theroot--2020-04-22--In This Exclusive Peek at Nnedi Okorafor's Remote Control, a Magical Teen Flexes Her Terrifying Powe

In This Exclusive Peek at Nnedi Okorafor's Remote Control, a Magical Teen Flexes Her Terrifying Powers

It ’ s no secret that we here at io9 are huge fans of Nigerian American author Nnedi Okorafor—a Nebula and Hugo winner who pens sci-fi and fantasy tales for both YA and adult readers .
We ’ re thrilled to present the cover reveal and an exclusive excerpt for her upcoming novella , Remote Control .
Here ’ s a brief summary of Remote Control—a vivid slice of Okorafor ’ s signature “ Africanfuturism ” storytelling—followed by the reveal of the full cover and the thrilling excerpt !
“ Come at the king , you best not miss.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ came up the dirt road .
Her leather sandals slapped her heels softly as she walked .
Small swift steps made with small swift feet .
When she passed by , the crickets did not stop singing , the owls did not stop hooting and the aardvark in the bushes beside the road did not stop foraging for termites .
Yards behind her , in the darkness , trotted the small red-furred fox rumored to follow her wherever she went .
This type of creature wasn ’ t known to live in Ghana @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when Sankofa was around .
Sankofa was fourteen years old , but her petite frame and chubby cheeks made her look closer to ten .
Her outfit was a miniature version of what the older more affluent Mamprusi women of northern Ghana wore– a hand-dyed long yellow skirt , a matching top embroidered with expensive lace and a purple and yellow headband made of twisted cloth .
She wore the gold hoop earrings , too .
She ’ d done the head wrap exactly as her mother used to when her mother visited @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sankofa covered her bald head with a shorthaired black wig .
She ’ d slathered her scalp with two extra coats of the thick shea butter she ’ d recently bought , so the wig wasn ’ t itchy at all .
She also applied a thin layer to her face , taking care to massage it into where her eyebrows used to be .
Despite the night ’ s cloying heat , the shea butter and her elaborate heavy outfit , she felt quite cool…at the moment .
A young man leaned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the dark .
As he blew out smoke , he spotted her .
Choking on the last puff , he cupped his hand over his mouth .
“ Sankofa is coming , ” he hollered in Ewe , grabbing the doorknob and shoving the door open .
“ Sankofa is coming !
” People peeked out windows , doorways , from around corners and over their shoulders .
Nostrils flared , eyes were wide , mouths opened and healthy hearts pounded like crazy .
“ Sankofa come , ooooo !
” someone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of remote control , o !
The most powerful of all witchcraft !
” Women scooped up toddlers playing in the dirt and ushered their older children inside .
Doors shut .
Steps quickened .
Car doors slammed and those cars sped off .
The girl called Sankofa walked up the quiet deserted road of the town that was pretending to be full of ghosts .
Her face was dark and sweet and her jaw was set .
The only item she carried was the amulet bag a juju man had given her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she left home .
It softly bounced against her hip .
Its contents were simple : a role of money that she rarely needed , a wind-up watch , a jar of shea butter bigger than a grown man ’ s fist , a hand drawn map of Accra and a tightly rolled up book .
For the last week , her book had been an old old copy of No Orchids for Miss Blandish , a paper novel she barely understood yet enjoyed reading .
Before that , a crumbling copy of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was clearly not poor .
There were a few huts , but they were well built and well kept .
This night , though dark as a cave , Sankofa could see hints of bright light coming from within .
People feared her but they still wanted to watch television .
These mud huts had electricity .
Beside them were modern homes , which equally feigned vacancy .
Sankofa felt the town staring at her as she walked .
It was hoping , wishing , praying that she would pass through , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her eye on the largest most modern-looking home in the neighborhood .
The huge hulking white mansion with a red roof surrounded by a large white concrete gate topped with broken green bottle glass was easy to see .
As she approached the white gate , she noticed a large black spider walking up the side .
Its long strong legs and hairy robust body looked like the hand of a wraith .
“ Good evening , ” Sankofa said in Mampruli , as she stepped up to the gate ’ s door @ @ @ @ @ @ @ acknowledge and greet her back .
Then it continued on its way up , into the forest of broken glass on top of the gate .
Sankofa smiled .
Spiders always had better things to do .
She wondered what story it would weave about her and how far the story would carry .
She lifted her chin , raised a small fist and knocked on the gate ’ s door .
“ Excuse me , I would like to come in , ” she called in Twi .
She wasn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Better to stick to the language most understood .
Then she thought better of it and switched to English .
“ Gate man , I have come to call on the family that lives here.
” When there was no response , she turned the knob .
As expected , it was unlocked .
The gateman stood on the other side of the large driveway , near the garage .
He wore navy blue pants , a crisp white shirt and a blank look on his face .
He carried prayer beads @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
There was a light on over the garage and she could see his face clearly .
Then he turned and spat to the side , making no move to escort her to the house .
“ Thank you , sir , ” Sankofa said , walking to the large front door .
The doorway light was off .
“ I will show myself in.
” Up close , the house looked less elegant , the white walls were stained at the bottom with red soil , splashed there as mud during rainy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ webs in the upper corners where the roof met the walls .
A shiny silver Mercedes , a black BMW and a blue Honda sat in the driveway .
The garage was closed .
The house was dark .
However , Sankofa knew people were home .
Something flew onto her shoulder as she stepped up to the front door .
She stifled the instinct to crush it dead and instead , grabbed it and then opened her hand .
It was a large green grasshopper .
She ’ d seen this creature @ @ @ @ @ @ @ d read .
These were called katydids .
She giggled , watching it creep up her hand with its long delicate green legs .
She softly glowed a vibrant leaf green .
Not enough to kill , but enough to bathe the grasshopper in a shade of its own lovely greenness .
If a grasshopper could smile this one did .
She was sure of it .
Then it hop-flew off .
“ Safe journey , ” she whispered .
She knocked on the door .
“ It is me , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ visit.
” After a moment , the front door lights came on .
She looked up at the round ball of glass lit by the light bulb .
Within minutes , insects would people the light .
But not yet .
A haggard-looking tall man in a black suit and tie slowly opened the door .
The lights turned on behind him and she could see ten well-dressed adults , some in traditional clothing , others in stiff Western attire , all pressed together , wide-eyed and afraid .
Cooled air wafted from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wine , champagne , goat meat and jollof rice .
The air-conditioner and the house cooks were working hard tonight .
The hallway was decorated with shiny red and green trimming and fake poinsettia flowers , a plastic ornamented Christmas tree at the far end .
“ I hope I am not interrupting your Christmas party , ” Sankofa said in English .
She blinked .
Was it Christmas ?
Or maybe still Christmas Eve ?
She felt a muffled yearning deep in her chest .
She pushed the feeling away as she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ celebrated Christmas , anyway .
Though some in her hometown had .
She remembered .
“ No , no , ” the man jabbered , smiling sheepishly .
“ Chalé , p-please .
Come in , my dear .
Happy Christmas , o.
” He wore a silver chain with a crucifix around his neck .
The crucifix rested on his shoulder .
He ’ d just put it on , probably as he rushed to the door .
Sankofa chuckled .
“ Happy Christmas , to you all , too , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t stay long .
I am going to get something of mine that I ’ ve been searching for for years.
” The solid marble floors were cool beneath her bare feet .
The walls were covered with European style oil paintings of European rustic landscapes .
Sankofa wondered what trouble these people went through to get these paintings all the way out to this small suburb of Accra .
And she wondered if it was worth it ; the paintings were quite ugly .
A large family photo hung on the wall @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tall fat man , a fat woman with one fat son and two fat daughters .
Happy healthy content people and definitely “ been-tos ” .
If she had to guess , she ’ d say from America .
In the dining room , Sankofa was asked to sit at a large table laden with more food than she ’ d glimpsed in weeks .
It was nearly obscene .
And what a surprise .
She ’ d never imagined that been-tos ate so many native dishes .
Kele-wele , aponchi-krakra and fufu @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , jollof rice , fried chicken , akrantie and goat meat , too much food to get her eyes around .
“ Oh chalé , ” she muttered to herself .
Behind her , the house party came in and stood around her .
A young woman set an empty plate before her .
She wore a uniform similar to the gate man ’ s- a white blouse and navy-blue pants .
“ Do you… ” The woman trailed off , her eyes watering with tears .
She paused , looking into Sankofa @ @ @ @ @ @ @ back .
“ I would also like a change of clothes , ” Sankofa said .
“ I have been wearing these garments for a week.
” The woman smiled gratefully and nodded .
Sankofa guessed the woman was about ten years her senior , maybe even fifteen .
“ Something like what you are wearing now ?
” the woman asked .
Sankofa grinned at this .
“ Yes , if possible , ” she said .
“ I like to wear our people ’ s style.
” The woman seemed to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all know.
” “ My name is known here ?
” Sankofa asked , the answer being obvious .
“ Very well , ” the woman said .
The woman looked at the silent party .
“ Can someone call the seamstress ?
” “ It ’ s already done , ” a fat woman said stepping forward as she closed a mobile phone .
Sankofa recognized her quickly .
She looked a little fatter than she had in the family photo in the hallway .
Life was good for her .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the house said .
“ You ’ ll have whatever garments you like within the hour.
” She paused .
“ The community has always anticipated a visit from you.
” “ You want orange Fanta , right ?
” the young woman in the uniform asked her .
“ Room temperature , not chilled.
” The Christmas party watched Sankofa eat .
They were unable to sit down .
Unable to even look at each other .
Paralyzed .
Sankofa was ravenous .
She ’ d been walking all day .
She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ remaining bits of meat and then dropped the bone on her plate .
Then with greasy hands , she took her bottle of room temperature Fanta and guzzled the last of it .
She belched as another was placed before her .
The young woman popped the cap and stepped back .
“ Thank you , ” Sankofa said , taking a gulp .
She picked up another piece of spicy goat meat , paused , then turned to the silent party .
“ Are there any children in the house ?
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some company.
” She nibbled on her piece of goat meat as the adults fearfully whispered amongst themselves .
It was the same wherever she visited .
They always whispered .
Sometimes they cried .
Sometimes they shouted .
Always amongst each other .
Away from her .
Then they finally went and got the children .
They knew they had no choice .
This time was no different .
A plump boy of about ten and an older taller girl about Sankofa ’ s age , shuffled in .
The girl ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ house , had to shove the girl in .
They wore their nightclothes and looked like they ’ d been dragged out of bed .
They plopped themselves across from her at the table .
The boy eyed the plate of fried plantain .
“ So what are your names ?
” Sankofa asked .
When they both just stared at her , she spoke in English .
“ So what are your names ?
” she asked again .
“ Edgar , ” the boy said .
Sankofa blinked .
He spoke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ d been right in her assessment .
Americans were always so well-fed .
“ Ye , ” the girl whispered .
She spoke like an American , too .
“ It ’ s nice to meet you , ” Sankofa said .
“ Do you know who I am ?
” “ You ’ re Sankofa , the one who sleeps at death ’ s door , ” Edgar said .
He eyed her as he slowly took a slice of fried plantain .
Sankofa took another few of the oily slices , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Edgar seemed to relax when he saw that she enjoyed the same food as he did .
Ye didn ’ t move .
“ You should get a plate , ” Sankofa said .
Before Edgar could look around , the young woman placed a plate before each of them .
The girl took all of two plantain slices and the boy loaded his plate with plantain and roasted goat meat .
Sankofa liked the boy .
“ You don ’ t look as ugly as they say you look , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said , biting into some goat meat .
“ Your outfit reminds me of my mom.
” “ Reminds me of mine , too , ” Sankofa said .
“ That ’ s why I wear it.
” “ So what ’ d you get for Christmas ?
” she asked .
“ Oh.
” She fixed her eye on the girl .
“ Ye , ” she said .
The girl jumped at the sound of her name .
“ I ’ m not going to kill you , ” Sankofa @ @ @ @ @ @ @ annoyed .
“ You ’ re not very good company.
” After a pause , Edgar asked , “ Don ’ t mind my sister .
She never likes coming to Ghana .
She ’ d rather just be a boring American and stay in boring America.
” When Ye hissed at him , he hissed back .
Sankofa laughed with glee .
“ Where is your famous fox , The Movenpick ?
” Edgar asked .
“ Is it outside ?
” “ Was he someone ’ s pet ?
In your @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an animal who wanted to be free.
” Sankofa frowned and looked away .
“ S-sorry , ” Edgar quickly said .
“ I didn ’ t mean to bring up your… ” Edgar nodded and then leaned forward .
“ We only hear about you from our cousins , ” he said .
His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice .
“ So is it true ?
Can you… ” He glanced at his sister .
She ’ d stopped eating and was frowning deeply at him .
“ I can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ want to see ?
” The party adults moaned .
“ This boy is a real idiot , ” she heard one of them grumble .
“ You don ’ t tempt the devil !
” “ Chalé , make him shut up !
” someone else whispered .
“ He ’ s going to get us all killed.
” Sankofa glanced at the adults and then looked piercingly at the kids before her .
She smirked .
“ Turn off the lights then.
” The boy jumped up , ran and shut @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she heard him snatch his arm from his protesting mother and retake his seat across from her .
In the past , it had been difficult to control and there had been terrible consequences .
However , this was not the case any longer .
These days , it was like flexing a muscle .
Right there in the darkness , she glowed her dim green .
Ye , tears freely rolling down her cheeks .
The boy ’ s eyes were wide and he had an enormous grin on his face .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ !
” he whispered .
“ Wowolo !
” “ Shush , ” a woman hiss from the group of adults .
“ No ghetto talk.
” “ Oh come on , mom , ” Edgar said , rolling his eyes .
“ First I can ’ t say ‘ chalé ’ , now this ?
Why even bring us to Ghana ?
” Sankofa relaxed herself and her glow faded and then winked out .
Someone immediately flipped the lights on .
“ What is this town called ?
” she asked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ …sorry , I can barely pronounce it .
There ’ s an American food with the same name .
T-a-m-a-l-e , ” Edgar said .
“ Relax , Ye , ” Sankofa said .
“ You won ’ t see me here again.
” Ye wiped the tears from her face .
“ I hate this country , ” she said .
Then she got up and ran out of the room .
Sankofa and Edgar looked at each other .
“ So where are you going next ?
” Edgar asked .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ not even sure exists anymore , ” she said .
Sankofa smiled , glad that he had not run like his sister .
She hated when that happened .
It always made her feel that ache she worked so hard to mute .
“ So , you really can ’ t ride in cars ?
” “ Are you a child of the dev… ” “ No , ” she snapped .
The conversation ended there .
Sankofa left the house an hour later having eaten her fill , taken some leftovers , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ No Orchids for Miss Blandish for another paper novel Edgar insisted she read , titled Mouse Guard .
He said he ’ d gotten it from the trip his family recently took to the UK and though it was one of the only paper books he owned , she could have it .
She hadn ’ t wanted to take such a precious item from him , but he insisted .
She walked up the empty dirt road , now wearing a brand-new blue and white wrapper , matching top and headband .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ into the night with the confidence of a leopard .
Sankofa liked to imagine that she was a Mamprusi princess walking the moonlit road toward her long lost queendom .
If she had to guess , her mother would have been proud of the way she chose to carry herself…despite it all .
“ I ’ m almost there , mama , ” she muttered , clenching her fists .
A twinge of anxiety about the incident in the road days ago .
Then the feeling was gone .
Onward .
It had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , hearing footsteps behind her .
She whirled around .
It was the gateman from the house she ’ d just left .
The one who had looked at her as if she were a smear of feces on some child ’ s underwear .
“ Anyén !
” he cried .
He switched to English “ Evil witch !
” He was sweating and weeping .
“ Kwaku Agya .
Do you know this name ?
Do you remember my brother ’ s name ?
Does the child of the devil remember @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” “ I know the name , ” she said .
Sankofa remembered all the names of those she took as a kindness .
Surprise and then rage rippled across his face .
He raised something black in his hand .
Bang !
Time always slowed for her during these kinds of moments .
The misty white smoke plumed from the gun ’ s muzzle .
Then the bullet , this one golden , short and dented .
It flew out of the gun ’ s muzzle followed by a larger plume of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as it traveled toward her .
She watched this as the heat bloomed from her like a round mushroom .
In times like this , it was near involuntary .
From somewhere deep within her soul , a primal part of her gave permission to her unearthly power .
That part of her had been on the earth , walking the soils of the lands now known as Ghana for millennia .
The eyes of the silent witnesses .
The gnats , mosquitoes , flies , grasshoppers , beetles , some in flight @ @ @ @ @ @ @ always observing spiders .
The birds in the trees .
The lizards on the walls .
And the grasscutter crossing the road a few feet away .
Movenpick the fox standing nearby , never far from Sankofa ’ s heels .
Washed in light that did not come from the moon .
The corona of soft green light domed out from Sankofa .
To her , it felt like the shiver of a fever .
It left a coppery smell in her nose .
The bullet exploded feet from her with a gentle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the flesh of a palm tree beside the road .
Sankofa shined like a moon who knew it was a sun .
The light came from her , from her skin .
It poured from her , strong and controlled .
It washed over everything , but it was only hungry for the man who ’ d shot at her .
It hadn ’ t always been this way .
In the past , her light ’ s appetite had been all-consuming .
The man stumbled back .
The gun in his hand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dropped , too .
Sankofa walked up to him , still glowing strongly .
She knelt down , looking into the gateman ’ s dying eyes .
She spoke to the man in their native language of Twi , “ Your brother ’ s name was Kwaku Samuel Agya and his cancer was so advanced that it had eaten away most of his internal organs .
I did not cause this cancer , gateman .
I happened to walk into his village when he was ready to die .
He asked me to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to take him .
His son asked me to take him .
His best friend asked me to take him.
” Tears fell from her eyes as she spoke .
Then she pushed away the pain in her chest .
She muted it as she ’ d learned to do over the years .
Her tears dried into trails of salt as her skin heated .
She stood up .
“ When was the last time you spoke to your brother , gateman ?
” His skin crackled and peeled as it burned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into dust .
His entrails spilled out in a hot steaming mass when his skin and abdominal flesh burned away .
Then that burned , too .
The muscle and fat from his limbs flared up and then fell to ash , as well .
There was little smoke but the air began to smell like burning meat .
A mysterious wind came and swept away the ash and soon all that was left was one bone .
“ I will never know or understand what that is , ” she whispered .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ clean ” The bone dried , its surface snapped in several places , splintered and then cooled .
Someone would find it .
“ Now you will talk to your brother , ” Sankofa said .
She turned away , opened her bag and brought out the jar of thick yellow shea butter .
She scooped out a dollop .
She rubbed it in her hands until it softened then melted .
Then she rubbed it on her arms , legs , neck , face and belly .
She sighed as her dry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ glanced at Movenpick who stood in the bushes to her right .
The fox walked up the road , leading the way .
Sankofa followed the fox into the night as if she were her own moon .
Nnedi Okorafor ’ s Remote Control will go on sale January 19 , 2021 .
You can pre-order a copy here .
For more , make sure you ’ re following us on our Instagram @ io9dotcom .

Cheryl Eddy on io9, shared by Genetta M. Adams to The Root

It’s no secret that we here at io9 are huge fans of Nigerian American author Nnedi Okorafor—a Nebula and Hugo winner who pens sci-fi and fantasy tales for both YA and adult readers. We’re thrilled to present the cover reveal and an exclusive excerpt for her upcoming novella, Remote Control.
Here’s a brief summary of Remote Control—a vivid slice of Okorafor’s signature “Africanfuturism” storytelling—followed by the reveal of the full cover and the thrilling excerpt!
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“She’s the adopted daughter of the Angel of Death. Beware of her. Mind her. Death guards her like one of its own.” The day Fatima forgot her name, Death paid a visit. From now on she would be known as Sankofa—a name that meant nothing to anyone but her, the only tie to her family and her past. Her touch is death, and with a glance a town can fall. And she walks—alone, except for her fox companion—searching for the object that came from the sky when the meteors fell and when she was yet unchanged; searching for answers. But is there a greater purpose for Sankofa, now that Death is her constant companion?
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Chapter 1
Sankofa
“Come at the king, you best not miss.”
– Omar Little, The Wire
The moon was just rising when Sankofa came up the dirt road. Her leather sandals slapped her heels softly as she walked. Small swift steps made with small swift feet. When she passed by, the crickets did not stop singing, the owls did not stop hooting and the aardvark in the bushes beside the road did not stop foraging for termites. Yards behind her, in the darkness, trotted the small red-furred fox rumored to follow her wherever she went. This type of creature wasn’t known to live in Ghana, but stranger things were always afoot when Sankofa was around.
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Sankofa was fourteen years old, but her petite frame and chubby cheeks made her look closer to ten. Her outfit was a miniature version of what the older more affluent Mamprusi women of northern Ghana wore– a hand-dyed long yellow skirt, a matching top embroidered with expensive lace and a purple and yellow headband made of twisted cloth. She wore the gold hoop earrings, too. She’d done the head wrap exactly as her mother used to when her mother visited friends. Beneath the head wrap, Sankofa covered her bald head with a shorthaired black wig. She’d slathered her scalp with two extra coats of the thick shea butter she’d recently bought, so the wig wasn’t itchy at all. She also applied a thin layer to her face, taking care to massage it into where her eyebrows used to be. Despite the night’s cloying heat, the shea butter and her elaborate heavy outfit, she felt quite cool…at the moment.
A young man leaned against a mud hut smoking a cigarette in the dark. As he blew out smoke, he spotted her. Choking on the last puff, he cupped his hand over his mouth. “Sankofa is coming,” he hollered in Ewe, grabbing the doorknob and shoving the door open. “Sankofa is coming!”
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People peeked out windows, doorways, from around corners and over their shoulders. Nostrils flared, eyes were wide, mouths opened and healthy hearts pounded like crazy.
“Sankofa come, ooooo!” someone shouted in Pidgin English.
“Shia! Sankofa a ba!”
“Sankofa strolling!”
“Sankofa, Sankofa, ooo!
“Here she comes! Aaa ba ei!”
“Beware of remote control, o! The most powerful of all witchcraft!”
“Sankofa bird landing!”
Women scooped up toddlers playing in the dirt and ushered their older children inside. Doors shut. Steps quickened. Car doors slammed and those cars sped off.
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The girl called Sankofa walked up the quiet deserted road of the town that was pretending to be full of ghosts. Her face was dark and sweet and her jaw was set. The only item she carried was the amulet bag a juju man had given her five years ago, not long after she left home. It softly bounced against her hip. Its contents were simple: a role of money that she rarely needed, a wind-up watch, a jar of shea butter bigger than a grown man’s fist, a hand drawn map of Accra and a tightly rolled up book. For the last week, her book had been an old old copy of No Orchids for Miss Blandish, a paper novel she barely understood yet enjoyed reading. Before that, a crumbling copy of Gulliver’s Travels.
The town was clearly not poor. There were a few huts, but they were well built and well kept. This night, though dark as a cave, Sankofa could see hints of bright light coming from within. People feared her but they still wanted to watch television. These mud huts had electricity. Beside them were modern homes, which equally feigned vacancy. Sankofa felt the town staring at her as she walked. It was hoping, wishing, praying that she would pass through, a wraith in the darkness.
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She set her eye on the largest most modern-looking home in the neighborhood. The huge hulking white mansion with a red roof surrounded by a large white concrete gate topped with broken green bottle glass was easy to see. As she approached the white gate, she noticed a large black spider walking up the side. Its long strong legs and hairy robust body looked like the hand of a wraith.
“Good evening,” Sankofa said in Mampruli, as she stepped up to the gate’s door. The spider paused, seeming to acknowledge and greet her back. Then it continued on its way up, into the forest of broken glass on top of the gate. Sankofa smiled. Spiders always had better things to do. She wondered what story it would weave about her and how far the story would carry. She lifted her chin, raised a small fist and knocked on the gate’s door. “Excuse me, I would like to come in,” she called in Twi. She wasn’t sure how far she’d come. Better to stick to the language most understood. Then she thought better of it and switched to English. “Gate man, I have come to call on the family that lives here.”
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When there was no response, she turned the knob. As expected, it was unlocked. The gateman stood on the other side of the large driveway, near the garage. He wore navy blue pants, a crisp white shirt and a blank look on his face. He carried prayer beads, counting them along with shaking fingers. There was a light on over the garage and she could see his face clearly. Then he turned and spat to the side, making no move to escort her to the house.
“Thank you, sir,” Sankofa said, walking to the large front door. The doorway light was off. “I will show myself in.”
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Up close, the house looked less elegant, the white walls were stained at the bottom with red soil, splashed there as mud during rainy season. There were large dirty spider webs in the upper corners where the roof met the walls. A shiny silver Mercedes, a black BMW and a blue Honda sat in the driveway. The garage was closed. The house was dark. However, Sankofa knew people were home.
Something flew onto her shoulder as she stepped up to the front door. She stifled the instinct to crush it dead and instead, grabbed it and then opened her hand. It was a large green grasshopper. She’d seen this creature in one of the books she’d read. These were called katydids. She giggled, watching it creep up her hand with its long delicate green legs.
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She softly glowed a vibrant leaf green. Not enough to kill, but enough to bathe the grasshopper in a shade of its own lovely greenness. If a grasshopper could smile this one did. She was sure of it. Then it hop-flew off. “Safe journey,” she whispered.
She knocked on the door. “It is me,” she called. “Death has come to visit.”
After a moment, the front door lights came on. She looked up at the round ball of glass lit by the light bulb. Within minutes, insects would people the light. But not yet. A haggard-looking tall man in a black suit and tie slowly opened the door. The lights turned on behind him and she could see ten well-dressed adults, some in traditional clothing, others in stiff Western attire, all pressed together, wide-eyed and afraid. Cooled air wafted from the opened door and it smelled like wine, champagne, goat meat and jollof rice. The air-conditioner and the house cooks were working hard tonight. The hallway was decorated with shiny red and green trimming and fake poinsettia flowers, a plastic ornamented Christmas tree at the far end.
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“I hope I am not interrupting your Christmas party,” Sankofa said in English. She blinked. Was it Christmas? Or maybe still Christmas Eve? She felt a muffled yearning deep in her chest. She pushed the feeling away as she always did, thinking, We never celebrated Christmas, anyway. Though some in her hometown had. She remembered.
“No, no,” the man jabbered, smiling sheepishly. “Chalé, p-please. Come in, my dear. Happy Christmas, o.” He wore a silver chain with a crucifix around his neck. The crucifix rested on his shoulder. He’d just put it on, probably as he rushed to the door. Sankofa chuckled.
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“Happy Christmas, to you all, too,” she said. “I won’t stay long. I am going to get something of mine that I’ve been searching for for years.”
The solid marble floors were cool beneath her bare feet. The walls were covered with European style oil paintings of European rustic landscapes. Sankofa wondered what trouble these people went through to get these paintings all the way out to this small suburb of Accra. And she wondered if it was worth it; the paintings were quite ugly. A large family photo hung on the wall, too. It was of a tall fat man, a fat woman with one fat son and two fat daughters. Happy healthy content people and definitely “been-tos”. If she had to guess, she’d say from America.
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In the dining room, Sankofa was asked to sit at a large table laden with more food than she’d glimpsed in weeks. It was nearly obscene. And what a surprise. She’d never imagined that been-tos ate so many native dishes. Kele-wele, aponchi-krakra and fufu, kenkey, waakye, red red, jollof rice, fried chicken, akrantie and goat meat, too much food to get her eyes around. “Oh chalé,” she muttered to herself. Behind her, the house party came in and stood around her.
A young woman set an empty plate before her. She wore a uniform similar to the gate man’s- a white blouse and navy-blue pants. “Do you…” The woman trailed off, her eyes watering with tears. She paused, looking into Sankofa’s eyes. Sankofa gazed right back.
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“I would also like a change of clothes,” Sankofa said. “I have been wearing these garments for a week.”
The woman smiled gratefully and nodded. Sankofa guessed the woman was about ten years her senior, maybe even fifteen. “Something like what you are wearing now?” the woman asked.
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Sankofa grinned at this. “Yes, if possible,” she said. “I like to wear our people’s style.”
The woman seemed to relax. “I know. We all know.”
“My name is known here?” Sankofa asked, the answer being obvious.
“Very well,” the woman said. The woman looked at the silent party. “Can someone call the seamstress?”
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“It’s already done,” a fat woman said stepping forward as she closed a mobile phone. Sankofa recognized her quickly. She looked a little fatter than she had in the family photo in the hallway. Life was good for her. “Miss Sankofa,” the lady of the house said. “You’ll have whatever garments you like within the hour.” She paused. “The community has always anticipated a visit from you.”
Sankofa smiled again. “That’s good.”
“You want orange Fanta, right?” the young woman in the uniform asked her. “Room temperature, not chilled.”
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Sankofa nodded. These were good people.
*
The Christmas party watched Sankofa eat. They were unable to sit down. Unable to even look at each other. Paralyzed. Sankofa was ravenous. She’d been walking all day.
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She gnawed on a goat bone’s remaining bits of meat and then dropped the bone on her plate. Then with greasy hands, she took her bottle of room temperature Fanta and guzzled the last of it. She belched as another was placed before her. The young woman popped the cap and stepped back.
“Thank you,” Sankofa said, taking a gulp. She picked up another piece of spicy goat meat, paused, then turned to the silent party. “Are there any children in the house?” she asked. “I would like some company.”
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She nibbled on her piece of goat meat as the adults fearfully whispered amongst themselves. It was the same wherever she visited. They always whispered. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they shouted. Always amongst each other. Away from her. Then they finally went and got the children. They knew they had no choice. This time was no different.
A plump boy of about ten and an older taller girl about Sankofa’s age, shuffled in. The girl’s mother, the lady of the house, had to shove the girl in. They wore their nightclothes and looked like they’d been dragged out of bed. They plopped themselves across from her at the table. The boy eyed the plate of fried plantain.
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“So what are your names?” Sankofa asked. When they both just stared at her, she spoke in English. “So what are your names?” she asked again.
“Edgar,” the boy said. Sankofa blinked. He spoke like an American, so she’d been right in her assessment. Americans were always so well-fed.
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The girl muttered something Sankofa couldn’t catch. “What?” Sankofa asked.
“Ye,” the girl whispered. She spoke like an American, too.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sankofa said. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re Sankofa, the one who sleeps at death’s door,” Edgar said. He eyed her as he slowly took a slice of fried plantain. Sankofa took another few of the oily slices, too. They were sweet and tangy. Edgar seemed to relax when he saw that she enjoyed the same food as he did. Ye didn’t move.
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“You should get a plate,” Sankofa said. Before Edgar could look around, the young woman placed a plate before each of them. The girl took all of two plantain slices and the boy loaded his plate with plantain and roasted goat meat. Sankofa liked the boy.
“You don’t look as ugly as they say you look,” he said.
Sankofa laughed. “Really?”
“No,” he said, biting into some goat meat. “Your outfit reminds me of my mom.”
“Reminds me of mine, too,” Sankofa said. “That’s why I wear it.”
They ate for a moment.
“So what’d you get for Christmas?” she asked.
“We haven’t opened presents yet,” he said, laughing. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Oh.” She fixed her eye on the girl. “Ye,” she said.
The girl jumped at the sound of her name.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Sankofa said.
“How do I know that?”
Sankofa rolled her eyes, annoyed. “You’re not very good company.”
After a pause, Edgar asked, “Don’t mind my sister. She never likes coming to Ghana. She’d rather just be a boring American and stay in boring America.” When Ye hissed at him, he hissed back. Sankofa laughed with glee.
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“Where is your famous fox, The Movenpick?” Edgar asked. “Is it outside?”
“Probably,” she said. “Yes.”
“Was he someone’s pet? In your village?”
“No. Just an animal who wanted to be free.” Sankofa frowned and looked away.
“S-sorry,” Edgar quickly said. “I didn’t mean to bring up your…”
“It’s fine. That was a long time ago now.”
Edgar nodded and then leaned forward. “We only hear about you from our cousins,” he said. His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice. “So is it true? Can you…”
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“Can I what?” Sankofa asked, cocking her head.
He glanced at his sister. She’d stopped eating and was frowning deeply at him.
“I can,” Sankofa said. “You want to see?”
The party adults moaned. “This boy is a real idiot,” she heard one of them grumble. “You don’t tempt the devil!”
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“Chalé, make him shut up!” someone else whispered. “He’s going to get us all killed.”
Sankofa glanced at the adults and then looked piercingly at the kids before her. She smirked. “Turn off the lights then.” The boy jumped up, ran and shut the lights off. She smiled when she heard him snatch his arm from his protesting mother and retake his seat across from her. In the past, it had been difficult to control and there had been terrible consequences. However, this was not the case any longer. These days, it was like flexing a muscle.
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Right there in the darkness, she glowed her dim green. Ye, tears freely rolling down her cheeks. The boy’s eyes were wide and he had an enormous grin on his face. “Real life ‘remote control’!” he whispered. “Wowolo!”
“Shush,” a woman hiss from the group of adults. “No ghetto talk.”
“Oh come on, mom,” Edgar said, rolling his eyes. “First I can’t say ‘chalé’, now this? Why even bring us to Ghana?”
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Sankofa relaxed herself and her glow faded and then winked out. Someone immediately flipped the lights on.
“What is this town called?” she asked getting up.
“Tah, tamale …sorry, I can barely pronounce it. There’s an American food with the same name. T-a-m-a-l-e,” Edgar said.
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“Relax, Ye,” Sankofa said. “You won’t see me here again.”
Ye wiped the tears from her face. “I hate this country,” she said. Then she got up and ran out of the room. Sankofa and Edgar looked at each other.
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“So where are you going next?” Edgar asked.
“To a place I’m not even sure exists anymore,” she said. Sankofa smiled, glad that he had not run like his sister. She hated when that happened. It always made her feel that ache she worked so hard to mute.
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“Why?”
She shrugged. “It’s time.”
“So, you really can’t ride in cars?”
She shook her head.
“That’s so cool,” he whispered.
“Not really.”
“Are you a child of the dev…”
“No,” she snapped. The conversation ended there.
*
Sankofa left the house an hour later having eaten her fill, taken some leftovers, and showered. She’d traded No Orchids for Miss Blandish for another paper novel Edgar insisted she read, titled Mouse Guard. He said he’d gotten it from the trip his family recently took to the UK and though it was one of the only paper books he owned, she could have it. She hadn’t wanted to take such a precious item from him, but he insisted.
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She walked up the empty dirt road, now wearing a brand-new blue and white wrapper, matching top and headband. She held her head up and looked into the night with the confidence of a leopard. Sankofa liked to imagine that she was a Mamprusi princess walking the moonlit road toward her long lost queendom. If she had to guess, her mother would have been proud of the way she chose to carry herself…despite it all.
“I’m almost there, mama,” she muttered, clenching her fists. A twinge of anxiety about the incident in the road days ago. Then the feeling was gone. Onward. It had been way too long.
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She stopped, hearing footsteps behind her. She whirled around. It was the gateman from the house she’d just left. The one who had looked at her as if she were a smear of feces on some child’s underwear.
“Anyén!” he cried. He switched to English “Evil witch!” He was sweating and weeping. “Kwaku Agya. Do you know this name? Do you remember my brother’s name? Does the child of the devil remember the names of those it kills?”
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“I know the name,” she said. Sankofa remembered all the names of those she took as a kindness.
Surprise and then rage rippled across his face. He raised something black in his hand. Bang!
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Time always slowed for her during these kinds of moments. The misty white smoke plumed from the gun’s muzzle. Then the bullet, this one golden, short and dented. It flew out of the gun’s muzzle followed by a larger plume of white smoke. The bullet rotated counter-clockwise as it traveled toward her. She watched this as the heat bloomed from her like a round mushroom. In times like this, it was near involuntary. From somewhere deep within her soul, a primal part of her gave permission to her unearthly power. That part of her had been on the earth, walking the soils of the lands now known as Ghana for millennia.
The night lit up.
The empty road.
The trees.
The houses and huts nearby.
The eyes of the silent witnesses.
The gnats, mosquitoes, flies, grasshoppers, beetles, some in flight, some not. The hiding, always observing spiders. The birds in the trees. The lizards on the walls. And the grasscutter crossing the road a few feet away. Movenpick the fox standing nearby, never far from Sankofa’s heels. Washed in light that did not come from the moon.
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The corona of soft green light domed out from Sankofa. To her, it felt like the shiver of a fever. It left a coppery smell in her nose. The bullet exploded feet from her with a gentle pop! The molten pieces flew into the flesh of a palm tree beside the road.
Sankofa shined like a moon who knew it was a sun. The light came from her, from her skin. It poured from her, strong and controlled. It washed over everything, but it was only hungry for the man who’d shot at her. It hadn’t always been this way. In the past, her light’s appetite had been all-consuming.
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The man stumbled back. The gun in his hand dropped to the ground. Then he dropped, too.
Sankofa walked up to him, still glowing strongly. She knelt down, looking into the gateman’s dying eyes. She spoke to the man in their native language of Twi, “Your brother’s name was Kwaku Samuel Agya and his cancer was so advanced that it had eaten away most of his internal organs. I did not cause this cancer, gateman. I happened to walk into his village when he was ready to die. He asked me to take him. His wife asked me to take him. His son asked me to take him. His best friend asked me to take him.” Tears fell from her eyes as she spoke. Then she pushed away the pain in her chest. She muted it as she’d learned to do over the years. Her tears dried into trails of salt as her skin heated. She stood up. “When was the last time you spoke to your brother, gateman?”
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His skin crackled and peeled as it burned orange. It blackened, flaking off into dust. His entrails spilled out in a hot steaming mass when his skin and abdominal flesh burned away. Then that burned, too. The muscle and fat from his limbs flared up and then fell to ash, as well. There was little smoke but the air began to smell like burning meat. A mysterious wind came and swept away the ash and soon all that was left was one bone.
“I will never know or understand what that is,” she whispered. “But at least it’s clean”
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The bone dried, its surface snapped in several places, splintered and then cooled. Someone would find it.
“Now you will talk to your brother,” Sankofa said. She turned away, opened her bag and brought out the jar of thick yellow shea butter. She scooped out a dollop. She rubbed it in her hands until it softened then melted. Then she rubbed it on her arms, legs, neck, face and belly. She sighed as her dry skin absorbed the natural moisturizer. She glanced at Movenpick who stood in the bushes to her right. The fox walked up the road, leading the way. Sankofa followed the fox into the night as if she were her own moon.
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Excerpt from Nnedi Okorafor’s Remote Control reprinted by permission. Copyright Tor.com.
Nnedi Okorafor’s Remote Control will go on sale January 19, 2021. You can pre-order a copy here.
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For more, make sure you’re following us on our Instagram @io9dotcom.


theroot--2020-04-22--99-Year-Old Black Woman Survives COVID-19 Infection Just in Time for Her 100th Birthday

Since the beginning stages of the coronavirus pandemic , our newsfeeds have been filled with horror stories about the devastating impact the outbreak has had on people ’ s daily lives as well as their very lives .
But every so often , we come across inspiring stories that warm the heart .
In Albany , Ga. , a 99-year-old woman who has survived COVID-19 infection just in time for her 100th birthday gives us one of those stories .
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reports that Maude Burke , the oldest COVID-19 patient to be discharged from Phoebe Putney Health System @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nurses and staff as they lined the hospital hallways in joyous applause as the 99-year-old left to go home after a 17-day stay at the hospital .
“ We continue to celebrate with our # COVID-19 patients when they get well enough to go home from our hospitals , ” Phoebe Putney posted on the hospital ’ s Facebook page along with a video of Burke ’ s sendoff .
“ This celebration was extra special .
Maude Burke is ... is the oldest COVID-19 patient we ’ ve been able to discharge @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and we wish her well as she continues to recover .
Thank you for being an inspiration , Ms. Maude !
” We need to see stories like this in order to remind ourselves that , in these times of great distress and uncertainty , there is still hope and there are still happy moments for us to celebrate .
Thank you for your courage and resilience , Maude Burke .
We salute you .

Since the beginning stages of the coronavirus pandemic, our newsfeeds have been filled with horror stories about the devastating impact the outbreak has had on people’s daily lives as well as their very lives. But every so often, we come across inspiring stories that warm the heart. In Albany, Ga., a 99-year-old woman who has survived COVID-19 infection just in time for her 100th birthday gives us one of those stories.
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reports that Maude Burke, the oldest COVID-19 patient to be discharged from Phoebe Putney Health System, got a beautiful celebratory sendoff from nurses and staff as they lined the hospital hallways in joyous applause as the 99-year-old left to go home after a 17-day stay at the hospital.
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“We continue to celebrate with our #COVID-19 patients when they get well enough to go home from our hospitals,” Phoebe Putney posted on the hospital’s Facebook page along with a video of Burke’s sendoff. “This celebration was extra special. Maude Burke is...is the oldest COVID-19 patient we’ve been able to discharge. Her strength and determination are amazing, and we wish her well as she continues to recover. Thank you for being an inspiration, Ms. Maude!”
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We need to see stories like this in order to remind ourselves that, in these times of great distress and uncertainty, there is still hope and there are still happy moments for us to celebrate. Thank you for your courage and resilience, Maude Burke. We salute you.


theroot--2020-04-22--With $75 off Great Northern's 16oz Popcorn Machine, Your Local Theater Will Be Jealous

Y ’ ALL , let me tell you : learning how to make my own movie theater popcorn has CHANGED @ @ @ @ @ I get to watch great movies in the comfort of my home with the buttery @ @ @ @ @ theater in existence , all without the limb sale that ’ s normally required to @ @ @ @ @ make it on the stove , but if you want an authentic experience , you @ @ @ @ @ this 16oz Great Northern machine , which falls to $ 289 following a meaty $ @ @ @ @ @ savings to pair it with one of these pre-portioned popcorn packs if you ’ re @ @ @ @ @ ll pop the kernels into a warming tray that keeps your popcorn fresh and easily @ @ @ @ @ so your kids can get their own personal bags and stop digging their dirty little @ @ @ @ @

Quentyn Kennemer on Kinja Deals, shared by Gabe Carey to The Root

Great Northern 16oz Popcorn Popper | $289 | Amazon
Y’ALL, let me tell you: learning how to make my own movie theater popcorn has CHANGED. MY. LIFE. I get to watch great movies in the comfort of my home with the buttery air that permeates seemingly every theater in existence, all without the limb sale that’s normally required to do so. You could make it on the stove, but if you want an authentic experience, you need a commercial popper like this 16oz Great Northern machine, which falls to $289 following a meaty $75 discount. Use those savings to pair it with one of these pre-portioned popcorn packs if you’re a beginner.
It’ll pop the kernels into a warming tray that keeps your popcorn fresh and easily accessible all night long, so your kids can get their own personal bags and stop digging their dirty little fingers in your bowl.


theroot--2020-04-22--Love & Basketball, 20 Years Later: I Still Think Quincy Was Wrong and Monica Was Right—Let's Fight

Imagine being able to reflect and reminisce about a passion project about your own life 20 years later with tens of thousands of fans .
Well , that ’ s what writer-director Gina Prince-Bythewood got to do on Tuesday night when she and BET hosted a live-tweet watch party of Love & Basketball to celebrate the beloved film ’ s 20th anniversary ( the film ’ s original theatrical release was on April 21 , 2000 ) .
Since this year marks such a monumental anniversary , I figured this was as good a time as any to rehash old @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not Monica ( Sanaa Lathan ) should ’ ve broken her curfew to stay with Quincy ( Omar Epps ) for moral support .
If you recall correctly , Quincy had just found out his father—whom he placed on a pedestal—had cheated on his mother and it rocked his world .
As such , he went to his girlfriend Monica to talk it through .
However , Monica , a promising player on the women ’ s college basketball team , was on a strict curfew schedule and , of course , wanted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ able to continue to play in the games .
So , she asked Quincy if they could talk in her dorm room instead of the bleachers , but Quincy refused , noting he ’ d rather talk on the bleachers without the risk and hassle of having to “ run into anybody ” during such a sensitive time in his life .
When Monica attempted to explain the risk and offer a compromise , Quincy got upset ( well , passive-aggressively ) and clearly felt she wasn ’ t supporting him the way @ @ @ @ @ @ @ subsequent breakup ensued , thereafter .
Here ’ s the replay of the scene : My Stance : Quincy was out of line .
First of all , he didn ’ t actually give a fuck about staying at the bleachers , he was projecting his hurt and distrust of relationships onto Monica—because , let ’ s be honest , Monica could ’ ve offered the exact same emotional support in her dorm room that she did at the bleachers .
It ’ s easy for Quincy to say that Monica was putting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ basketball career was being offered to him on a silver platter while Monica had to work twice as hard to even get on the starting lineup .
What if the roles were reversed ?
The same man who decided to enter the NBA draft without telling her out of spite would ’ ve certainly asked her to understand if he had to adjust his schedule for practice or a major game .
Monica may have been raised by basketball , but she certainly wasn ’ t the only one .
They had that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a bad girlfriend in that instance , point , blank , and period .
Let ’ s fight .
Naturally , Prince-Bythewood is fine to live within the grey area since she created these characters who are clearly close to her heart , thus she can empathize with each .
Honestly , this is the beauty of film and the impact these well-crafted characters can have on the viewer .
It ’ s been two decades and this is still a point of passionate contention , especially among black folks .
And I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t happen , we wouldn ’ t have gotten the epic “ double or nothing ” scene with one of the best soundtrack choices known to man ( shout-out to Meshell Ndegeocello ) .
During the live-tweet session , Prince-Bythewood shared some great behind-the-scenes “ fun facts.
” She also shared her personal idea “ spark ” for the film , in a recent interview with The Hollywood Reporter : Ironically , it had nothing to do with basketball .
The kernel of the idea was that I wanted to make a black @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that film , and there was a dearth or nonexistence of love stories made with black characters .
It was something that I wanted to see reflected ; I wanted to see myself reflected .
So , the first thing I asked was , “ Is being friends the best way to start a healthy relationship ?
” From that kernel , I started to think about what story I wanted to tell , and I ’ d been taught in film school that your first film should be personal—a story only you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about my life and the things I loved .
I also wanted to tell a story that put into the world that women could have both—love and career .
So , all those things together were the spark .
I love that she said this film is akin to When Harry Met Sally , one of my favorite films , but that similarity is definitely something that stuck out to me when watching this .
Navigating that complicated friendship dynamic was something I could wholly relate to and I appreciated getting to see @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s to 20 more years of reminiscing about this wonderful film that ’ ll always hold a special place in my heart .
So , let ’ s argue and fight in the comments !
Oh , and if you have extra free time , get into Prince-Bythewood ’ s Twitter timeline and scroll through all the fun facts she provided on Tuesday night .
If you ’ re a fan of the film ( which I imagine you are if you ’ ve read up to this point ) , you @ @ @ @ @ @ @

Tonja Renée Stidhum on The Grapevine, shared by Tonja Renée Stidhum to The Root

Imagine being able to reflect and reminisce about a passion project about your own life 20 years later with tens of thousands of fans.
Well, that’s what writer-director Gina Prince-Bythewood got to do on Tuesday night when she and BET hosted a live-tweet watch party of Love & Basketball to celebrate the beloved film’s 20th anniversary (the film’s original theatrical release was on April 21, 2000).
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Since this year marks such a monumental anniversary, I figured this was as good a time as any to rehash old shit. Namely, readdressing whether or not Monica (Sanaa Lathan) should’ve broken her curfew to stay with Quincy (Omar Epps) for moral support.
If you recall correctly, Quincy had just found out his father—whom he placed on a pedestal—had cheated on his mother and it rocked his world. As such, he went to his girlfriend Monica to talk it through. However, Monica, a promising player on the women’s college basketball team, was on a strict curfew schedule and, of course, wanted to maintain a good impression and be able to continue to play in the games. So, she asked Quincy if they could talk in her dorm room instead of the bleachers, but Quincy refused, noting he’d rather talk on the bleachers without the risk and hassle of having to “run into anybody” during such a sensitive time in his life. When Monica attempted to explain the risk and offer a compromise, Quincy got upset (well, passive-aggressively) and clearly felt she wasn’t supporting him the way she should. Fuckboy shenanigans and a subsequent breakup ensued, thereafter.
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Here’s the replay of the scene:
Love & Basketball scene / YouTube
My Stance: Quincy was out of line. First of all, he didn’t actually give a fuck about staying at the bleachers, he was projecting his hurt and distrust of relationships onto Monica—because, let’s be honest, Monica could’ve offered the exact same emotional support in her dorm room that she did at the bleachers. It’s easy for Quincy to say that Monica was putting basketball before everything else when his burgeoning basketball career was being offered to him on a silver platter while Monica had to work twice as hard to even get on the starting lineup. What if the roles were reversed? The same man who decided to enter the NBA draft without telling her out of spite would’ve certainly asked her to understand if he had to adjust his schedule for practice or a major game. Monica may have been raised by basketball, but she certainly wasn’t the only one. They had that in common. Monica wasn’t a bad girlfriend in that instance, point, blank, and period. Let’s fight.
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Naturally, Prince-Bythewood is fine to live within the grey area since she created these characters who are clearly close to her heart, thus she can empathize with each.
Advertisement
Honestly, this is the beauty of film and the impact these well-crafted characters can have on the viewer. It’s been two decades and this is still a point of passionate contention, especially among black folks. And I mean, if that shit didn’t happen, we wouldn’t have gotten the epic “double or nothing” scene with one of the best soundtrack choices known to man (shout-out to Meshell Ndegeocello).
During the live-tweet session, Prince-Bythewood shared some great behind-the-scenes “fun facts.”
Advertisement
Advertisement
She also shared her personal idea “spark” for the film, in a recent interview with The Hollywood Reporter:
Ironically, it had nothing to do with basketball. The kernel of the idea was that I wanted to make a black When Harry Met Sally. I love that film, and there was a dearth or nonexistence of love stories made with black characters. It was something that I wanted to see reflected; I wanted to see myself reflected. So, the first thing I asked was, “Is being friends the best way to start a healthy relationship?” From that kernel, I started to think about what story I wanted to tell, and I’d been taught in film school that your first film should be personal—a story only you could tell. So, I thought about my life and the things I loved. I also wanted to tell a story that put into the world that women could have both—love and career. So, all those things together were the spark.
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I love that she said this film is akin to When Harry Met Sally, one of my favorite films, but that similarity is definitely something that stuck out to me when watching this. Navigating that complicated friendship dynamic was something I could wholly relate to and I appreciated getting to see black characters within that space. Here’s to 20 more years of reminiscing about this wonderful film that’ll always hold a special place in my heart.
So, let’s argue and fight in the comments! Oh, and if you have extra free time, get into Prince-Bythewood’s Twitter timeline and scroll through all the fun facts she provided on Tuesday night. If you’re a fan of the film (which I imagine you are if you’ve read up to this point), you’ll enjoy these free nuggets.


theroot--2020-04-22--Dear Target, I Miss You. *Sniffle*

Dear Target, I Miss You. *Sniffle*

I haven ’ t physically gone inside a store in weeks .
Sure , I ’ ve done shopping .
I ’ ve purchased several pairs of shoes ( well , three pairs of shoes and two pairs of Yeezy Slides ) since being on lockdown of sorts .
I ’ ve had to actually force myself to stop going onto Amazon.com to buy shit I don ’ t need and would never use .
True story , I have several Marvin the Martian t-shirts in my “ save for later ” basket .
I don ’ t even know @ @ @ @ @ @ @ several , in my basket , but there they sit , waiting to be purchased .
The only thing I can come up with is that I think Marvin the Martian is one of the realest black people to ever black so maybe one day I was like , “ Y ou know what , I need some Marvin gear !
” Otherwise , I have nothing .
But that ’ s all online .
I legitimately don ’ t remember the last time I ventured inside a store of any sort .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ weeks ago , but even then , I could be wrong .
What I do know is that I haven ’ t been inside a Target in probably close to a month .
Hell , I haven ’ t even driven by a Target .
Admittedly , I spent way too much time at Target .
After dropping my daughter off at school in the mornings— back when school was a thing— I ’ d have to pass a Target on my way to wherever I was working for the day .
And @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there is ALWAYS something to buy at Target , I ’ d just drop by several times a week .
We need toilet paper ?
Got that .
Paper towels ?
Bong bong .
Some new clothes for the kiddies ?
No sweat , I ’ ll stop by Target in the morning .
And it was NOTHING to make a Target run in the evening to go pick up this , that or the third .
I was on a first-name basis with some of the folks who worked at one Target @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Target one day and realizing I didn ’ t need anything but instinctively just stopped in .
I thought it probably felt weird for Target , too .
I bought something I didn ’ t need and all was right with the world .
Now though , I don ’ t really see a reason to make the trip , and even if I did , it feels like SO MUCH TROUBLE to actually go inside .
For instance , several days of the week I take an early morning drive just to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ m not going anywhere in particular but just going somewhere for about 20 minutes .
I ’ m basically in the car long enough to hear Dru Hill ’ s ( the Sisqo , Smoke and Black [ from Playa ] iteration ) new song , “ What You Need , ” six or seven times and then I ’ m back home ( yes , I listen to that song on repeat ... have you heard it ?
It ’ s amazeballs. )
.
Well , a few weeks back while @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it had been a week or two since I ’ d had a Red Bull .
I ’ m a Red Bull drinker—I ’ m particular to the Kiwi Apple and Blueberry flavors .
Anyway , I pass several CVS ’ s and grocery stores on this short drive and every single day I wanted to stop in and get a Red Bull but when I thought of putting on a mask and gloves and having to be extra careful about touching my clothes and not touching my phone , etc .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and drove on home .
I ended up ordering cases from Amazon so I ’ m good , but the process kept me from a simple joy of mine .
This is partly why I don ’ t make any trips to Target , even when I can think of good reasons to go .
The care with which I have to operate seems like so much work .
And that makes me sad .
My wife took a trip to Target to pick up some things and it felt weird that I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I miss my daily ritual of random purchases ( I have admittedly saved a bunch of money since being largely confined to the house ) but all I can think of is the amount of preparation and active concentration I ’ d need to undertake to keep myself good .
My wife is obviously better at this than I am .
Despite this lack of desire to be there , I still miss Target all the same .
We have shared so many good times .
Like the time when I bought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and couldn ’ t figure out the disconnect .
Who am I kidding , that ’ s every trip to Target .
Or all of those times at the self-checkout where it tells me “ thanks for shopping at Target .
See you again soon !
” and how I ’ m annoyed at the presumption but how Target is never wrong since I will always see them again soon .
Or the time I saw a white Ford Bronco ( an OJ-mobile ) parked at one of my Targets and immediately let @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was lurking about ( I never saw him ; I ’ m pretty sure he ’ d never be caught dead in one ) .
Or what about the time that I heard Eric B. and Rakim playing over the loudspeakers and broke into an impromptu dance session .
Target has brought me more random moments of entertainment than I can shake a stick at .
I don ’ t even mind paying the $ 50 entrance fee ( you know you ain ’ t never spent less than $ 50 in Target @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a store , for me it ’ s an experience and I miss that .
I also realize how ridiculous it is to miss a whole big- ass box store , but you know what , Target is one of my happy places and while I ’ m fine , seriously , I ’ m fine , I look forward to making trips to pick up a sifter , a screwdriver and a brand new vacuum because why not , ya know ?
I miss you Target ...
I hope to see you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have to do so much to walk in , that is . )

Panama Jackson on Very Smart Brothas, shared by Panama Jackson to The Root

I haven’t physically gone inside a store in weeks. Sure, I’ve done shopping. I’ve purchased several pairs of shoes (well, three pairs of shoes and two pairs of Yeezy Slides) since being on lockdown of sorts. I’ve had to actually force myself to stop going onto Amazon.com to buy shit I don’t need and would never use. True story, I have several Marvin the Martian t-shirts in my “save for later” basket. I don’t even know why I have one, let alone several, in my basket, but there they sit, waiting to be purchased. The only thing I can come up with is that I think Marvin the Martian is one of the realest black people to ever black so maybe one day I was like, “Y ou know what, I need some Marvin gear!” Otherwise, I have nothing. But that’s all online.
I legitimately don’t remember the last time I ventured inside a store of any sort. I think maybe it was PetCo several weeks ago, but even then, I could be wrong. What I do know is that I haven’t been inside a Target in probably close to a month. Hell, I haven’t even driven by a Target.
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I miss Target.
Admittedly, I spent way too much time at Target. After dropping my daughter off at school in the mornings— back when school was a thing— I’d have to pass a Target on my way to wherever I was working for the day. And since Target opens at 8 a.m. and there is ALWAYS something to buy at Target, I’d just drop by several times a week. We need toilet paper? Got that. Paper towels? Bong bong. Some new clothes for the kiddies? No sweat, I’ll stop by Target in the morning.
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And it was NOTHING to make a Target run in the evening to go pick up this, that or the third. I was on a first-name basis with some of the folks who worked at one Target I frequented. I remember going into Target one day and realizing I didn’t need anything but instinctively just stopped in. I thought it probably felt weird for Target, too. I bought something I didn’t need and all was right with the world.
Now though, I don’t really see a reason to make the trip, and even if I did, it feels like SO MUCH TROUBLE to actually go inside.
Advertisement
For instance, several days of the week I take an early morning drive just to get out of the house. I’m not going anywhere in particular but just going somewhere for about 20 minutes. I’m basically in the car long enough to hear Dru Hill’s (the Sisqo, Smoke and Black [from Playa] iteration) new song, “What You Need,” six or seven times and then I’m back home (yes, I listen to that song on repeat...have you heard it? It’s amazeballs.). Well, a few weeks back while partaking in this ritual, I realized it had been a week or two since I’d had a Red Bull. I’m a Red Bull drinker—I’m particular to the Kiwi Apple and Blueberry flavors. Anyway, I pass several CVS’s and grocery stores on this short drive and every single day I wanted to stop in and get a Red Bull but when I thought of putting on a mask and gloves and having to be extra careful about touching my clothes and not touching my phone, etc. I figured it wasn’t worth it and drove on home. I ended up ordering cases from Amazon so I’m good, but the process kept me from a simple joy of mine.
Advertisement
This is partly why I don’t make any trips to Target, even when I can think of good reasons to go. The care with which I have to operate seems like so much work. And that makes me sad. My wife took a trip to Target to pick up some things and it felt weird that I didn’t even want to go. I miss my daily ritual of random purchases (I have admittedly saved a bunch of money since being largely confined to the house) but all I can think of is the amount of preparation and active concentration I’d need to undertake to keep myself good. My wife is obviously better at this than I am.
Despite this lack of desire to be there, I still miss Target all the same. We have shared so many good times. Like the time when I bought 3 items and somehow spent $230 and couldn’t figure out the disconnect. Who am I kidding, that’s every trip to Target. Or all of those times at the self-checkout where it tells me “thanks for shopping at Target. See you again soon!” and how I’m annoyed at the presumption but how Target is never wrong since I will always see them again soon. Or the time I saw a white Ford Bronco (an OJ-mobile) parked at one of my Targets and immediately let all the homies know that OJ Simpson was lurking about (I never saw him; I’m pretty sure he’d never be caught dead in one). Or what about the time that I heard Eric B. and Rakim playing over the loudspeakers and broke into an impromptu dance session. Target has brought me more random moments of entertainment than I can shake a stick at. I don’t even mind paying the $50 entrance fee (you know you ain’t never spent less than $50 in Target).
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Target isn’t just a store, for me it’s an experience and I miss that. I also realize how ridiculous it is to miss a whole big- ass box store, but you know what, Target is one of my happy places and while I’m fine, seriously, I’m fine, I look forward to making trips to pick up a sifter, a screwdriver and a brand new vacuum because why not, ya know?
I miss you Target...I hope to see you soon (when I don’t have to do so much to walk in, that is.)


theroot--2020-04-22--Lululemon Under Fire After Employee Promotes 'Bat Fried Rice' T-Shirt on Instagram

You would think a global pandemic would at least put a temporary freeze on fashion designers finding new ways to be racist , but here we are .
NBC News reports that Lululemon has come under fire as Trevor Flemming , a former art director for the company , posted a link on his personal Instagram account promoting a shirt design featuring a bat inside a Chinese takeout container alongside the words “ no thanks.
” Flemming didn ’ t design the shirt himself but was promoting the work of Jess Sluder , an artist based in California .
Lululemon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ At Lululemon , our culture and values are core to who we are , and we take matters like this extremely seriously , ” a spokesperson wrote in an email .
“ The image and the post were inappropriate and inexcusable and we do not tolerate this behavior.
” Flemming was similarly contrite .
“ I apologize to those that have been hurt by this .
I commit to standing up against racist or discriminatory behavior and will work hard to ensure that my personal and professional contributions in the future @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sluder has yet to release a comment about the shirt , though she has deleted the Instagram post promoting it .
Flemming was subsequently let go from Lululemon , though it ’ s unclear if it was due to this incident .
Anti-Asian rhetoric has been steadily rising as the coronavirus pandemic continues , making it striking that both Sluder and Flemming thought this was a perfectly okay thing to do considering what ’ s going on in the world .
I guess it takes getting fired for white people to realize that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ move .

Joe Jurado on The Glow Up, shared by Joe Jurado to The Root

You would think a global pandemic would at least put a temporary freeze on fashion designers finding new ways to be racist, but here we are.
NBC News reports that Lululemon has come under fire as Trevor Flemming, a former art director for the company, posted a link on his personal Instagram account promoting a shirt design featuring a bat inside a Chinese takeout container alongside the words “no thanks.” Flemming didn’t design the shirt himself but was promoting the work of Jess Sluder, an artist based in California. Lululemon released a statement apologizing for the incident.
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From NBC News:
“At Lululemon, our culture and values are core to who we are, and we take matters like this extremely seriously,” a spokesperson wrote in an email. “The image and the post were inappropriate and inexcusable and we do not tolerate this behavior.”
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Flemming was similarly contrite. “I apologize to those that have been hurt by this. I commit to standing up against racist or discriminatory behavior and will work hard to ensure that my personal and professional contributions in the future are kind, inclusive and supportive.” Sluder has yet to release a comment about the shirt, though she has deleted the Instagram post promoting it.
Flemming was subsequently let go from Lululemon, though it’s unclear if it was due to this incident. Anti-Asian rhetoric has been steadily rising as the coronavirus pandemic continues, making it striking that both Sluder and Flemming thought this was a perfectly okay thing to do considering what’s going on in the world. I guess it takes getting fired for white people to realize that casual racism really isn’t the move.


theroot--2020-04-22--T.I. Explains Why He Treats His Daughters and Sons Differently

Few can forget the “ hymen-gate ” scandal of November 2019 .
The controversy involved Atlanta-bred rapper and thesaurus-enthusiast T.I.
, who went on a podcast and made claims that he urges his 18-year-old daughter Deyjah ’ s gynecologist to check her hymen , in order to ensure her virginity is intact .
Shortly after , he was chastised for this gross invasion of privacy , overstepped parental boundaries and straight-up ignorance about the female reproductive system both online and on Jada Pinkett Smith ’ s Facebook Watch series , Red Table Talk .
T.I .
explained on a recent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ & Tiny : Friends & Family Hustle why he treats his daughters differently than he treats his sons , which he says is for “ protection.
” “ To be honest with you , I only feel the need to protect the girls from heartbreak , ” he says in the clip .
“ So for me , it ’ s about making sure that my daughters grow up as happy and unencumbered by outsiders tweaking their emotions as possible .
That doesn ’ t mean that I don ’ t want my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It just means I know that they will hold on to those experiences and I don ’ t know how that will translate when they come out of it.
” T.I .
has seven children—three daughters and four sons .
T.I.
’ s stepdaughter Zonnique told Hollywood Life that her stepdad is certainly more overprotective when it comes to the women in his life , especially his daughters , and she hopes that his youngest daughter Heiress doesn ’ t have to experience it as badly as she and Deyjah have .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , you don ’ t care that the boys go on dates , you let their girlfriends come over , ” she explains.
“ You know , we meet their girlfriends , it ’ s all cool , it ’ s like a regular thing .
But you know , if I ’ m in a relationship and I bring my boyfriend over , the whole family has to talk to him .
He has to go outside with pops and have these hourlong conversations .
”

J'na Jefferson on The Grapevine, shared by J'na Jefferson to The Root

Few can forget the “hymen-gate” scandal of November 2019. The controversy involved Atlanta-bred rapper and thesaurus-enthusiast T.I., who went on a podcast and made claims that he urges his 18-year-old daughter Deyjah’s gynecologist to check her hymen, in order to ensure her virginity is intact. Shortly after, he was chastised for this gross invasion of privacy, overstepped parental boundaries and straight-up ignorance about the female reproductive system both online and on Jada Pinkett Smith’s Facebook Watch series, Red Table Talk.
T.I. explained on a recent episode of his Vh1 show T.I. & Tiny: Friends & Family Hustle why he treats his daughters differently than he treats his sons, which he says is for “protection.”
“To be honest with you, I only feel the need to protect the girls from heartbreak,” he says in the clip. “So for me, it’s about making sure that my daughters grow up as happy and unencumbered by outsiders tweaking their emotions as possible. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want my daughters to date or have experiences. It just means I know that they will hold on to those experiences and I don’t know how that will translate when they come out of it.” T.I. has seven children—three daughters and four sons.
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T.I.’s stepdaughter Zonnique told Hollywood Life that her stepdad is certainly more overprotective when it comes to the women in his life, especially his daughters, and she hopes that his youngest daughter Heiress doesn’t have to experience it as badly as she and Deyjah have.
“My mom will always argue, like, you don’t care that the boys go on dates, you let their girlfriends come over,” she explains.“You know, we meet their girlfriends, it’s all cool, it’s like a regular thing. But you know, if I’m in a relationship and I bring my boyfriend over, the whole family has to talk to him. He has to go outside with pops and have these hourlong conversations.”


theroot--2020-04-22--Store Non-Perishables Longer With 16% Off Five Airtight Storage Containers

Bought way too many non-perishables in the early quarantine food rush ?
While they ’ ll stay good plenty long @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t open them , you ’ ll probably want something more than bag @ @ @ @ @ after you ’ ve dug in .
Right now , you can get five airtight @ @ @ @ @ , from half a quart all the way to 4.2 .
Candies , cookies , @ @ @ @ @ , rice , and all the spice—throw all your Powerpuff Girls ingredients into these things @ @ @ @ @ the recycling bin .

Five F reshlok Airtight Storage Containers (Assorted) | $33 | Amazon
Bought way too many non-perishables in the early quarantine food rush? While they’ll stay good plenty long for as long as you don’t open them, you’ll probably want something more than bag clips and origami box folding after you’ve dug in. Right now, you can get five airtight storage containers for $33, from half a quart all the way to 4.2. Candies, cookies, kernals, seeds, sugars, rice, and all the spice—throw all your Powerpuff Girls ingredients into these things and toss those boxes into the recycling bin.


theroot--2020-04-22--Study Finds That ICE Places African and Caribbean Immigrants in Solitary Confinement More Often Than

Study Finds That ICE Places African and Caribbean Immigrants in Solitary Confinement More Often Than Non-Black Immigrants

A new study reveals that U.S. law enforcement isn ’ t only disproportionately harsh when dealing with black Americans , but that our Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency is similarly biased in their treatment of African and Caribbean immigrants .
According to the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists , researchers found that ICE detainees from predominantly black countries had been placed in solitary confinement six times as often as detainees from other countries .
Detainees from these predominantly black countries made up just 4 % of detainees in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody from 2012 to 2017 — but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the forthcoming report from researchers at the University of California concludes .
The disparity is due in part to ICE personnel using solitary confinement as a tool to discipline detainees from Africa and the Caribbean much more often than for people from other countries .
The stark racial difference , the authors say , parallels the most painful inequities of America ’ s criminal justice system .
ICIJ shared incident reports with the study ’ s researchers that show that ICE routinely places detainees they consider troublesome in solitary confinement for weeks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some of those detainees , such as those with mental illnesses , are segregated from the rest of the population in order to protect themselves and others , the study found that ICE was 22 percent more likely to place African detainees in solitary confinement for disciplinary infractions .
Not only are detainees of African origin locked in solitary confinement more frequently than their non-African or Caribbean counterparts , but the study also found that they are placed there for longer periods of time .
For example , detainees from the Middle East @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to ICE ’ s overall population .
Assistant professor of anthropology at New Mexico State University Nathan Craig , who isn ’ t involved in the study , told ICIJ that “ [ it ] appears that dark-skinned individuals are more quickly and readily disciplined with long periods of solitary than their lighter-skinned counterparts.
” The study ’ s authors say that part of the reason for these racial disparities ( aside from garden-variety racism ) may involve language barriers between ICE guards who often only speak English and Spanish and detainees who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ language issues are part of the problem .
“ While South Asians are chided and demeaned by staff for not speaking English , we have numerous accounts of staff discriminating against Anglophone or Francophone Africans who do not speak Spanish , ” he said .
“ In some cases , guards will only speak to Africans in Spanish .
Communication issues are often at the heart of disciplinary use of solitary confinement.
” Studies have shown the damaging impact solitary confinement has on mental health and that spending 22 hours or more a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cause lasting trauma and cause suicidal urges .
Authors of the UC study note that while U.S. state prison systems are moving towards eliminating the use of solitary confinement , ICE has continued the practice nationwide .

A new study reveals that U.S. law enforcement isn’t only disproportionately harsh when dealing with black Americans, but that our Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency is similarly biased in their treatment of African and Caribbean immigrants.
According to the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists, researchers found that ICE detainees from predominantly black countries had been placed in solitary confinement six times as often as detainees from other countries.
Detainees from these predominantly black countries made up just 4% of detainees in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody from 2012 to 2017 — but 24% of all solitary confinement stays, the forthcoming report from researchers at the University of California concludes. The disparity is due in part to ICE personnel using solitary confinement as a tool to discipline detainees from Africa and the Caribbean much more often than for people from other countries. The stark racial difference, the authors say, parallels the most painful inequities of America’s criminal justice system.
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ICIJ shared incident reports with the study’s researchers that show that ICE routinely places detainees they consider troublesome in solitary confinement for weeks and months at a time. While some of those detainees, such as those with mental illnesses, are segregated from the rest of the population in order to protect themselves and others, the study found that ICE was 22 percent more likely to place African detainees in solitary confinement for disciplinary infractions.
Not only are detainees of African origin locked in solitary confinement more frequently than their non-African or Caribbean counterparts, but the study also found that they are placed there for longer periods of time. For example, detainees from the Middle East spent five days longer in solitary compared to ICE’s overall population.
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Assistant professor of anthropology at New Mexico State University Nathan Craig, who isn’t involved in the study, told ICIJ that “[it] appears that dark-skinned individuals are more quickly and readily disciplined with long periods of solitary than their lighter-skinned counterparts.”
The study’s authors say that part of the reason for these racial disparities (aside from garden-variety racism) may involve language barriers between ICE guards who often only speak English and Spanish and detainees who speak neither language.
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Craig agrees that language issues are part of the problem.
“While South Asians are chided and demeaned by staff for not speaking English, we have numerous accounts of staff discriminating against Anglophone or Francophone Africans who do not speak Spanish,” he said. “In some cases, guards will only speak to Africans in Spanish. Communication issues are often at the heart of disciplinary use of solitary confinement.”
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Studies have shown the damaging impact solitary confinement has on mental health and that spending 22 hours or more a day isolated from any social interaction can cause lasting trauma and cause suicidal urges. Authors of the UC study note that while U.S. state prison systems are moving towards eliminating the use of solitary confinement, ICE has continued the practice nationwide.


theroot--2020-04-22--Twitter Fingers: President Troll Face Just Tweeted That He Wants Iranian Gunboats ‘Shot Down’ for Tr

Twitter Fingers: President Troll Face Just Tweeted That He Wants Iranian Gunboats ‘Shot Down’ for Trolling

President 6ix9ine is about to get us into a shitload of shit during a global pandemic when no one can safely leave the goddamn house without a full-on gas mask .
On Wednesday , for some reason—and that reason is probably that the “ wartime president ” is losing the silent war against the coronavirus—the president instructed the U.S. Navy to “ shoot down and destroy any and all Iranian gunboats ” that harass U.S. ships .
“ I have instructed the United States Navy to shoot down and destroy any and all Iranian gunboats if they harass our ships @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yes , he really wrote a war directive on a social media site because he either doesn ’ t care about the lives of those he ’ s endangering or he loves to wave his dick around on social media .
According to CNN , senior Pentagon officials tried to clean up the president ’ s tweet by noting that it was a “ lawful order though it did not mark a change in the rules of engagement.
” “ The President issued an important warning to the Iranians .
What he was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the right of self-defense and people need to be very careful in their interactions to understand the inherent right of self-defense , ” Deputy Defense Secretary David Norquist told reporters at the Pentagon .
Nah , son .
We know how to read , and we know that the president said to “ shoot down ” all boats that continue to harass U.S. Navy ships .
That doesn ’ t sound like a warning .
I mean , granted , it ’ s an incorrect statement , as planes are shot down , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you know who else gets it ?
Iranian gunboats and anyone else in Iran who now wants to post a video to WorldStar boasting that the U.S. has to check in .
“ We don ’ t need any more direction in order to do that .
I think the President ’ s message was crystal clear and we don ’ t need any more actions , ” Gen. John Hyten , vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said , CNN reports .
He added that there is a line now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Bitch , we out here playing with lines and crossings and this is going to get bad !
The tweet is the latest provocative threat Trump has levied against Tehran amid scrutiny of his handling of the ongoing coronavirus pandemic , and raises fears about the possibility of a miscalculation between the two longtime foes .
Tensions sharply escalated in January when the US killed Iran ’ s second most powerful official , Gen. Qasem Soleimani , and earlier this month , Trump , without citing any evidence , claimed that his administration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ proxies are planning a sneak attack on US troops and/or assets in Iraq.
” He warned of a “ heavy price ” to pay if such acts were carried out .
Secretary of State Mike Pompeo also commented on the tweet in a briefing at the State Department , saying the President has been clear to the State and Defense Departments “ to do everything we need to do to make sure that we protect and defend our officers , our military officers , our diplomats around the world , to continue to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Last week , the U.S. Navy released a video that showed these tiny-ass gunboats doing the equivalent of “ I ’ m not touching you ” against these big-ass U.S. Navy warships in the North Arabian Sea .
The Navy even claimed that one Iranian vessel came with 10 yards of colliding with a Navy ship .
Wait , hol ’ up !
N ow we know why the president tweeted out his sternly worded tweet .
Apparently Fox and Friends , also known as the president ’ s chiefs of staff @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that Iran had just launched its first military satellite an hour before the president posted his bully-tweet .
So here we go : The president is literally about to tweet us into a fight with Iran when half of the country is trying to figure out when Congress is going to get busy sending out this second round of stimulus checks so we can put something in our Instacarts .

President 6ix9ine is about to get us into a shitload of shit during a global pandemic when no one can safely leave the goddamn house without a full-on gas mask.
On Wednesday, for some reason—and that reason is probably that the “wartime president” is losing the silent war against the coronavirus—the president instructed the U.S. Navy to “shoot down and destroy any and all Iranian gunboats” that harass U.S. ships.
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“I have instructed the United States Navy to shoot down and destroy any and all Iranian gunboats if they harass our ships at sea,” Trump wrote.
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Yes, he really wrote a war directive on a social media site because he either doesn’t care about the lives of those he’s endangering or he loves to wave his dick around on social media.
According to CNN, senior Pentagon officials tried to clean up the president’s tweet by noting that it was a “lawful order though it did not mark a change in the rules of engagement.”
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“The President issued an important warning to the Iranians. What he was emphasizing is all of our ships retain the right of self-defense and people need to be very careful in their interactions to understand the inherent right of self-defense,” Deputy Defense Secretary David Norquist told reporters at the Pentagon.
Nah, son. We know how to read, and we know that the president said to “shoot down” all boats that continue to harass U.S. Navy ships. That doesn’t sound like a warning. I mean, granted, it’s an incorrect statement, as planes are shot down, but we get the point. And you know who else gets it? Iranian gunboats and anyone else in Iran who now wants to post a video to WorldStar boasting that the U.S. has to check in.
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“We don’t need any more direction in order to do that. I think the President’s message was crystal clear and we don’t need any more actions,” Gen. John Hyten, vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said, CNN reports. He added that there is a line now and Iran should not cross it. Bitch, we out here playing with lines and crossings and this is going to get bad!
From CNN:
The tweet is the latest provocative threat Trump has levied against Tehran amid scrutiny of his handling of the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, and raises fears about the possibility of a miscalculation between the two longtime foes. Tensions sharply escalated in January when the US killed Iran’s second most powerful official, Gen. Qasem Soleimani, and earlier this month, Trump, without citing any evidence, claimed that his administration had information that “Iran or its proxies are planning a sneak attack on US troops and/or assets in Iraq.” He warned of a “heavy price” to pay if such acts were carried out. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo also commented on the tweet in a briefing at the State Department, saying the President has been clear to the State and Defense Departments “to do everything we need to do to make sure that we protect and defend our officers, our military officers, our diplomats around the world, to continue to ensure that they are secure and safe.”
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Last week, the U.S. Navy released a video that showed these tiny-ass gunboats doing the equivalent of “I’m not touching you” against these big-ass U.S. Navy warships in the North Arabian Sea. The Navy even claimed that one Iranian vessel came with 10 yards of colliding with a Navy ship.
Wait, hol’ up! N ow we know why the president tweeted out his sternly worded tweet. Apparently Fox and Friends, also known as the president’s chiefs of staff, reported on the incident and added that Iran had just launched its first military satellite an hour before the president posted his bully-tweet.
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So here we go: The president is literally about to tweet us into a fight with Iran when half of the country is trying to figure out when Congress is going to get busy sending out this second round of stimulus checks so we can put something in our Instacarts.


theroot--2020-04-22--Curse Be Damned, Lamar Jackson Will Grace the Cover of Madden NFL 2021

In 1998 , the two-time NFL Pro Bowler enjoyed a breakthrough season , exploding for nine touchdowns and over 2,000 yards from scrimmage for the 49ers .
He was then named the first-ever cover athlete for the upcoming Madden NFL 99 , only to suffer a gruesome ankle injury—the tissue and talus bone in his foot even died—against the Atlanta Falcons in the playoffs .
It would take several seasons for Hearst to return to the field and it birthed what ’ s become known as the Madden Curse : in which the NFL ’ s brightest stars suffer significant @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have their careers cut short after gracing the cover of Madden .
And before you roll your eyes or call the curse “ bullshit , ” did you know that of the 22 players who ’ ve been named Madden cover athletes , that 16 of them were “ cursed ” with either bad play or nasty injuries after the game hit shelves ?
Even Patrick Mahomes—Madden 2020 ’ s cover athlete and the future face of the NFL—missed time last season with a serious knee injury .
Though the argument could be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the ropes after Mahomes ’ Chiefs won the Super Bowl in February .
At least that ’ s what Lamar Jackson , the NFL ’ s reigning MVP , thinks after announcing that he ’ ll be gracing the cover of Madden 2021—which apparently wasn ’ t supposed to leak yet .
“ Patrick Mahomes is on the front and he won [ Super Bowl ] MVP , ” Jackson told ESPN .
“ I want that curse .
I hope that ’ s a curse.
” He then revealed that he ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was a child .
“ It ’ s always been a dream of mine since I was a little kid , since I first started playing Madden , ” Jackson said .
“ It ’ s dope .
I have every Madden .
To me , to be on the front of it , it ’ s a dream come true.
” After showing flashes of his potential as a rookie , Jackson completely destroyed the league as a sophomore , becoming the first player in league history to collect over 3,000 passing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ same season .
He also scored an otherworldly 43 combined touchdowns , making his selection as the third-youngest player to ever win league MVP , not exactly a surprise .
But will he succumb to the Madden Curse ?
He ’ s more concerned about continuing to evolve as a player .
“ I got to win a playoff game before anything because I ’ m tired of that already , ” he said .
“ Once I ’ m tired of something , I got to make it happen .
That ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also wouldn ’ t mind if the Ravens decide to ease his load .
“ I doubt I ’ m going to be carrying the ball a lot going on further in the future because we have great running backs , ” he added .
I ’ d hate to see him go out like his teammate Robert Griffin III , so let us hope and pray he remains healthy and , more importantly , is even able to play next season—with or without fans .

Remember Garrison Hearst?
In 1998, the two-time NFL Pro Bowler enjoyed a breakthrough season, exploding for nine touchdowns and over 2,000 yards from scrimmage for the 49ers. He was then named the first-ever cover athlete for the upcoming Madden NFL 99, only to suffer a gruesome ankle injury—the tissue and talus bone in his foot even died—against the Atlanta Falcons in the playoffs.
It would take several seasons for Hearst to return to the field and it birthed what’s become known as the Madden Curse: in which the NFL’s brightest stars suffer significant injuries, experience down years, or have their careers cut short after gracing the cover of Madden. And before you roll your eyes or call the curse “bullshit,” did you know that of the 22 players who’ve been named Madden cover athletes, that 16 of them were “cursed” with either bad play or nasty injuries after the game hit shelves? Even Patrick Mahomes—Madden 2020’s cover athlete and the future face of the NFL—missed time last season with a serious knee injury. Though the argument could be made that the Madden Curse is on the ropes after Mahomes’ Chiefs won the Super Bowl in February.
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At least that’s what Lamar Jackson, the NFL’s reigning MVP, thinks after announcing that he’ll be gracing the cover of Madden 2021—which apparently wasn’t supposed to leak yet.
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“Patrick Mahomes is on the front and he won [Super Bowl] MVP,” Jackson told ESPN. “I want that curse. I hope that’s a curse.”
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He then revealed that he’s dreamt of this moment since he was a child.
“It’s always been a dream of mine since I was a little kid, since I first started playing Madden,” Jackson said. “It’s dope. I have every Madden. To me, to be on the front of it, it’s a dream come true.”
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After showing flashes of his potential as a rookie, Jackson completely destroyed the league as a sophomore, becoming the first player in league history to collect over 3,000 passing yards and 1,000 yards rushing in the same season. He also scored an otherworldly 43 combined touchdowns, making his selection as the third-youngest player to ever win league MVP, not exactly a surprise.
But will he succumb to the Madden Curse? He’s more concerned about continuing to evolve as a player.
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“I got to win a playoff game before anything because I’m tired of that already,” he said. “Once I’m tired of something, I got to make it happen. That’s my goal right now.”
He also wouldn’t mind if the Ravens decide to ease his load.
“I doubt I’m going to be carrying the ball a lot going on further in the future because we have great running backs,” he added.
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I’d hate to see him go out like his teammate Robert Griffin III, so let us hope and pray he remains healthy and, more importantly, is even able to play next season—with or without fans.