In Sista Talk Too, Rochelle Brock brings meaningful new material which evokes and updates her past examination of Black women in today’s culture. The first Sista Talk: The Personal and the Pedagogical is an inquiry into the questions of how Black women define their existence in a society which devalues, dehumanizes, and silences their beliefs. Placing herself inside of the research, Rochelle Brock invited the reader on a journey of self-exploration, as she and seven of her Black female students investigate their collective journey toward self-awareness in the attempt to liberate their minds and souls from ideological domination. Throughout, Sista Talk attempted to understand the ways in which this self-exploration informs her pedagogy. Combining Black feminist and Afrocentric theory with critical pedagogy, Sista Talk Too frames the parameters for an Afrowomanist pedagogy of wholeness for teaching Black students and strength in dealing with an unpredictable and often unstable view of the future. Rochelle Brock brings us something to be remembered by, chapters and writings from students and colleagues to help us survive and thrive in this world…all in the spirit of love, life, and Oshun.
Reflection: scrambled eggs over medium
scrambled eggs over medium
i remember, it was every wednesday morning. i can’t remember for how long, but i know at least for a month, maybe more, i can’t remember. they. they served orange juice after it was all over. something about the acid helped, why? i can’t remember.
my father would drive me there, as my best friend vicki was walking to school, we were in the ninth grade. no one knew, it was a family secret, a family shame. only the family, the doctors, the nurses, the machine.
i was a fool, i didn’t know what they were doing, but then again i was only fifteen, still i was a fool, i should have stopped it. why didn’t somebody, anybody. maybe someone did try to stop it, i can’t remember.
the volts, they put you to sleep, you didn’t feel them, but then again you did in one part of your mind you knew something was different, would never be the same, you felt something. afterwards you would wake. but i remember the sleep also. heavy, dense, grave, shrouded, a sleeping death. i couldn’t breath, no air and then i felt emptiness, the deepest nothing, the deepest black hole. i wish i could say i dreamed while i was in the hole, the abyss. but i can’t remember.
i remember daddy would wait outside with the other people. i remember a room, a white room...
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