Some Kismet Kokonsa!

Kismet: When fates collide

Eiii, READERS. Hmmm. I have some small kokonsa (gossip) for you. Most of you are upstanding, decent folks with morals, but for those of you like ME who like kokonsa, here we go! *This is going to be a very bush conversation. I’ve warned you.

First of all, let me say that the US government is WACK. Why should we get to the point where our politicians are threatening to shut down the government for the pleasure of the people on the fringes of either party? I just spent three hours in 4 inch heels trying to get  a passport –my third attempt – for ths kids because they shut down services and changed the rules. Stupid Amrikan gov’ment. Tssewww. (This has relevance later in the blog.)

Kokonsa part 1:

Reader, do you remember when I went for jury duty some time back? Well this Saturday I was at work at the checkout counter and spied a woman with shoulder length dread locks and mahogany skin. I knew this face. Suddenly, it came to me.

“You!” I said, pointing at her with a pair of shoes I was holding. Everyone one in the line looked up in surprise, even the customer I was (supposed to be) serving. “You’re a lawyer!”

She looked at me cautiously.


I kept looking at her, waiting to confirm her occupation, hoping I had not just made a complete ass of myself. Finally she did.

“Yes, I am,” she said in measured tones. Her body looked really stiff. “How do you know?”

“I was in your jury pool a few months ago!” I said excitedly. “I was juror number 5!”

“Oh!” She exhaled with relief. “I thought I prosecuted someone you knew!”

We smiled at each other, and I tried to get my customer out of my line so I could serve the lawyer next. Unfortunately, this customer was one of those peh pei (cheeeeaaap!) ones who want a discount on every shoe because there is a minute scuff on the sole or the beading isn’t sitting at a perfect 90* angle. Madam Peh pei kept bartering for a discount for a full 8 minutes (an eternity in checkout line time) and the lawyer went on to another register. Dag!

I was disheartened. I wanted to find out had happened to the man she was prosecuting. Was he really innocent? Had he gotten jail time? The question had haunted me for months, and now she was gone! I walked over to the heels section and lo, what did my eyes behold? The back of the lawyers head! I scurried over to her.

“Hi! Me again.”

She smiled.

“So whatever happened to the dude?”

“Well, he plead guilty,” she replied. I was surprised she even knew what I was talking about. She must not prosecute many cases.

“Wow…was he really guilty?”

“Oh please. They had him on tape,” she said dismissively.

“Oh…is that why the defense lawyer asked if we believe everything we see on tape?”

She nodded.

As it turns out, Mr. Banks (the man on trial) was a crack/rock/cocaine dealer, and was selling on the corner. An undercover cop came by and told him to stop selling, and Mr. Banks, being a nyugga started to act “hard” and told the cop that he couldn’t tell him what to do, etc etc. So the cop got a video camera and shot him selling. It was hard to see what was happening because drug deals happen so fast, but after one transaction a crack head got his rock, pulled out a pipe and started smoking right next to Mr. Banks! #birdsofafeather

So after the next jury pool was called the next day, the defense lawyer asked the same series of questions, culminating with “Are you partial one way or another, either for or against the defendant.”  One woman piped up and said “yes” with some irritation. When she was asked why, she said it was because the defense asked if any of them had been in the “wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You’ve MADE him sound guilty,” the juror said. “That’s exactly what guilty people say!”

“Wow…”I interjected. “She busted her case wide open.”

“She sure did!” said the prosecutor, her eyes dancing with delight. “So he went ahead and plead guilty, got a 40 year sentence – 10 to serve and 30 on probation.”

I thanked her for filling in my curiosity, told her she did a brilliant job, and told her if she needed me I’d be in the sandals. Her boyfriend looked at her with pleading eyes, so she thanked me as well and they both left shortly afterward.

Kokonsa part 2:

 Hmmmm!! So because of this stupid government shut down, National Passport Day was cancelled this Saturday and I had to take off 3 hours from work to stand in line to try yet again to get the kids passports down. As we were driving down I-75, a massive SUV sped past us. Some sort of Ford. Like many cars in Atlanta, the back windshield was being used for advertising, and I ignored it.

“Babe,” Marshall said. “Does that say Giovanni’s Hair Braiding on the back of the car?”

“Huh?” My mind was elsewhere.

“Giovanni. The chick Douche bag takes to do Nadjah’s hair.”

I looked at the back of the car. Well I’ll be a monkey’s crack dealing uncle…it DID say Giovanni’s Hair Braiding!

Specializing in children’s braiding and natural styles, the white lettering boasted. This couldn’t be true. I looked at the license plate.  Gwinnet County. Wait…Douche Bag lives in Gwinnet! But what was this woman doing all the way in Cobb? And this early in the morning? There was a number on the back of the car: 678-524-37XX. Should I call it? Nah…And say what? “Hey are you the idiot who wants to ‘treat’ my daughter’s hair with leave-in shampoo?”

As Marshall got closer to her speeding car, I was able to gather further details about her business. There was no website listed – but there WAS a myspace page. Could this be the same woman? It couldn’t be…but then maybe it could. The variables were all too similar and connecting far too well.


Me, I’m not telling ANYONE to Google Giovanni or go to myspace to look for a certain Giovanni and that her hairbraiding. Far be it from me to direct anyone to do such a thing. But me, I have, because I want to be able to recognize and look Stupid right in the eye when I see it.