Common sang that classic song above to a sista who was his lover. I dedicate it to a sista I love platonically. It was platonic love at first sight…

I met Dr. Nandi S. Crosby long ago in Atlanta, Georgia. At that time, she was a superior graduate student and a fan of my radio shows. She was penning a superb thesis on Black feminism and interviewed me as an afrocentric lesbian feminist. I was sincerely honored to be her interviewee.

Immediately, I sensed her internal and external beauty. She was mature and confident far beyond her chronological years. I felt her fire. I instantly felt connected to her spiritually and intellectually. She instantly felt like a deeply familiar soul that I had known intimately across oceans of time…

Nandi and I have so very much in common. We are both afrocentric intellectuals. We were both born on August 10th. We both adore and revere our strong Black baby brothers. She loves Munch and I love Michael. We are both city girls.

When we met, we both were discreetly enduring painful loves with insecure and emotionally abusive women who did not deserve us. We both have survived very well. We both have grown long Afrikan locks. We both have become educators.

When I met Nandi she was a lesbian whom I idolized. She penned angry poems that touched me in places that needed to be validated and soothed. I actually used to tell her that she was too hard on some brothers that were incarcerated. But, she has evolved into a space where she is even kinder and gentler to men than I am. She is now bisexual. And, I am still in awe of her life journey.

You must read her fascinating autobiography entitled “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait”. I have always been proud to know Nandi. This book made me even prouder. I have never read a biography that is as uncensored and raw as this one. Nandi lays her soul bare in its pages.

Without secrecy or reticence, Nandi details being battered by her father, unceremoniously losing her virginity, being raped, enduring the necessity and the guilt of abortion, her brief stint as a sex worker, and the humiliation of being dumped and dogged by men she adores. Her story is one of rage and reason, hurt and honesty, sorrow and sacrifice.

As Nandi tells her life story, she also interjects critical reflection on feminism, gender roles, and carnal relationships. She exposes her life while she explains life lessons that apply to us all. She balances these reflections expertly and seamlessly.

Nandi’s complex relationship with her drug addicted mother is written with passion and clarity. Like a classic Billie Holiday song, Nandi uses her pen to turn pain into poetry. Like bell hooks, she makes plain the fallacies of feminism even as she remains a fierce feminist. She loves black men defiantly and conditionally. She is brutally honest about their flaws and passionate about their perfections.

Nandi is aging like fine wine. Today, she is more gorgeous and gifted than ever. She is honing her many talents admirably. I am proud of her successful academic life. And, I pray that we both perfect our personal lives by finding our soul mates someday soon.

In “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait”, Nandi moves from the hood, to corrections officer in the pen, to elite campus star, to beloved professor on the faculty. Yet, she never loses her sister wisdom nor her righteous anger. She is living proof that anger embraced can be channeled into positive fire. She is still angry and still excelling each day.

I actually fear people who are not angry. This evil world is racist, sexist, elitist, and homo-hating. There is far too much to be angry about. Unless one is deluded, dead, or insane, anger is inevitable. We prove our humanity, courage, and integrity by productively dealing with our anger. We prove only blindness and cowardice by evading anger. And, as Audre Lorde said best, “Our silence will never protect us.”

I read voraciously. A well written autobiography is a special treat. “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait” is decadently delicious. It is a smorgasbord of raw emotions, vivid incidents, and profound vision. Nandi has a special literary gift for succinctly analyzing and describing complex issues. Her life is fascinating. That fascination combined with her courageous writing is a truly hypnotic mix. I will cherish my autographed copy of this classic forever.

Nandi and I have kept in touch over the years. I am still her fan as she has become a superstar poet, renowned professor, and now celebrated author. “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait” let me know that Nandi is infinitely braver and immensely more special than I could ever have imagined. Our lives are more different than I ever dreamed. Her light is brighter than I ever knew.

Nandi and I are both still searching for lovers who can deal with the whole lionesses that we are. We are both angry, driven, and challenging to love. We are also sensuous and loving kittens. We seek someone who can cuddle us without crushing us. We are seeking lovers who are secure enough to let us shine. Those who do not try to kill our lights will bask forever in the glory of our uniquely bright sunrays…

You must read “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait”. It is a swift and perfect journey inside the heart and soul of collective Black female angst, passion, and pain. It is a balm for all Black girls who are angrily longing to be healed, understood, and loved.

(To My Dear Sistah Fire Nandi: Congrats!!! Thank you for the gift that is this book! You have regally roared herein. I am so very proud to be your fellow lioness. You will always be a Queen in our pride…Much Love Always …AB}

Here are a few excerpts from “If My Soul Be Lost: A Self Portrait”:

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It’s my story and that of millions of pissed off sistas like me. Rage starts somewhere.

I can write an entire book about anger. If I could get away with it, I’d call it “Leave Me the *uck Alone!”…

Some of the most demure, kind, Black women are bundles of anger. Many of us are articulate, educated, middle-class, and feminine. But we’re also ready to fight for the right to be dignified and free.

We show up strong and ready to swing because many of us have found power in anger since we were girls, and we learn this is the only way.

I wonder how many of us stumble into the [feminist] movement angry and seeking relief, rather than the more privileged who find it in a university course or lesson from mom. And when I consider how few clues feminism gave me for surviving as a middle-class, bisexual, never married, pissed off, PH.D. poet, I feel sharp pangs in my nose like those caused by the white ammonia I swear by.

If the aim is to find a White woman because she is passive, then what does that say about Black masculinity, Black men’s sexuality, and the expectations they hold for community building?

I urge that this is a struggle for most sistas who resist going deep into the cells of our own bodies, because lurking there are painful reminders of what we lack: demureness, innocence, and white skin. Black women, especially those of us from the ghetto, learn to survive, but never how to shift from survival mode to wholeness.

I was being condemned because I had never exhibited a version of softness my all White staff had learned to expect from women.

I have it going on. Yet, many brothas find my success intimidating…

As an African–centered woman, I sometimes think it is my duty to love brothas in spite of themselves, the *hit they do to destroy our communities, and what intuition tells me.

I still believe in brothas, but I struggle daily with how to care for and support them, without losing myself in the process.

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