KWANZAA DAY ONE: Eat All Your UMOJA....

We still don't believe you Kwanzaa. You need more people.

OK Everyone! It's day one...ready?

Umoja (Unity): To strive for and to maintain unity in the family, community, nation, and race.


"Well... you know Snuffy, if you've got to go, you gotta go. And hey. You've had a good life."

(...Ladies and Gentlemen, my mother.)

" I mean, you've done everything you wanted to do, so if you kick the bucket tomorrow, " she said, "...it's fine."

This is just one of the gems she dropped during our hour and a half conversation today. And she said this as if we were talking about my not getting approved for a car loan and not about the potential demise of her middle child.

To be more specific, we were talking about my heart condition, which, when first diagnosed was called "pretty minor". Now, a year and a half later, the word "reoccurring" had turned it into something else. Something not quite "serious", but still a condition that makes my cardiologist frown and ask me questions I've answered a bazillion times already.


 But that's not what's concerning me here. What concerns me the most is (sigh...) well... it's the fifteen pounds I gained as a result.

There. I said it. And yes, I know that sounds kinda vain. I'm aware.

One must keep up appearances...

Sure, my mother can talk about my potential death. Whatever.  I'm used to her. What I'm NOT used to is jumping into my GAP corduroy pants, praying the zipper makes it all the way up and just when I can just taste SUCCESS ...I walk and the sound of cords rubbing together embarrassing the shit out of me. Sounding like "DJ Too Fat For These Pants" on the ones and twos. Not to mention that muffin top.

My friends are kind. They don't say shitty things like...

"Wow. You got fat!"

No. They say other shitty things like...

"Wow. Remember what your body looked like when we went to Brazil? Everybody thought you were an athlete! And your ABS. Ugh... a full six pack!"

All with a tone that says, "Oh well kid. You had a good run. You can be fat now."


Hear this enough and despite the obvious pain in your chest, you pay more attention to the small belly, wobbly arms and outgrown bras (actually, that's a perk) and you now begin to think of doing dumb shit. Really dumb shit.


Like working out twice a day to get the weight off.

See, my problem isn't that I don't like working out. I love it. And as a result, I tend to be as lax on my diet as I want. (When you hit the gym as hard I do, you can afford that slice of pie.) However, this wasn't my old body I was dealing with. And I refused to accept that.

CUE TRAINING SEQUENCE.

Oh, I worked my ass off. (Literally.)

And this was perfectly OK for about a two weeks. I drank water. Did yoga every morning and spin every afternoon. The weight was coming off and I felt GREAT....until I didn't.

All of a sudden, my heart said, "Yeah. You're going to stop working out now. As a matter of fact. You're going to stop doing everything now. Walking. Talking in long, continuous sentences. All of it. You're going to stop. Unless I will." It went straight Nino Brown on me.

And so I did.

And the weight came back with a vengeance. (Gee...thanks meds!)  And as soon as I was feeling better, I jumped on the scale. I'd gained four more pounds.

Shit.

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My whole family is dangerously overweight.

No, that's not true. My mother is small and petite, but I attribute this to her not having any teeth so she eats way slower than the rest of us, gets full faster, puts the damn fork down. Plus, she's been smoking since there were cigarette ads on television, so there's that. But aside from her,  and the few younger cousins that play sports, let's just say my family isn't doing well.

I noticed this yesterday, during our annual Christmas celebration. Everyone looked like they were about to hop on the Diabetes Express, and yet, when it was time to eat, the menu was all soul food.

BBQ Chicken
Ribs
Macaroni & Cheese
Collard Greens
Candied Yams


....you get the idea.


And unlike people I know with amazing bodies, there was no hesitation when it came to piling heaps of food on their plates. ZERO. Folks headed up to the buffet with GLEE I tell you.

It's Dinner Time!!

And later, when I handed out gift cards to "Starbucks" instead of "McDonald's" this year, the disappointment was audible and widespread.

"What's up Cuzzo?, " My favorite cousin asked.  "No more McDonald's gift cards? STARBUCKS? What happened? I'm not black no more?"

Yeah. You read that right.  Please feel free to hit your wall slide right now.

"No. I'm trying to save you from trans-fat. Drink some damn Green Tea or something!" It was the truth wrapped up nicely, in a joke.

And my first instinct was to tell him he was dangerously overweight, and that, combined with his other really unhealthy habits were going to end him.  Soon.

But I didn't. Who was I to talk? Who was I to start ringing the health alarm? Besides, food... more specifically, SOUL FOOD is what unites us. It's what brings us together.

What's a black family get together without a few things on the plate that require hot sauce?

Something had to be done....right now.

Getting my family to watch "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" wasn't going to happen. They wouldn't be watching that, "Fast Food Nation", "Forks Over Knives" or anything else that was going to unite us and convince them to giving up tasty fried things.

So then...what what would? How in the hell am I supposed to "Umoja"?

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"Yeah Snuffy, when I saw you on "The Chew" that time, I said, oh my goodness! You look humongous! You look like Oprah! I didn't even recognize you!"

"Gee...thanks Mom."

"I mean, like umm...hey. I know you're not THAT big regularly, but WOW. You looked really..."

"I got it Ma... I'm fat." I groaned.  "What's for dinner?"

I know, probably the wrong question for a woman who's been called fat by her Mom, but I figured if I get her talking about cooking, she'll stop talking about the way my ass looked in those hot pink sparkly tights.

...On national television.

...In front of millions of people.

"Oh I just made some turkey wings and flavored them with smoked turkey. You know I don't use pork anymore? Or hardly any oil. I don't fry nothing now. Had to cut down on the salt and sugar too since Pop's diabetes still isn't right."

("POP" aka "StepDad": On meds. Blind in one eye. "Got The Sugar" and "Arthur"-ritis.  All conditions brought to you by a lifetime of pork, fat and booze. Not necessarily in that order.) 

"Really?" I asked, genuinely impressed.

"Yeah...you see...I went on Google and found some things that said I could..."

And she went on to explain how she changed every recipe I grew up with into a healthy one.
And cousin, that's a LOT of change.

That's when it clicked! First of all... I'd already knew how to do the same damn thing. And second, I needed to stop asking for permission to help my family get healthy. Stop asking someone else to change. I just needed to DO IT. I needed to BE the change.

Loving you is like food to my soul...

Exactly two years ago, I challenged myself to cook a healthy soul food dinner. As a matter of fact, I challenged myself right after Christmas. I vowed to only use organic ingredients and if I had to fry, it would ONLY be in a "good fat". And so, I scoured the Internet and found the best recipes I could for my favorites...and with minimal effort, I did it.

• Skinless "Fried" Chicken (Double dipped in batter to give it a "skin" taste.) 
• Low Fat Mac & Cheese (Used whole wheat elbows, low or skim cheese and milk) 
• Crispy Candy Yams (Baked Sweet Potatoes, sprayed with olive oil ...in the oven till crispy and sprinkled with confectioner's sugar or drizzled with Agave.) 
• Sauteed Kale  (don't forget the hot sauce) 

And it was DELISH. Now...if I can do it, then maybe, I can unite the family and get them to do the same. 

Maybe, I could get them to start thinking of their diets a bit differently by not telling them what to do, but by just doing it myself.  And maybe those documentaries were the wrong ones to watch.  Maybe, I gift them "Soul Food Junkies" . Something they can relate to. 

Beginning today, I began my journey as a pescetarian. Not for weight reasons, but for health. Now, I know damn well they're not doing that, BUT... if next Christmas I say, "Sorry, I only eat veggies and fish. You don't have to make more, I'll bring it." AND if I walk in the door with a big ol' tin of shrimp and crab salad and a tray full of grilled salmon with rosemary sauce, well...who gonna check me Boo? 

And if I make it well enough, which I will (culinary school STAND UP!) perhaps I'll change a few minds. Shake up some menus. Save some lives. 

I might get them thinking about a different approach to the black diet altogether. Ayo. I think I just "Ujoma"'d in advance. Excuse me while I roll in it...

See the sweet potato pie at the top? HOLLA!

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"I think you're beautiful." He said.

"Yeah, but you didn't see what my body looked like before..." I said. "I was cut up. I had a six pack and not..." I grabbed my new belly and playfully shook it "...This."

"Babe. You are beautiful and you look amazing. And you're sick. You're taking heart medication. You have to rest and when you're better... you can get back to working out. But for right now... this is what I care about."

He put his hand on my chest.

"My tits?" I joked.

"Yeah. They're bigger. Way to go."

We both laughed.

And then later, while I was cleaning kitchen and trying to stay away from the pita chips, this came on iTunes.... and the man swooped me up and slow danced with me.


Umoja'd like a muthafucker.


OK Kwanzaa...what's next?

Kujichagulia (Self-Determination): To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves, and speak for ourselves.

Wow. OK. 

-Nyree