"Handheld seduction hijacking my point of view
Checking for minutiae
And I wish I cared less
But, I wanna be on your mind"
Joi - "Stare At Me"
N'Jobu Udaku could be stubborn when he wanted to be.
For several weeks he refused to attend any Black Student Union meetings on the UC Berkley campus while he was completing his masters in Political Science.
His roommate Bakari Dunduza (ne, Julius Greene—he changed his name to Bakari to embrace some nebulous unknown African heritage), kept pestering him about being involved in Black campus politics.
"Bakari," N'Jobu would sigh, rolling his eyes at him, "I am Wakandan, I know who I am and where my people come from. Why do I need to be part of an organization that is so fixated on heritage?"
Bakari often gave N'Jobu an exasperated glare, his round glasses slipping on his nose as he stared at the arrogant exchange student with the regal bearing and penetrating dark brown eyes.
This time was no exception.
"We're all African, and we're trying to survive America," Bakari said.
"You are American, and you are trying to survive your first semester exams,
" N'Jobu answered sipping on a cup of English Breakfast tea and perusing the New York Stock Exchange and Wall Street Journal simultaneously.
His breakfast of lukewarm scrambled eggs and slightly burnt toast sat untouched while they sat inside the University cafeteria after the seven-a.m. morning rush.
Bakari sat across from him, a stack of Black Student Union flyers in his hand and a soggy bowl of cereal pushed to the side on the table.
"What's wrong with getting in touch with our heritage while we also organize around issues that impact us?"
"What issues impact you, hmm? You are on an elite campus in the UC system. Your parents are both lawyers at private firms. You vacation on Martha's Vineyard every summer.
What exactly is your struggle, brother?" N'Jobu's voice was teasing, his bright clear eyes shining with mischief.
"Man, fuck you," Bakari said, picking up a plastic spoon and swirling limp flakes around his cereal bowl.
"You mad?" N'Jobu asked.
"Naw, forget it bruh," Bakari answered, pushing his bowl away again, still clutching his flyers tight.
"You're mad. Seriously?"
"Look bruh, just go to one meeting. It's a good way to meet other Black people on campus, network…and, on my mother man, the finest honeys be there. There's always good snacks too."
"Do you ever not think of food?"
Bakari reached over and snatched one of the burnt pieces of buttered toast on N'Jobu's plate.
"Food is my drug, man, for reals," Bakari said stuffing the blackened wheat toast in his mouth, munching loudly.
N'Jobu picked up one of the green Black Student Union Flyers from Bakari's stack and looked it over. The meeting was only for one hour. Food was being provided by a local Ethiopian restaurant.
The agenda was simple: talks of Spring Elections for officers, plans to march at an upcoming Mumia Abu Jamal rally, and then an open discussion of continental Africans and the Diaspora.
"My dude, just peep one meeting. If it ain't your thang, then cool," Bakari said.
N'Jobu looked at his friend, folded up the flyer and stuck it inside a class folder next to his plate of food.
"One meeting. And the food better be good."
"Free food is always good, son," Bakari answered with a big grin on his face.
The Black Student Union meeting took place inside a large campus meeting hall near the library.
Rows of white folding chairs were arranged in a semi-circle in front of a podium decorated with red, black and green colored streamers.
A large placard leaned against the podium with the BSU insignia on it, a simple Black Power Fist also colored red, black and green.
N'Jobu was shocked at the number of students who showed up. He counted at least seventy when he took his seat in the back near the exit.
If the meeting bored him, he wanted to make a discreet and quiet exit. Soon, the meeting space became standing room only.
The vast majority of the members were female, at least sixty percent of the attendees.
But N'Jobu had already been made keenly aware that Black American women tended to stay in college and graduate at a higher rate than their male counterparts on campus.
They also took on a lot more of the leadership roles on campus too. N'Jobu now also understood why the men who did come to the meetings did so—the women here were gorgeous.
There were all sizes and all shades of Black, and these sisters were sharp, organized, and ready to shake up the world. The energy in the room was buzzing.
Like there was an expectation of something.
Bakari walked in and eased his way to the back where N'Jobu had saved him a seat.
"This place is packed," N'Jobu said.
"The BSU from San Francisco State is here, and so are some sisters from Mills College and a few jc's too. The Mumia Abu Jamal march is a big deal.
" Bakari's head swiveled around looking for something. "I guess the food ain't here yet," he said, "I'm hungry as fuck."
A pretty dark brown skinned woman with long box braids giggled when she heard Bakari. N'Jobu leaned in towards her and whispered, "I apologize for my friend's language.
" The woman gazed into N'Jobu's eyes and giggled again.
"That's okay," she said, warming up to N'Jobu's deep voice and lilting Wakandan accent, "I'm hungry too and was wondering where the food was myself.
" N'Jobu smiled and the woman's smile grew wider. Bakari nudged N'Jobu in his side with an elbow.
"Cool it, bruh. Keep that Wakanda-bringing-sexy-back shit under wraps and give other niggas a chance up in here."
"I'm just talking," N'Jobu protested.
"Naw man, your voice be having women dropping panties before they even know your name. Don't talk. Just sit there and listen until I get a chance."
N'Jobu glanced around the room. He caught a few women sneaking looks his way, and he tried to be subtle scoping them out too.
He hadn't really interacted with very many Black women on campus in the last few weeks.
It wasn't that he lacked interest, he'd just been busy with his studies, and also keeping on track with his duties at home as the second son of a King.
His older brother T'Chaka was being groomed to take on the mantle of King when the time came, and he himself was being groomed to become the Ambassador of Wakanda,
thus his graduate studies in America.
After his studies, he would have to return to Wakanda for a compulsory eighteen-month enlistment in the Wakanda Elite Fighting Unit, a military wing of his reclusive and isolationist nation.
After his mandatory military duties, he would transition into his Ambassador role, and soon he would be paired up with a proper wife…
N'Jobu shook his head and tried to detach himself from all the things he was required to do for his nation in the future.
He was enjoying his time in America, even when he witnessed her contradictions while being touted as the leading world power.
He chuckled to think how ass-backward the country really was, how much superior his own country was compared to the U.S. in technology, culture, and governance.
However, he found Black Americans intriguing and a bit naïve in some things, so he wanted to learn more about them.
He chose Berkley and San Francisco to live because it was touted as a bastion of liberal thinking.
Also, it was warmer than New York, the place where his father preferred for him to be because of the United Nations. But N'Jobu liked being far away from his family right now.
There was a freedom in people not knowing who he really was...
I love the Black Panther movie, and many have wondered about Erik Killmonger's mother.
So I decided to start my series with how N'Jobu met and eventually conceived my favorite Fuckboi in the Marvel Universe.
Part 1of the series details how Erik's parents met, fell in love, and eventually conceived our favorite Marvel anti-villain.
( I say anti-villain because Erik had some legit reasons to whoop Wakanda's ass and take over, he just went about it the wrong way because...
reasons!) N'Jobu finds it difficult to hide his son and his woman in plain sight with the clock ticking on stealing vibranium with Klaue.
Part one takes us right up to where the Black Panther movie starts.
Part 2 of the series will follow Erik to MIT where he comes into his own solidified political consciousness after meeting the love of his life (because we all want to see him fucking too,
let's be honest). He soon starts training to become the badass we all know and love after going black-ops before heading off to Wakanda to claim his throne.
It will detail what happens to him after he was "killed" by T'Challa where we find out that bad guys don't always stay dead.
Part 3 goes into the political turmoil and post-civil war drama in Wakanda that takes place after the end of the Black Panther movie.
This final book (spoiler alert, lol!) will reveal how Erik was actually saved by T'Challa, but kept in a cryogenic chamber (like Bucky).
It's discovered that Erik has his own secret family that T'Challa is trying to hide, essentially repeating the mistakes of his father.
Lots of political drama and the Jabari tribe will be involved, so yes M'Baku witcho thick ass!
This final book will reconcile Erik and his parents legacy, and yes bitches, there will be a happy ending because our boy deserves it.
Basically, I'm writing a sweeping saga. Thank you for reading in advance.
Please comment or share the story, and please, link me to any other cool Black Panther stories that are written for the grown and sexy. I want to read it all.
My series title comes from a line in the Ursula Rucker spoken word/song "Brown Boy", Link:
Thank you for coming to my long ass TED talk!