IBY AMEDU
Iby Amedu. Hip-hop head and all-around music aficionado. Hobbies include drunkenly rapping Kanye West, starting debates over hip-hop, and coming with that real shit. But, in all honesty, I will be writing about music (especially hip-hop), life, and everything in between the two. I’ve been listening to hip-hop for as long as I remember, so it’s only right that I come in and write about that real point of view. I come from the city of Chicago, but currently go to school in Pittsburgh. I’m outchea.
It takes me back to a simpler time. I knew that I would have to eventually worry about life and what I would do with mine, but for the time being I liked being able to be happy playing with my action figures. I would curl up in the corner of my living room with ‘Goku’ from Dragon Ball Z and spend hours on end there being perfectly content. Being lost in my imagination seemed to be a talent to me while my mother would usually disapprove. I was the kid on the edge of the family photo slightly turned away from the camera with toys in hand. My brother, who towered over all of us, was the one with the slight smirk because he was embarrassed of his high cheekbones. He never fully smiled for photos because he believed that if he did, his cheekbones would ruin the picture. My mother would be the beautiful woman with the pleasant smile, and that’s the way I would always look at her. I view our portrait as normal while another person may view it as dysfunction. Others may be in a position that I would easily qualify as a dysfunctional situation, but this would just be real life for them. It is just how “my dysfunction” is very real to me. Each person’s experience is unique and exclusive to them, and this is how I feel about my past experiences. They were real. They were true.
High Ridge YMCA. Otherwise known as where I spent my summers up until the fourth grade. Each morning, I would wake up with my brothers, and my mom or dad would drop us off at the High Ridge YMCA for summer camp from Monday through Friday. It was different from what I was used to because during the school year I was in uniforms attending a private school nearby. But, as soon as it was June, I traded in my shirt and tie for my High Ridge summer camp T-shirt. The corner of Western Avenue and Touhy Avenue in Chicago, Illinois is where I found my joy throughout the summer. I remember walking up to the pavilion at the camp where my mother would sign the three of us in, and I would see groups of girls jumping rope. They would be jump-roping “double-dutch” and the smiles on their face and the happiness they experienced would be priceless. All of the eyes would be on them. Watching them, I could sense the excitement they were feeling from the “double-dutch”, but I could not feel that same excitement for myself. That’s because it was their experience; it was their moment.
When we were at camp, they were in the older age group while I was in the younger one. It was the first time I could not rely on having them there if I did not have anyone to talk to. I remember being outside while the older age group had their time in the pool. All of us were in a courtyard that had sprinklers set up all around. Since our age group did not have a time in the pool that day, the counselors turned on the sprinklers so we could run around in the water in the summer heat. My mind goes back to how all of us were in our bathing suits running around having fun. The girls in our group also had their bathing suits on and were playing in the sprinklers on the far end of the courtyard while the boys were on the nearside. Some of the girls’ had shy expressions on their face when we would come over to talk to them. Some of them had angry expressions with their hands on their hips because we would splash water on them.
If asked at that time, I would say it was another fun day at summer camp. Reflecting on it now, I would say it was much more important than that. Not only did I have a great time, but I had a great time without my brothers. It was an event in helping to shape who I am.
I did not realize where I lived until I was just a little bit older. I did not know how compact the city was until I was old enough to get around on my own. Public transportation was my main resource. I loved the fact that places that seemed so far away were really just a simple train ride away. The “el” was like magic to me. I did not know how to take each line, and my friends were responsible for showing me all of the different trains to take. Brown line. Red line. Pink line. It was almost confusing how I could be so amazed by the tall buildings even though I grew up around all of them.
Walking downtown, my head was cocked towards the sky looking at the many skyscrapers. It felt as though the buildings stretched to the moon as I was walking through the night. Weaving through the maze that is my city, I think about what others may say about this city from an outside perspective. I wonder if people who don’t live here see this city as “other.” I wonder if they have alienating perspectives because they have only seen photographs and have never lived here. Do they see this place as dangerous because it was given the infamous title of ‘Chi-raq’? It does not matter because these perspectives are from the “outside” and I am “inside.” The image of the place people see as “other” is the same place that contains my past.
Riding my bike was one of the largest thrills that I had in my childhood. Whenever I would ride my bike, I felt like I went beyond my normal limits. It was as if I was flying higher while on a bike than while I was not on it. On one particular weekend, my parents finally allowed me to ride my bike to the Blockbuster with my brothers to rent a new video game. I could not even begin to express how excited I was. While someone might think of this as a trivial moment, this experience meant so much to me at that time. The Blockbuster was close enough for a bike ride, but much too far away to walk. As soon as I stepped out of the door and hopped on my bike, I felt liberated. Weaving through Rogers Park, I felt like I was flying over my neighborhood looking down at the several streets below me. My head was in the clouds as I zipped around each corner. As I picked up speed, I elevated higher into the sky. And while I may be able to duplicate that feeling, there is no way I could duplicate that experience.
Black Boy Fly
An Exerpt from Iby Amedu
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