According to family legend, shortly after I was born, my mother gathered me in her arms and presented me to the Babalawo. She wanted to know what type of child she’d be raising.
Allegedly, he took one brief look at me and said, “Su hijo es un hijo de Ogún. No necesito leer más — está escrito en su cara. Este niño viene para abrir caminos donde no existen, y llegará más lejos de lo que podemos imaginar.”
I tend to believe this story is rooted in truth. Because where was I from, really?
On paper, I was Cuban.
Historically, I was Jamaican, born to a deeply Garveyite family.
And tracing the route I’ve taken to get to where I am now?
I can't even really tell you where I'm from, and the paths that got me there simply did not exist before I forged them.
