The Chronicles of a Southern Black Alkhemist, Volume 1

By Ameri Teferi

A honest, "mostly" non-fiction account of a young Black man's transformation triggered by personal failure & family trauma. In Volume 1 of this series, Kel, the central character of this story, recalls the circumstances that caused him to turn inward to find the REALNESS of life and what it means to not only be a Black Man, but a MELANATED MAN.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ameri Teferi
• Release date: Sep 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578428260

Book preview

Preface

What is alchemy? According to Webster’s dictionary, alchemy is not only "a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, but also, a power or process that changes or transforms something in a mysterious or impressive way. The original practice of alchemy emerged from Ancient Kemet (Egypt) which means the land of the Blacks. Our ancient Black ancestors were not only adept in transforming your basic metals into golds, silvers and other top-notch metals, they were also proficient in transforming themselves physically, intellectually and spiritually. This is one of the main reasons Ancient Kemet is hailed as the epitome and apex of ALL civilization known to man, although we should not forget nor shortchange the other ancient Black civilizations that gave birth to it (i.e. Ancient Kush or Ethiopia, Nubia, Ancient Sumeria) or the civilizations that followed it (i.e. Olmec, Mali, Moorish influence on the USA.)

Throughout the ages, Black/African people have demonstrated an unmatched ability to adapt and be transformed by their specific circumstances (see slavery) and continue to do so to this day. I see my own story as a minute but similar and effective example of the type of transformation modern-day Black people, no matter the background, can achieve an infinity times over!

The Chronicles of a Southern Black AlKhemist ("K replaces C" to give reverence to Kemet) is a detailed account of the three-part post The Transformation from my blog The Melanin Man www.themelaninman.net. This is based on a true story. Of course, there are a couple of aspects of the story that are embellished and the names of the real-life characters are changed for obvious reasons. The transformation I endured took place over a two-year period after descending to the lowest point in my young life physically, mentally, and spiritually.

Background: A young Black man from the Deep South blessed to have a college degree in civil engineering, embarks on a journey of self-discovery as he seeks to overcome a lifelong battle with overeating and obesity, a sudden case of unemployment, all the while he operates as Mr. Mom to his two infant daughters as his wife is in the midst of pursing her doctorate in osteopathy.

On the surface, at least to me, this is a cakewalk compared to what Black people have had to withstand throughout history. But I don’t give myself enough credit.

Through my journey, I realized how the poor eating habits I developed earlier in my life were self-destructive to my well-being, unknowingly passing them down to my beloved seed. I have noticed how those same habits were damaging my loved ones as well, and on a broader scope, how it has destroyed and continues to destroy the Black community as a whole. This unhealthy relationship with food is, in my humble opinion, one of the most underrated issue that is prohibiting true liberation and self-respect for Black people in the world. And yet that issue, like many things in life, is actually spiritual-based.

There is also a serious lack of spirituality within our community which has been replaced with a parasitic materialism and staunch religious ideology that has caused us to become docile and cooperative to the powers that seek to keep us locked down. That reality has caused most of us to shun the true knowledge of this world (i.e. the importance of melanin in our lives) and not to aspire to real higher learning that our ancestors created (i.e. metaphysics.) We continue try and fill that spiritual vacuum on the material realm (whether through overeating, shopping sprees, etc.) and we continue to come up null and void. Our adversaries have no need to physically oppress us when we have decided to oppress ourselves mentally, and intellectually spiritually.

By way of my transformation, I have gained knowledge and wisdom about myself and the world around me, therefore I can help my brothers and sisters of the African Diaspora who share my background and similar experiences.

Yet this is only one cycle of transformation that I have incurred along my life’s journey, hence why the title listed is Volume 1, as I seek to undergo a continuous non-stop mutation along my life path. I choose to (and would hope the rest of my Black brothers and sisters would do so as well) to be the conqueror in and of my life instead of the conquered by entities that seek to feed off my energy. For the melanin within us, the very essence of our being and existence, to be effective, we must continue to change daily to stay a viable and lively being.

With that assessment, I overstand and understand that the Black community is the most downtrodden group of people on the world stage. Underneath the surface, we are actually the most coveted beings on the face of the planet. For those of you who are not in the know, we are the ultimate life source that makes the wheels turn.

I believe that my story is not unique whatsoever. I consider myself a common Black man, an everyman so to speak, that is relatable to any Black man and woman no matter the circumstance. Because of that, I also think that every Black man and woman has been gifted with the capabilities to be their own alkhemist so to speak. This book is for those individuals of the Black community in need of encouragement, to assist you in recognizing the light within yourself.

Since this book is heavily based on my own personal experiences, I wish to say to my loved ones that my intentions are not to offend nor harm you through this personal account. I completely understand that ill-feelings may be rehashed from past events and information shared in this book. Regardless of these issues, I want to thank you for your love and support and for being a presence in my life. Whether you know it or not, you gave me the strength and courage to weather my transformation and the ability to share my story. I love my beautiful Black family. And I love Black people all over the globe.

I hope my experience touches you, to make a change in your own life for the betterment of yourself, your loved ones, and the Black collective. We need to reclaim our culture, dignity and self-respect as a people. To my Black men, we need to be the leaders I know we can be and lead the charge to lift ourselves from the proverbial last place position on the world stage we have become accustomed to. To my Black sisters, your men need your love and nurturing support to make this change a reality for our people, for you are the key to attaining that elusive God and Goddess level. That is the only logical and necessary step in the evolution of the Black Man and Woman at this point and time.

Be blessed and hope you are inspired! Ashé, family!

Ameri K.P. Teferi

Ameri means strength, builder

Teferi means one is ferocious, who is feared by his rivals

This book is dedicated to my two beautiful daughters, and any future offspring of mine that may come thereafter.

May this assist you in truly understanding your father in all his essence and glory.

Special Thanks to:

The ancestors, known and unknown: for giving me the strength and courage to write this book

My mom: for providing me the essentials to be the man I am today

My wife: for loving and supporting me and my efforts to be an unapologetic Black man despite our differences

My family and friends: for being the rocks I could lean on in my various times of need

They say misery loves company. Well misery is kicking my ass! Will I ever rise from my darkest hour yet? Will I ever find the peace and satisfaction I desire to have? Will this madness ever end? Will I ever find myself again?

January 2014

Thank you for coming today, Mr. Porter. We will be in touch.

I’ve heard that line too many times before, I thought to myself. I doubt it.

Reluctantly I shook the hands of the interviewers before I exited the meeting room, with a half-hearted grin attached to my face. My blue-collared dress shirt was drenched with sweat. I was very anxious throughout the entire interview. I would not have been surprised if the interviewers, who all happened to be white, sensed a lack of confidence from the moment I walked in the room.

As I exited the room, I briskly walked toward the building exit. I ignored the Have a nice day! farewell from the secretary, with my head hanging low, wishing the last forty-five minutes never happened. I rushed out the front door into to the wet and freezing cold weather of a late-January afternoon in Atlanta. I paced myself to the adjacent parking deck toward my white Ford Focus hatchback.

As I sat in my car with my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, I could not help but wonder if my nightmare would ever end. It was the year 2014, and I had been out of work for about a year and a half. Even with a civil engineering background from Auburn University, I began to doubt my chances of ever finding a decent job in my field again. I pulled out my smartphone for a moment to send a text message to my fiancée Tanya to tell her how the interview had gone:

Me (5:20 pm): I am out of my interview. It went ok. I was a little nervous as usual.

Tanya (5:21 pm): Ok. Well I’m sure you did better than you think. Stay confident.

Me (5:23 pm): I am. I beat myself up a lot you know. I will. What time you get off today?

Tanya (5:25 pm): 6:30-7:00. What is for dinner?

Me (5:27 pm): Idc. It seems like we have the same thing over and over again anyway. Pick something up.

Tanya (5:29 pm): Lol Ok. Kiss the baby when you get home for me. Love you.

Me (5:30 pm): Ok I will. Love you too.

At the end of the text message exchange, I managed to produce a smile.

I exited the parking garage making my way to the nearby I-75/85 Downtown Connector. I tuned my MP3 player to some smooth R&B, hoping to forget the horror show that I had just experienced. The interview ended fifteen minutes after five, right in the middle of rush hour traffic. So I had the pleasure of sitting in traffic. I tried to rationalize my nervousness and overall apprehensive demeanor:

Race is not the reason that I am not getting these jobs. It’s 2014! We’re in post racial society. Nine times out of ten, the people that I will work for will be white. Everyone is struggling to find a job anyway. It’s only been six years since the Great Recession. My skills and previous experience only matter to these companies. Obama is the president, so White America can’t be racist if they voted a Black man in. Can they? Plus, I live in the BLACKEST city in the United States, Atlanta, a haven for Black professionals. So there should be NO reason why I shouldn’t be able to find a job.

I flashed back to the text message conversation with my fiancée. Tanya could be the most supportive person in the world. She was an amazing, beautiful caramel-skinned Black woman. She was a little big-boned, but I was partial to women with a little meat on their bones anyway. At the time she was in the final year of medical school specializing in internal medicine, enrolled in a university based in Kansas City, Missouri. During the final two years of school she was required to do unpaid internships, working 10-12 hours a day on many occasions. In those two years she so happened to get pregnant twice, Malia in 2013 and Ava in 2014, both girls born in the month of April.

You’re confused, aren’t you?! It’ll make sense as you keep reading.

I was a lucky man. Not many Black women with Tanya’s educational background and earning potential would have put up with my current bout of unemployment. At the time we were broke. We had an infant daughter in addition to the unborn child we had to care for. On top of that, we had the pleasure of living with her parents, my future in-laws.

Life was certainly grand, to say the least. Do you sense the sarcasm?!

*

I had to hurry back to my in-laws’ house to relieve my sister-in-law, Tanya’s younger sister Tíana, from babysitting Malia. Tanya and Tíana’s parents lived in the southern region of metro-Atlanta so thankfully traffic was not as congested on that side of town.

I finally arrived to the house, pulling into the driveway of the two-story brick-styled house. I was not a big fan of Tanya’s parents’ home. The atmosphere and energy was not welcoming. It had a bleak and gloomy feel inside the house. It was not conducive to sunlight, and the temperature was so unbalanced at times. One minute you were freezing to your bones, the next you were sweating bullets.

There was still a slight drizzle. The garage door was open, so I rushed into the garage and into the house, eager to see my baby girl Malia. As I walked into the house, the downstairs area was pitch dark and quiet. I turned the lights on, not surprised by what I found.

The living room looked like a hurricane came in and threw every toy Malia had into every nook and cranny. In the kitchen, from Teddy Bear Grahams and Spaghettio’s, food intended for a child, was smeared near the stove and on the high chair. Dirty dishes were piled into the kitchen sink like they had not been washed in days. In the garbage can there was a stench so repulsive that I had to hold my breath just to keep from inhaling. It was the stench of dirty diapers!

Hello??? Is everyone ok? I yelled. I heard the sound of Doc McStuffins on the TV screen in the loft upstairs.

Shhhhhhhhh, whispered Tíana in a soft voice. Yeah, we’re ok. Malia is taking a nap.

Oh, ok, I’m sorry. I calmly walked to the staircase and tip-toed up the stairs so not to wake up Malia.

I reached the loft and happened to find Malia lying on the sofa covered up by a blanket next to Tíana. I kissed Malia softly on the cheek. She shrugged slightly but did not wake. I turned my attention to Tíana.

So how did the day go? I asked.

It was rough, but it was fine, Tíana replied exhausted. We had fun. I just don’t know how you do this day in and day out.

Yeah I don’t know how I do it either. Gotta do what I gotta do, though.

I understand that, Tíana replied. So how did the interview go?

I don’t think I did too well, I answered. I get too nervous and I don’t know why. I’m almost to the point of just giving up completely.

Well don’t beat yourself up too hard, said Tíana. I’m sure you will find something.

Yeah I hope so, I said. Tíana was dressed in blue jeans with a black Georgia Tech sweater. I noticed she seemed to be a bit apprehensive, gently rubbing her stomach. I assumed she was ready to get out of the house for a bit after babysitting Malia.

I appreciate you watching Malia for me, I said. What are you about to do now? You rubbing your stomach, seems like you’re hungry.

Yep, that’s it, she replied eagerly. I’m about to go right now and get something to eat. I’m starving! I was just waiting on you to get back. I looked outside the window and noticed that the rain had stopped. It was close to 6:00 when I glanced at my phone.

Well luckily the rain has stopped, I said to Tíana. What are you going to get to eat?

I told Tanya I’m probably going to go to the Mexican restaurant around the corner, she replied. I asked her to swing by the restaurant.

You just talked to her recently? I asked.

Yeah, bout’ ten minutes ago, she answered. She didn’t tell you me and her were going out to eat?

Nah, she didn’t, I shrugged.

Oh Lord. You know my sister don’t be communicating well at all.

"Yeahhhh, I know. Guess I’ll have to eat some Ramen noodles or something till y’all get back."

Tíana laughed. She quickly jumped off the sofa, and grabbed her purse and keys off the in- table. Before she made her way to the staircase, she paused and said, Oh yeah, Malia may need to eat something when she wakes up. She hasn’t eaten for a couple of hours.

Ok, sounds good. I said wearily. She headed down the stairs into the kitchen, exiting through the garage door. I bet she couldn’t wait to get out of here, I said to myself. I was honestly surprised Tíana had that much to say to me in the first place.

Tíana was a chemical engineering major, set to graduate in May. She was a very smart, attractive young Black woman. A little tiny, but had a nice figure. When we first met, she seemed to be sweet and easygoing as peach cobbler. She is going to be a wonderful sister-in-law, I thought.

But I quickly learned you cannot go by first impressions. Tíana wasn’t too keen on the fact that I moved into her parents’ house. I saw a side of her that made me question if I should even consider marrying into the family, even though Tanya was pregnant.

Tíana never had that much to say to me when we are alone together. She was not a very open person in general. And consequently, she never expressed her feelings toward me to me. Ever! Most of the time conversations between her and I took place with a medium, such as when Tanya or her parents were around.

The only reason we had Tíana to babysit Malia in the first place was because Tanya practically begged her. We were that desperate. Tíana was not a big fan of babysitting, although she loved her niece.

I could not figure out for the life of me exactly why Tíana was so uncomfortable around me. Did I encroach on her relationship with Tanya? They were pretty close.

Maybe she just did not like me. Or maybe she felt that since I did not have a job, I must not been worth a damn! Which one was is it? Or was it all of them? All I was certain of was that Tíana did not care for me that much. This assertion was based on a dispute that occurred between her and Tanya.

It was a late Friday afternoon. Tanya and I were sitting upstairs in the loft watching TV with Malia playing her toys. Tanya asked me to get a diaper for Malia from her parents’ bedroom, which was next to Tíana’s room upstairs. So I went in the room and I walked back out. Tíana was in her room and had noticed that I had