Soul Sacrifice: One Story of Many

Contents

Dedications

Foreword

The Beginning of the End

Flash back

The Promised Land

The Spark

Making Moves

The Young Mind

The Next Step

Moving In

Leaving Brooklyn

Blast from the past

New Chapter

Busted and Disgusted

Going Back to Brooklyn

Back on Bushwick Ave.

Family Life

Strange Things

Sexual Questions

Sofia

Blind realization

Seeing the Man

Dreams

The Move Upstate

On the road again . . .

Reflecting

About the Author

Dedications

To my soul sisters and brothers who sought to be nourished in spirit, and then led astray; who know there is more to life than what the eye and conscious-mind can perceive: Keep searching, keep learning, keep growing. Take from life all that it has to offer-with no apologies; and give of your selves whenever possible to whomever should be in need of you. Make each day an opportunity to seek within yourselves, the best of yourselves.. All the while loving ALL of yourselves . . . To Thine Own Self Be True . . . To the children: As long as there be breath in your lungs . . . Live life like you are the most precious of things to behold. Treat all those around you like you want to be treated. Live in truth and without shame and most of all . . . love yourselves—completely.

Foreword

I’ve been told that Nuwabians will think a person who speaks of Malachi York in a negative way is a devil. I say: Someone who makes the choice to violate a child, or allow someone to violate your child is akin to being a devil. I say: That’s just my response to those who could think that telling the truth is a wicked thing?!? Maybe I’ll be considered a traitor to my race for making this a ‘public matter’. Maybe I’ll even get death-threats . . . Who knows. My greatest expectation is that somehow my words will reach the ears of who ever should need to hear them. I wrote this for my sanity and I wrote for those who chose not to. There are so many souls trying so hard to move on and put what I’m about to tell you behind them. This story is a story that needed to be told, and it’s just ONE story of many . . . my experience can’t hold a match in comparison to some, yet I’m telling mine with the hopes that more victims will tell theirs. I’m not concerned with any backlash this book may bring to me from those who choose to be in denial, because I’m telling no lies; just my experience.

I’m grateful to my Creator and the Ancestors for my life, and that I can still live it with a functional mind and enjoy the people I love. I’m striving to activate the Divine within, that connects us with one another in love . . . I pray that we all recognize this one day. To my grand-parents Melvin & Katherine, Glenroy & Inez: without you-I would not be . . . my Mother; thank you for sparking my interest in reading, being my she-ro and best friend . . . to my Aunts and my cousins.. Thank you for keeping me in my right mind and giving me love and laughs! Dad, and all of my Uncles: The intellectual, social and spiritual conversations we always had, have been the foundation that I stand on. To my Brother, thank you for being there for me when I had no other man to turn to: you are the best brother a sister could ever have! To my husband . . . thank you for loving me with that unconditional love I need . . . it’s me and you my love. Aunt B., thank you for showing me to believe in myself as a writer. To Mr. Murdock—thank you for teaching me the beauty of reading . . . W.H., thank you for pushing me to finish this labor of love. You enriched my mind-giving me a gift that keeps on giving.. Supreme Understanding, author/writer extraordinaire; thank you for pointing me in the right direction and for assisting me with formatting my book. I haven’t forgotten that . . . Ron Baker of Solid Image Photography (and family) in MD.; thank you for being an encouraging force in my life and sharing the special moments of your life with me. I am grateful to continue to learn from and experience the people that pass thru my life and walk by my side—whether it be for a reason or a season . . . And to the ‘sisters’, ‘brothers’ who know all too well what this story is about . . . I love all of you!! I write this for me and for you! I write this so that we can start to heal. To the ‘children’: Know that even if some of you didn’t or thought you didn’t have someone to stand by you, I am. This story is something the world should know and the things that happened to you—should have never happened . . . It’s something that should never happen to ANY child. Children are supposed to be loved, guided, protected, nurtured, and encouraged; not preyed upon . . .

As the cliche goes: Hindsight is 20/20. George Benson sang about it, and it was a hit, cause can’t nobody deny it. I used to hear the adults in my childhood say it, heard it on TV as a teenager and throughout my life. It never meant too much to me, but it always sounded deep. I think my mother was having a party or something and some of her friends were over and I remember asking.. Hey what’s Hindsight is twenty-twenty vision? After laughing and looking at me funny, she said . . . Well baby, that’s when you see something after the fact, and you get mad because you wish you saw it before. I knew the meaning after that—after she broke it down; but it wasn’t until my life got filled with experiences that I really and truly had my mind wrapped around the concept. It’s one of those things you say once you’ve experienced a moment that’s affected you profoundly enough that you can re-play your actions as if they were recorded: freeze-framing the various moments here and there . . . and are able to point out exactly what you should have—(not could have) done differently . . . That’s been my entire life. Maybe it’s everyone’s lives . . .

How is it possible to live your life and continuously have moments that make you wish you saw clearer than what you end up eventually seeing!?! I know there’s a reason for the decisions I made in my life: the key is to be strong enough to learn and grow from all of those decisions.

With all that being said; is hindsight truly 20/20 vision? We’ll never be able to go back to see; and perhaps it’s precisely that way by design. It’s probably by design that we can’t go back to see if some other decision or choice would have really led us to arrive at a different point.

Maybe something worse could’ve happened if we were able to turn the clock back: would we be then who we have now become to be wise enough at that time to make a different decision? Possibly, but I doubt it. I think the idea is that we experience the horrifying effects of our mistakes so that we’ll hopefully become wiser. So hey; here we are . . . In the present-tense. The best we can do is to learn from the past, and most importantly, try not to repeat the mistakes, and keep rising. Don’t let the mistakes become an anchor in the middle of an ocean attached to a chain around your ankles.

I’ve recently started to internalize this but I still have days when all the mistakes I’ve made come crashing to the forefront and I lose hope in ever recovering. Fear starts to creep in and take a hold of my every thought, and then—the critics (who of course mean well) suddenly feel the need to tell you where they feel you went wrong, and what you need to be doing with your life. And of course you need to realize that it’s all out of love that your loved—ones continue to remind you that your decision-making hasn’t been what it should’ve been, and then that reminds you that maybe these new decisions you’re making won’t pan out well either . . . but—you GOT to ‘keep it movin’, or you’ll drown, and sink just like that anchor I was talking about earlier.

You have to continue tapping into the Divine: always. It’s the only way you will become who you’re supposed to be.

Keep praying . . . always keep praying my Grandmother told me. She’s a Christian woman and as I write this, she’s just seen her 94th year on this Earth. I’m not Christian, but what my Grandmother said comes from a place of wisdom.

I’m not religious because I know who God is . . . I’ve come to know that God is within and without. If you continue to look within, you will never be without. God is always the only constant amidst a plethora of intangibles, uncertainty, and change. I’ve been shown this truth in different forms, time and time again through mere thoughts being answered . . . through looking inward; through my prayers . . . when simply a thought I had was answered! I continue to see just what the meaning of closer than your jugular vein means.

If The Divine is closer to us than our jugular vein—that means that The Divine is intrinsically a part of us. It means that God is why we are and all we are. We can shut ourselves down and even allow others to shut us down, or we can shine and allow others to add to our light. The key point to all this is that ‘we allow’ all things through the decisions we make and it’s important to utilize our intellect wisely.

It’s important that we utilize our will power. More importantly, we need to utilize our will in a positive manner and not in a negative manner, because we have the POWER to do so. Do you notice that nothing stops your thoughts? Nothing stops you from thinking. You have the free and clear space in your mind to think about whatever you choose to think about. Nothing stops you. It’s the private space in your world.

Maybe you’ve heard the saying, what the mind conceives you can achieve. This is a fundamental truth. See no obstacles and all things you think of, can be done. It’s simple, yet if we allow negativity to infiltrate our minds, it’ll interrupt our thought process.

That negative word was first a negative thought, and it could manifest itself in a person’s expression, a look in their eyes, or in a person’s reluctance to support what you’re doing. It could come in the form of someone simply not wanting to hear what you have to say. At any rate, YOU have to stand firm on your positive thoughts. On what you know is true. Truth can in no form be the wrong thing to say or the wrong way to live by. I can’t continue to walk this life unaware of myself, ignoring the Divine within me. I’m still standing. I am continuing to ‘pray’—’meditate’ so that The Divine within can continue to get me through the rough spots in life. I am acknowledging that it is only by Divine Grace and Mercy that I am still here, living, healthy and able. I thank God for the smooth spots, and the rough ones. I thank God for having blessed me with the breath of life each moment to experience both the Divine within me and within others. Like Frankie Beverly of Maze says, joy and pain, are like sunshine and rain; every living thing under the sun needs it to survive and grow. All of us are special. We are beautiful and rare. We are Divine.

The Beginning of the End

Phone ringing . . . Hello? Val? Ma? . . . sneakers screeching against the gym floor . . . whistles being blown by coaches warming up their basketball teams . . . yelling echoing in the background . . .

Where are you? Are you sitting down? I’m at the gym with Steve Ma! Having to yell a little . . . Well sit down . . . are you sitting down yet? Yeah Ma! What’s going on?!? but I was still standing in the bleachers looking for a good place to sit . . . Ok, well Winston was in Georgia and while he was in Georgia he picked up a paper and saw that Dr. York was locked up and charged for child sexual abuse !

The news makes me literally sit down right where I was standing . . . yet, I wasn’t surprised about the charges . . . just surprised he got locked up for them . . . Whaaaaaat? I said (the news did make my legs weak) as I flopped onto one of the bleachers . . . as I soaked in the news about my ex-husband . . . while my current husband looked over at me to see if I was ok. I signaled to him that I was ok, but he saw the look on my face and noticed my demeanor changed and started walking over to me. Ma, does Winston still have the paper that the article was in? What’s the name of the reporter that covered the story? Yes he has the paper, I told him to save it for you . . . Are you ok? Yeah ma, I’m ok . . . I’m just shocked . . . wow . . . well I’m in Herndon with Steve right now and I’ll call you when I get outta here. Ok honey . . . Talk to you later Ok ma, love you. Love you too honey . . . bye. Bye. What happened Val? What’s going on? my husband waited impatiently to ask. Yo . . . Steve . . . . I was halfway staring off into the distance at nothing as I told my husband . . .

My mother just told me that Dr. York got arrested for child sexual abuse! She said Winston was in Georgia and saw it in one of the papers! Damn! he said Damn! So now what? I don’t know! I gotta find out who the reporter was and what paper it’s in so I can look it up online. You ok? Yeah I’m good . . . I wonder what’s happening to everybody there? . . . I have to see if I can find out where my friends are . . . my ex-co-wives and their kids . . . they must be out there losing it! We’ll find out . . . let me get out here and start this game.. Ok I just sat there in a daze, anxiously waiting till we got home so I could get on the computer and get the rest of this story. My mind started drifting back to a memory of something I’d tried to forget since I’d left Georgia. Six years passed already?

Flash back

It was a sunny fall afternoon in Eatonton, GA, and I was just about done with cleaning the house when I heard the front door fly open and little feet scrambling around downstairs. A few people were shuffling around the house and as I listened closer I heard a little voice screaming in Arabic over and over again; qadibu baba kanna fiy fam-mie! qadibu baba kanna fiy fam-mie! This little voice and the little feet carrying this little person were coming upstairs to where I was. No-one else in the house understood what was coming out of this child’s mouth except for me; and the other little person running up the stairs (at least that was what I was hoping). I instantly froze because in translation—I was hearing this little 8yr. old girl scream out that the equivalent to what was her step-father had just had his penis in her mouth.

It all happened in slow motion . . . I turned around to look at the steps to see which one of my ‘babies’ was coming to look for me. It was Luwra. Little Luwra had cocoa brown skin with toffee brown eyes that contrasted with her skin the way you bite into a truffle and notice the subtle layers of chocolate contrasting one another . . . her dark brown curly hair cascaded down her back; she was a baby-doll.

The look I saw on her 8 yr old face that day; I’d never seen before. Her cocoa-brown face was red and tear-drenched . . . her big toffee-brown eyes were darting from side to side so fast that I don’t even know how she found her way to me. She was hyper-ventilating and gagging and I had to first try to calm her down, and take her somewhere to find out what happened to her.

Luwra’s sister—another one of my co-wives daughters, Mela was horrified and tried desperately to protect her Baba (her father) by denying what Luwra wanted everyone in ear-shot to hear. I was hoping that I was hearing wrong. How could this be true?!?! I spoke to her as calmly as I could and took Luwra and Mela to one of the bedrooms downstairs where we’d have some privacy, and I told Luwra to lay down.

Even though it was the middle of the day; I tucked her into bed, sat beside her and asked her to tell me what happened. She was staring past me as she took a deep breath and started to talk. In between muffled sobs, she turned her tear-stained little face to me and told me that she and Mela were playing and Baba (who was my husband and their mother’s husband as well) wanted them to come to see him in his trailer.

His trailer was where he stayed while he was having his main house built. Then she told me that it was there that Baba told her to put his penis in her mouth. I turned to Mela to ask her if anything happened to her, and she fearfully and silently stood in the doorway just shaking her head from side to side; denying that anything had been done to her, but I had serious doubts.

Luwra, idhaa hadatha ayyu-shayin mara’thaaniy; ikhbira niy (translated: if anything happens again; tell me). As she drifted off to sleep, her breathing was still labored by the hysteria and shock I’m sure she was feeling. She’d just been exposed to a nightmare in broad daylight. Her Baba, the father she’d come to love and trust as her own, did something to her that her young mind couldn’t even conceive. All she knew was that something was horribly wrong with what just happened to her. I wanted to somehow take her back into time so she wouldn’t ever have had to know that kind of pain and helplessness. I wanted to be the one to make sure that she could feel safe again, but I didn’t know how I could do that for her.

When she was finally asleep, my panic set in and I started pacing back and forth, thinking of how I was going to stop him or let him know how wrong he was to expose a child to behavior like that! He just didn’t know better and I would be the one to go over to his trailer and explain to him the damage he’d just done.

As I watched over Luwra, I saw myself riding in my Grandfather’s friend’s RV—trusting him and smiling at his conversation on the way to IHOP. I was two years older than Luwra at the time, and me, and my brother were spending the weekend with our Grandfather in Long Island. While we were playing, my Grandfather’s friend came over and offered to take me, my 9yr old Aunt, and her 8yr old cousin out for breakfast.

It didn’t take much convincing for me to come along with them because I was hungry and I loved myself some International House of Pancakes! I’m going to IHOP..I’m going to IHOP.. I danced around my brother singing. Val stay here with me and we can eat some cereal! Don’t go with them! pleaded my brother..I ain’t tryina eat no cereal! I want some IHOP! I’m going! Cereal couldn’t beat hot pancakes and syrup on a Saturday morning . . . I just had to go.

The three of us got ready with the quickness and were laughing and skipping out the front door and into ol’ Salt and Pepper hair’s RV. As my Aunt and her cousin went to play in the rear of the RV, I plopped myself right next to him as he drove because I wanted to see the road. You know you gon be a star when you grow up? Wit dat perty smile n ’em long pigtails. Really??? I chimed back with a smile from ear to ear. Yup . . . I can tell these things. I DO wanna be a singer when I grow up too! I just knew my dream was going to come true because someone I didn’t even know was saying this about me . . . The morning couldn’t have been going more perfect with the sun on my face, the open road in my sight and my Aunt and her cousin were in the back enjoying the trip too . . . It got even better once he announced we were finally in front of IHOP. Yeah!!! We all screamed and jumped around the RV. I could just taste the chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream on top I was gonna order . . . Alright gurls . . . when I git back, I’mon give a dollar to the one who kisses the best! As the other two screeched with excitement; (having obviously played this game with him before), I blurted out My Mommy already gave me money! I don’t need a dollar! See!?! As I held it out for him. He laughed and went down the steps of the RV, closing the door behind him. I ran over to the window and watched him walk over to the IHOP across the street with my stomach both knotted-up with terror and grumbling with hunger. I ran frantically from one side of the RV to the other, wanting to escape this game he wanted to play with us. We were driving for a long time and I had no idea how I would get us back home if I got us out of there. Forever passed and I was praying he would forget all about the dollar game. Eventually, the RV door opened . . . Alright I’m back! and nasty ol’ Salt and Pepper hair still wanted to play. Who wants to go first! waving the dollar in my direction as I backed up shaking my head from side to side . . . No . . . I don’t need a dollar.. He backed me into the rear compartment of the RV where the beds were and where my Aunt’s cousin was laying down. I froze there with my arms out-stretched hoping to find the strength to keep this nasty man away from me. I found that my little arms were no match for Salt and Pepper’s grasp as he pulled me to him and I felt something hard jutting from his pants and poking me in the chest. Then he bent down as he had my arms pinned somehow and started to stick his slimy tongue into my mouth. I moved my head around trying to turn it away from him but somehow I still felt the slimy thing wriggling around and around inside my mouth . . . I just left my mind while it was happening and then he stopped suddenly to my surprise and relief. My Aunt saved me by yelling out.. My turn! My turn! and he took my little Aunt into the bathroom as I watched him prop her up onto his lap behind the frosted glass door. The ride back was an uncomfortable blur and this despicable—sorry excuse for a man let us off at the beginning of the cul-de-sac talking about . . . Now if you gurls tell