The Mother of Invention

I‘m at the airport in Abuja, headed back to DC for a hot minute. But I have to say the absolute highlight of this journey occurred last night. It was the most wonderful evening I’ve spent in a very long time. If nothing else, it was certainly the most multi-ethnic evening!

I was invited to a dinner party at the home of a woman named Ikbal. She’s a lovely 40-year-old Ethiopian married to a Belgian aid worker with UNICEF’s Immunization and Child Survival programs. Ikbal and Lieven have 3 of the most ethereally beautiful children I’ve ever seen. (That is, next to my adorable 7 year old godson Ty, and his big-eyed baby doll of an 18-month-old sister, Talia.)

Ikbal and Lieven are neighbors to Josie and Madi, a couple from Sierra Leone. Josie heads up the Internews journalism program here in Nigeria. Madi is her charming husband, who welcomed me into their home like I was family. Ikbal, Lieven, Madi and Josie live in one of the many expat compounds in Abuja, and they’ve created an amazingly close-knit, supportive community for themselves.

I won't even try to describe the marinated pepper steak in a mushroom cream sauce over baby potatoes that Ikbal whipped up in a jiffy last night. Instead, let’s just talk about Ikbal. I’d actually already met her the night before. At one point, during a barbecue thrown by a Kenyan neighbor named Rebecca, Ikbal grabbed my arm and led me to her townhouse, to show me some of the crafts she’s been working on.

By this point, I’ve traveled through Africa enough to be prepared for wanna be “artistes” trying to show me their etchings, or who want to help somebody else sell their etchings. Across the African continent, it is generally believed that the average American will mindlessly whip out his or her wallet and empty it on the nearest flat surface, eager to snatch up whatever trinket, African print cloth or vivid canvas is placed in front of them.

Speaking of flat surfaces, Ikbal led me to the glass coffee table in her second floor sitting room. The minute I saw it, I gasped. On that table lay the most exquisite African necklace I had ever seen. It was this slightly muted yet still vibrant shade of pale green, made of powder beads and old brass amulets and semi-precious stones and burnished pieces of old West African currency…all things she had spent the past 12 years collecting in myriad marketplaces. No African craftwork has ever made me come close to losing consciousness before, so I knew I was witnessing straight-up God given creativity.

But when I went to pick the darned thing up, I gasped again. You’d slip a freakin’ disc trying to flaunt that baby, it was so heavy! I was still stunned by its beauty, but politely mentioned that it was a mite too bulky to actually wear. That’s when Ikbal explained that it was not a necklace for a person to wear….it’s a necklace for a dining table, coffee table, or any type of surface, especially one exposed to a lot of light.

My heart literally skipped a beat. Now, I’ll never be accused of subscribing to Architectural Digest, so maybe this “table necklace” concept is old news to avid art collectors and expert interior designers. And I’ve seen enough of the large, ornate ropes of beads, seed pods, and other trinkets that are used to adorn walls and furnishings in Africa. But the concept of a necklace for a table that was just as beautiful and meticulously crafted as the piece of fine jewelry women usually wait for a major birthday to splurge on? Designed to accentuate a setting in a way that’s subtle and dazzling at the same time? AND which evokes the very spirit, drama and grandeur of West African history…..all to add the ultimate finishing touch to the perfectly set table?

I was still trying to wrap my mind around the first necklace when Ikbal left and came back with armfuls of her other creations, one in every possible combination of color, beading, craftwork, cola nuts, bronze pendants-one even had a tinkling bell from Cote D’Ivoire. And they’re so versatile. Some are designed so you can arrange part of it vertically and then splay the beadwork on each end across the table. You can wrap them around lamps, which instantly become the center of focus in any room. You can hang them on the wall or in a display case.

Okay, I’m gonna stop raving about Ikbal’s divine designs to insert a full disclosure notice here. ON THE SPOT, I vowed to help her market her fabulous work. Sure, I’m all about supporting a sister from across the Diaspora, but let’s keep it real up in here. I am also trying to get seriously PAID by hitching my little red wagon to an inspired idea.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling humbled in the face of such extraordinary talent and creative energy. I’m a reasonably intelligent, above average writer, a pretty good cook, and I'm a great dancer, when my hip joint isn’t locked up. But I harbor absolutely no delusions about possessing artistic genius. Or even artistic dull-wittedness, for that matter. I’m a wordsmith, not a silversmith. But I’ve used that ability to craft words to rise above poverty and hardship and travel around the world, doing exactly what my heart tells me to do.

On the other hand, Ikbal is an Ethiopian woman, the 9th of 12 children born into a Muslim family in Addis whose greatest expectation was for her to get married and have children one day.
Ikbal achieved that goal, and has followed her husband all over Africa to be the anchor for her family. She loves and is loved deeply by a wonderful man and said cherubic children, and readily admits how blessed she is to be engulfed by such a nurturing , life affirming vibration.

But even with so much to be thankful for, Ikbal still sought a form of self-expression that had nothing to do with diapers, UN dinner parties or cooking. She wanted to create something lasting that brings joy and energy and light into other people’s lives. Ikbal literally stumbled across this incredible talent only last September, when she was taking a jewelry-making class. It was the first time she’d felt free to take a break from being a full-time mother in 12 years, because her youngest child was just starting nursery school.

When her classmates started asking if they could buy the necklace she had made, and when the instructor asked if they could display it as an example of superior work, Ikbal’s vision of herself began to expand. THAT’S what made her grab my arm and lead me upstairs, not knowing whether I’d gasp in awe or hoot in derision. She took a chance.

Here’s another moment of full disclosure. I also wrote this post because after re-reading the last one, I find I’m tired of writing only about the plight of the diseased, oppressed African woman. That profile is in danger of becoming as much of an over-used stereotype as the blinged out African American hoochie. Ikbal reminded me that women all over the world are the same. They have the power to create, and they can express it in so many beautiful life-affirming ways, if given the opportunity.

My next posting will be Part Two of the Ikbal, Lieven, Josie and Madi Story, but from a different perspective. You see, it’s been a long time since I’ve pondered the whole “How the hell does anybody ever wind up getting married, especially since it’s never happened for me?” conundrum.

The title will be, “BF ISO Love Zombie.” I DOUBLE DOG DARE you not to read it.