feature: moeima dukuly’s #ninaspeaks series, part 1 — “sinnerman”, dedicated to samaria rice

*In dedication to Samaria Rice. It is suggested that you listen to Nina’s track before, after or during reading this piece.

By Moeima Dukuly, AFROPUNK contributor

“Sinnerman” (1965) Song by Nina Simone, off of the album “Pastel Blues”.

So I run to the Lord
“Please hide me, Lord
Dont you see me prayin’ ?
Dont you see me down here prayin’ ?”

So I cried, “Power, power
Power, power, power
Power, power, power
Break it down
Break it down

***

Frenzy. I see Nina’s hands dance along black and white keys. Back and forth. Back and forth. The tempo as frenetic as her busy hands tapping and beating those piano keys. Choir singers swinging vigorously left and right as a rhythm beaded like sweat on their brows, as their hearts pounded to the sound of truth instead of fear.

Nina’s “Sinnerman”. The only version I’ve ever heard was her live performance in New York, 1966. Written as one word it spoke to me. Not just a parable but an aspect of this burden.

“Sinnerman” was more than a negro spiritual telling the tale of a man fleeing judgment but a synonym for the times. Times that begged for retribution. Like her hands on those keys – her mind, her soul … she struggled to understand all the blood, death and injustice. She struggled with the silence of response when she bellowed for the Lord to save her.

Nina recorded the extended version of “Sinnerman” live at The Village Gate turning a 2, 3 minute song into a 10 minute track laced with that frenetic piano and her deliciously husky voice bellowing, POWER and scatting and singing “Don’t you know that I need you Lord”, singing for a lineage.

2015, I am the same. I was the same. Rushing to and fro in mind seeking answers. The circles I’ve run around myself big and small, the patterns I’ve made. And still make. And have abandoned. That we’ve made. That we make. So much confusion amidst clarity.

2016, and they think the counter has been reset to zero. Who will be the first to fall. Who’s blood will stain the streets, who’s name will live only in hashtags until the next victim is claimed.

My soul cries out, where is OUR JUSTICE? Why do we wait to be given any sense of humanity? This world has claimed black life and black body as death’s doormat but it has stolen my heart as well. It dines on my soul like a Midwestern buffet and what is left unrecognizable. Just a gimmick.

What is actually left is fury and starvation.

I bellow and howl like Nina, but then there are long crippling silences where I cannot cry. I need to keep as much as I can of what is left of me. Don’t confuse silence for peace. I am just dying quietly instead of out of loud.

Will we all die without a fight? Where we gonna run to? “Sinnerman” found no place to hide. The Lord said, “Go to Devil.” And so we go to the devil. To no avail.

Nina howled and pounded those keys, singing again and again POWER. Muttering, scatting, accusing she spit – “Don’t you know I need you Lord?”

And today we cry, POWER. Where is ours? Why doesn’t the ‘Lord’ answer? Doesn’t he know we need him?
*Moeima Dukuly is a Brooklyn based AFROPUNK contributor and writes about creative and cultural identity. You can follow her random adventures, shade, and thoughtful insights on Tumblr and on Twitter/Instagram/Snapchat via @moeimaornah.