LOVE
is a beautiful thing
Mumia Abu-Jamal on college life.
Not much has changed my brother
(via 420ish)
lmao. this is great
(Source: youngblackandvegan, via urbaneinstincts)
The cast of In Living Color reunited for the first time in 18 years
(via flyerrthanajet)
OO OO !!!
I had this about a month ago. Green crack is a WILD SATIVA o_0 lmao
(Source: bombaysaphire, via poloflavoredcleats)
Recent photo of a little boy visiting the White House. He wanted to feel Obama’s hair because he wanted to know if the President’s hair felt just like his. Obama obliged. Priceless.
(via urbaneinstincts)
MSF Blogs: Yin A Mat Po? (Are You Happy?)
The woman came to us with no living children. She had been pregnant twice before, but both pregnancies resulted in stillbirths. In the first pregnancy, she had labored for days, and the baby died during labor, but delivered vaginally. In the second pregnancy, she had pushed and pushed, but the baby did not deliver. A C-section was done, but the baby died anyway.
I cannot imagine what that must feel like. In the United States, a stillbirth at term is a huge event. Privacy is paramount. A subtle sign is placed on the patient’s door so that the staff knows not to enter unnecessarily. A sympathetic nurse is chosen, one who will comfort the patient. Aggressive pain control is offered, because pain can only make grief worse. And the woman carries that loss with her for the rest of her life.
In South Sudan, it is unusual for a woman not to have lost at least one child. They die in childbirth, or they die later of malnutrition, malaria, infection, unexplained illness. I have seen women who have delivered seven children, only to have three of them die; or delivered four children but having only one living child. When a woman comes to us, the first question asked is “How many children have you had?” The second question is, “How many are alive?”
Read the rest of the blog from Veronica Ades here.
Photo: South Sudan 2012 © Lisa Jones MSF OB-GYN Veronica Ades examines a patient.
my mama made some bomb ass chicken noodle soup ^_^
We wonder why the kids are hopeless but they bathe in broken glass. And every moment, rather than growing they focus on nursing the new wounds brought on by the morning. They’re mourning, silently, trying to reach the deepest shards embedded in their hearts. Their daily bread is no sure thing, there’s no guarantee. So until there’s some security, some corner store confections will be their breakfast. We wonder why they fail when en route to prison cell school buildings they tread through trash and drug riddled ruins. They step over patches of pale yellow grass growing through the cracks. Even it weeps for them, but no one else, or else it would be greener. And as we lay them down to sleep, their pillows are piles of ash. They choke on the soot of burnt out dreams falling in their dark brown eyes filling their mouths and stifling their cries, burying each voice. They’re mute. And since we don’t measure our actions by the length of seven generations down the line, they’re slowly dying, body, soul, and mind. So the next time a boy hurls his rage through a window. Don’t wonder where the hope went. We’re the real culprits. Don’t accuse her of failure. She never had a choice. The girls and the boys break windows because they’re already broken, and we’ve been breaking them since birth.
truth my brother
(Source: pro-visions)
mouth waters
(Source: fuckyeahgreatfoods)
(Source: fuckyeahgreatfoods)
