5 type of laundry. The kind of build up when you're down to assorted items you wouldn't be caught dead in.
Case in point: "Special" thongs that are only meant to be worn for an hour, stretched out brown bra with a massive tear on the side, ill fitting expensive jeans I hate, but won't toss because I'll need to wear them the next time this happens and a Big Bird colored yellow sweater. No socks.
That kind of build up.
I have four bags, but I'm not going into "how did this happen." Let's just say, this task lasts for hours. I mean, FOUR HOURS. But that's cool. I've got my Nia covered. No need to panic.
So I take my time devouring my chick-lit novel, folding fitted sheets that eventually will end up in a frustrated ball no matter how easy Martha Steward says it is, and rediscovering my wardrobe. (Oh snap. I forgot I HAD this!)
Suddenly...it's 4pm. I've got one hour to be at the church and I've got four bags to get home. I'm starving and I look like shit. Ehh. Do I really feel like going? Can't I just skip this one?
As I text this as an excuse to A, I instantly began to feel like a jerk. Let's break down why.
I'm supposed to be helping the homeless with HIV/AIDS and I can't because my problem is...
I've got four bags of CLEAN clothes I've got to take HOME. I'm HUNGRY so I have to go HOME and EAT and I LOOK like shit.
Sigh...but if I don't, I have this sinking feeling I'm not going to fulfill my Nia. I look up the meaning again.
"To restore African American people to their traditional greatness. To be responsible to Those Who Came Before (our ancestors) and to Those Who Will Follow (our descendants)."
To be responsible. Hmm.
A texts back: Don't worry about it. It's over by 7pm anyway.
Whoa. I'm responsible for getting my ass to that church. I'm responsible for helping these people out...hustle Nye. Hustle.
I get home, wash down some chicken with a glass of apple cider, change clothes (Come on. You gottta give me that. What if I got in an accident? How would I explain purple thongs and a raggedy bra?), and I'm out the door.
............
A and I are in the main church. It's dark. It's quiet. We're alone.
We've just handed out countless bags of food and are both feeling pretty good about ourselves, so we snuck inside to reflect on our good deeds. I contemplate telling him why I accepted his offer. He's been getting on me every year about celebrating Kwanzaa and I know he'd be overjoyed, however, I've decide to keep this from him till I'm done. I don't know why.
"This place looks really modern." I whisper, marveling at the recessed lighting over the pews. "It's odd to see Catholicism look so...I dunno, new. "
"Yeah. I go to service here sometimes. I took my communion here." he says. And we both get quiet again. Not uncomfortable. Just...content.
Don't worry guys. I fully realize I'm fresh off of a chick-lit novel and this would definitely be a scene in a real life one...if we had any inkling of anything other than friendship towards each other. We don't. Operation "Boot the Bitch" is strictly to get him with my best friend, but that's another note altogether.
"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I belt out to test the acoustics. He laughs.
Satisfied with the sound, I sing a scale.
"SNOOOW...UP....TOOO...MY...KNEEEEEES...."
We let the end of "KEEEEESS..." reverb a bit, and after a while, leave the church in peace.
We chat about various things, I politely ask about his own personal Devil Wearing Prada. She's fine. He plans on cooking her dinner for the New Year and chillin. All he asks is that she picks up the wine. Sounds fair, but we both know Selfish: The Raging Bitchzilla won't do it. He teases me about my love life and vows to get me married to one of his straggling frat brothers by 2010.
"You first." I smirk. He quickly changes the subject as I knew he would. The thought of spending a catholic eternity with Little Miss Drama-pants is just too much to digest during the holiday season. I mention my best friend's name for no reason at all. Just to see if he still lights up when I do. He does. Great. Just checking.
"Would you mind meeting up with my sister? I just have to give her something for my Dad."
Why not?
His sister is just adorable. Twenty years old, cute, with a college social life in full swing. She's just as joyful and positive as he is. She's the kind of giggling ball of happiness that's instantly contagious. She makes you want to hug her for no reason at all. I can't stop smiling at her, and silently hope she never falls in love with the wrong guy.
Big brother gives her something important to take to their father, compliments her, dotes on her, lets her know she's loved and protected. It's a beautiful thing to watch and I realize that dude just Nia'd right in front of me. He took care of his baby sister and his father in one shot. What really blows me away is... he wasn't even trying.
We send her on her way and head to Trader Joes on 14th for some Proseco and appetizers (Champagne is for Mimosas the next day we've long ago declared). We share a train uptown and part ways, wishing the other a great New Years and I thank him for just being awesome.
Then I call my best friend (...and I plant A's name... for no reason at all. ; )
Then I call my own sister and tell her I love her. And wish her a happy 40th (FUCKING OUCH!) birthday.
Then I open a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and watch Gladiator. (ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?)
I'm hoping the cheap Chardonnay will help me to forget that I didn't really Nia today.
I watched on the sidelines as somebody else Nia'd the shit out of today.
I was a Nia sidekick. I half Nia'd.
Damn. I Sommore'd.
(But if you squint and finish the rest of this bottle, it'll look a LOT like Nia.)
OK Kwanzaa. You've got to give me a break. What's next?
Kuumba (Creativity)
To do always as much as we can, in the way we can, in order to leave our community more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited it.
Ok...
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