I Can't See You

I had a heated discussion with a good friend of mine who was expressing her deep frustration about not being able to find a quality loctician* in New Orleans. My definition of a good stylist is one who is precise, professional, attentive, reasonably priced and respectful of my time. Frankly, these ‘good stylists’ are hard to come by for reasons my friend and I tried to get to the bottom of.

Good stylists are Virtually Invisible.

The ‘heat’ in the discussion came about when I rationalized the lack of online visibility of some business owners. 1.) Some business owners can’t afford it. 2.) Some don’t know any better. 3.) Some can’t handle the extra business that an online presence might bring. 4.) Some just don't have the time to even think about it.**

My friend said something like, “But still, there is no excuse for this!!” Doing a Google search, she had to go through somebody that knew somebody that kind of knew somebody else just to get a few dead end responses on her quest to find someone who could cut, color, twist and style her dreadlocks while her regular loctician is on maternity leave.

I had to do some investigation of my own. I rave about my stylist Deedie. (She gets me right.) However, the only proof that I have of her work is my own hair. I did a search for her and her salon online and found nothing. How did I find out about her in the first place? You guessed it: Word of Mouth.

These days, word of mouth should not be a business owner’s only source of advertising. The truth of the matter is that these days, everybody wants to see what you have to offer before they put their hair in your care. We want to see pictures of past work. We, at the least, want to be able to find you in a Google or Facebook search!

My friend's (and now my) issue is not just about not being able to find a stylist. Her delimma cracked the surface of a more deeply rooted problem. When it comes to Black owned businesses (in general), we tend to overlook certain necessary investments because we don’t see the value in them off hand. We rely on antiquated tactics such as word of mouth, flyers and business cards because they are practical and cheap inexpensive. I’m not knocking any of these marketing tools because they still work. However, there are so many ‘free’ online resources that can be utilized to increase the virtual visibility of small Black-owned businesses.

There are ways of getting around paying web hosting fees. Google allows people to build their own website FOR FREE. Most people use Facebook for personal reasons but it can be used for business reasons as well (and it’s FREE).

They say that word of mouth is the best advertising. Well, people don’t talk so much anymore—they text. They check your Facebook. They look for you on Twitter. They browse recommended websites. If you own a business and you want to ‘make this money’ but you’re virtually invisible, you may soon find yourself only maintaining and not growing your business. There’s another saying that goes, “Anything that's not growing is dead.” Let's do better, people.

*A loctician is one who specializes in the care of dreadlocks.

**If you need a marketing consultant, I know some people. And, they have websites. And Twitter accounts. And LinkedIn Profiles.

The Aftermath

My life has been divided into two periods, B.K. & A.K.

Before Katrina and After Katrina.


When I moved to Georgia, I didn’t know that I had actually moved. Living in New Orleans the threat of hurricanes comes with the territory. My family had only evacuated once that I can remember. And that time we came home only to find a few small trees and branches that needed to be picked up around our house, which was otherwise untouched.

This time was different. The ‘big one’ that everybody warned about had finally come. The most costly storm to hit the gulf coast since 1965, hurricane Katrina was the Billion Dollar Betsy of my lifetime. The news reports said that we couldn’t return home. They didn’t say we should not but that we could not. It would be weeks, maybe months before we would be cleared to return. And just like that, I was homeless. I was sheltered in a hotel in Albany, GA but homeless.

In the days that followed, I saw family members break down one by one. I also saw a side of some that I have had a hard time forgiving and forgetting. That storm really did bring out the worst in some people. Even through witnessing the tears and tantrums, I was OK. I guess it hadn’t quite hit me the way it did them. Not yet at least.

Until I took up classes at Albany State University. Having already spent five and a half years as an undergraduate student at the University of New Orleans, the fall semester of 2005 was supposed to be my last. Instead, it served a dual purpose. That fall semester was my first and last. It was a beginning and an end. Before the storm, class had only been in session for about three weeks in New Orleans. The books I purchased, the teachers I had just started getting accustomed to, the class mates I planned to study with. They were there one moment and just like that, they were gone. Well, the books weren’t gone. When we evacuated, I took them with me so that I could study. I still have them and I think I still owe the school for those books.

My first day at ASU, I looked around at all the people on the campus of this Historically Black University and felt different. Wearing a capped sleeved orange cotton shirt with dark blue jeans and flip flops, I looked at the students around me—young men wearing shirts and ties with slacks and hard bottom shoes and the ladies wearing three and four inch heels just to go from class to class. I sat down on a bench between classes, wearing those clothes that someone had kindly donated to me. This school was nothing like UNO where I had spent the last five years of my life. There were active Black fraternities and sororities. This school actually had a football team! And I was not home anymore.

They say that home is where the heart is. In that moment, I realized that my heart was broken… just like my home. I sat on that bench and cried because it wasn’t until then that I realized my home (and my heart) would not be mended for a while.

5 years later, it’s getting there. It is evident that the healing process has begun but there is still a long way to go. The hurt, the anger, the sadness… It’s still there and sometimes feels just as fresh as it did the day I sat on that bench.

Silly me. I thought that September 11 would be ‘that experience’ that I lived through and would tell my children about. Now I have two… Well, three. We do have a Black President.

Please Don't Make Me Say It

Please Don’t Make Me Say It

Once upon a time, I met a guy. To this day, I still don’t know how I missed something very important. Maybe it was the angle I saw him from, as he was taller than I am. Maybe I just didn’t pay close enough attention.

Our previous encounters were mostly group situations. After exchanging numbers and talking on the phone for a few days we had our first date. We met at the movie theatre but went our separate ways afterwards so we didn’t really have any one-on-one face time. It wasn’t until our second date, when we went to lunch, that I discovered his bottom teeth were rotten. When I say rotten, I mean rotten from tooth to gum. How did I miss that? I distinctly remember thinking as I watched him put a fork full of ravioli into his mouth, “What is that? It looks like there’s a Tootsie roll wedged in between his teeth.”

We finished eating and hung out for a while at his house and I acted as if nothing was wrong. Of course as soon as I got into my car to go home, I called one of my girls to tell her about what I found. Her first question was the same as everyone else’s that I told thereafter, “What do you mean by rotten?” After I proceeded to give her my ‘tootsie roll’ analogy she asked me what I was going to do.

The part that makes me gag just thinking about it is the fact that before I realized he had a ‘situation’ I let him kiss me. Mind you it was just a closed peck on the lips but still. I called my dentist’s office and asked if his stank mouth germs could harm me and the tech said emphatically, “YES!” So, I was faced with a dilemma. It wasn’t a matter of if I would say something but more so how I was going to say it because I had to say something.

During our next few phone conversations I listened for opportunities to bring it up. He told me I had soft lips and that he couldn’t wait to kiss me again. (Gag!) Of course I never reciprocated any interest in kissing him again. I didn’t want to seem shallow so I accepted his invitation to go over to his house and watch a movie.

Just before he hit play on the DVD player, I told him that I wanted to ask him something but I didn’t want to offend him. He, being the sweetheart he was, said, “Ask away.” Here’s how the conversation went:

Me (gesturing, but pointing at my bottom row of teeth): What’s that?
Him: What’s what?
Me: In your bottom teeth. What’s going on with that?
Him: Oh, that’s nothing. I just haven’t had them cleaned in a while.
Me: Oh. Well do you have a dentist out here?
Him: Nah, I haven’t found one yet.
Me: Do you have dental insurance?
Him: Yeah, I do.
Me: Well my dentist is great! I can give you his information if you’d like. I know how hard it is to find someone you can trust.
Him: Oh OK. That’s what’s up. Nah, you didn’t offend me.

Then we proceeded to watch the movie. We sat close. Not only did his breath stink but he kept drinking fruit punch which made it worse. I could sense that he was just itching to put the moves on me so, I ‘fell asleep’. My bad, I had a long day.

Over the next few weeks I became extremely ‘busy’ with ‘work stuff’, and conveniently, so did he. (Thank you Jesus!) I was hoping that the space would get me off the hook so that I didn't have to let the poor guy down. It didn't. Dude started calling and texting me more frequently like he did in the beginning, only I had lost interest. My attraction for him was left right there on the table at California Pizza Kitchen on that Sunday afternoon of our second date. I dropped hints by not immediately returning calls & texts if at all and I never responded reciprocally to his 'I miss you's. He didn’t catch on.

So, one day in response to him saying (via text message) that he would like us to start hanging out again I told him that I wasn’t interested in hanging out with him like that anymore. Then he asked the question that DID NOT want to have to answer, “Why not?” Please don’t make me say it.

The issues he had going on don’t just happen overnight. Apparently somebody looked passed it. After all, he said he has had girlfriends in the past. I met his friends and they seemed like a pretty tight group. Hmmm… Why haven’t they said anything?

Anyway, I took the passive route and said that we could still be friends. He bowed out gracefully but a few days later he took to Facebook with his frustration. (Don’t you hate when people allude to certain things in their Facebook statuses and you just know they’re talking about you?)

Oh well. Another one bites the dust. If he doesn’t get his issue straight, that’s all he’ll be able to bite in a minute.