DESERT FLOWER

I absolutely adore women.

Beguiling, they leave me speechless, breathless, bewitched. Waris Dirie is no different. She appears here almost as she does on the cover of the book, DESERT FLOWER: The Extraordinary Journey of a Desert Nomad. She is draped in the same stunningly vibrant fabrics, in the same photo shoot.

I love her face. Regal, quietly mesmerizing, graceful, arresting. One can only imagine what it means to stand before that dark, almond-eyed gaze and witness the beauty of the mouth, those lips forming words, softly whispered lavender-tinted words...

I am a book connoisseur, a collector of words and stories. And as such, I browse the shelves of bookstores in earnest, my joy a fountain right up there with climactic ecstasy. What stops me while I'm out cavorting one Saturday, a few years ago, is the queenly carriage Waris projects effortlessly from a bright purple and yellow-texted cover of her 1998 book. Yes, I realize it took me a moment to read it, but I come to my books in a special way. I go to them when it is time for me to do so, whenever that time may be from the moment they take residence on my bookshelves. It is much like people and possessions coming to us when the time is ripe. So I stare at Waris, imagining how different the name, one I've never encountered. I note she has captured her experiences with the assistance of writer Cathleen Miller. There are photos in the center of the book. I have gazed at them often. They are pretty portals into a life I anticipate sharing when that special moment arrives and I curl up on my bed or on a living room sofa and officially meet Dirie narratively.

Before I share with you, I thank Ms. Miller for capturing Waris' story, Joe Grant for photographing a ray of sunshine, and Fattuma Ahmed Aden, for birthing an unforgettable DESERT FLOWER.

Waris exhibits inimitable strength from the first sentence: "A slight sound woke me, and when I opened my eyes, I was staring into the face of a lion." She is waking from a nap under a tree. Exhausted and weak, she hasn't eaten for days, her legs thin and wobbly. Had she longed to flee, that was out of the question. There was no outrunning or out climbing the young male lion flicking flies with its long amber tail under the African sun. So Waris did what there was to do: she spoke with Allah, pleading for Him to take her now. Preferably fast.

But Spirit had a wealth of living for Waris to do!

Yet why was a little Somali girl sitting in the mid-day sun, alone?

She was running away from her an arranged marriage to a man older than her father, running in the unknown direction of Mogadishu. I love the beautiful simplicity of her language to summarize the moment: "By midday I'd traveled deep into the red sand, and deep into my own thoughts."

She was consumed with questions, the Unknown, air she could not help breathing. It was no small feat to be a girl child in a wilderness with wild men, animals, hunger, snakes, thirst, fear and darkness. But the Divine is ever present. She calls out to God: "Take me---direct me." It is when I read that sentence that I know why I'd been drawn to the book, for I was in a similar place in my life, calling out to the Universe to direct me, in all ways.

What follows is a whirlwind of a story with Waris hitching a ride on the back of a truck to Mogadishu. The men inside the cab plan to rape her, but she outsmarts them, bashing one in the head with a large stone and leaping into the night from the back of the pick-up.

That tiny voice within, she learns to trust.

The weave of the narrative flashes back to her life as a nomad, and we experience how her family fate intertwined with that of the herds. Her people raises cattle, sheep and goats. We meet her pet goat, Billy, and learn of Waris' deep love for animals. We learn a man's worth is measured by camels, one hundred of which being the price of a murdered man. We witness her sisters bearing up under female circumcision and the tragic death of a beautiful, older sister, Halermo, who bled to death, alone in the desert night.

Waris is a perceptive child, with the adult responsibility of guarding the herds and helping with the nightly milking. Although her early life, compared to many of today's children, was difficult, her great pleasure "was pure at being a child in the wilderness, the freedom to be part of nature and experience its sights, sounds, and smells."

Like Dr. Halima Bashir, Waris Dirie is the rebel of her family, although she views the actions that dub her as such as "perfectly logical." I admire her spirited, take-charge attitude. She fights back when her brother pops her. She questions authority. She speaks up to her condescending Uncle Ahmed. And she refuses to allow her father's second wife to disrespect her beloved, long-suffering mother by taking the young girl into the dessert and leaving her hanging upside down, naked, high above the ground, overnight.

As for marriage, I am perplexed how Waris' mother fled her family's strong-arm hold on her heart, demanding that she not marry Waris' handsome nomad father for her mother was a gorgeous city girl, from Mogadishu, her family well off. Yet her parents forget this and young Waris feels she has no other recourse: she must leave, go into the dessert and thereby into the lived fantasy of her life. So...I remember that, too, was blessed.

It was the path that led to Waris leaving Africa to reside in Heathrow, England, in the elegant home of her Auntie Maruim and Uncle Mohammed, an ambassador. While in Great Britain, she works as her relatives' poor relation. Each day she walks little Sophie, her uncle's niece, to and from school and is discovered as a world-class, ravishing supermodel. Fashion photographer Malcolm Fairchild follows her one day. Waris is stunning and Fairchild eventually gets the courage to follow her home to ask if he can photograph the tall, lovely miss, and the rest is fashion history.

Throughout the biography Waris Dirie nurtures a biding faith that everything will always work out when times got rough. She fights to remain in Britain, as her Auntie wants her to return to Somalia when her uncle's term as ambassador is complete. She ends up walking into a tainted marriage to remain in England. Her husband turns out to be insane, same as his sister, Waris' friend girl, who eventually goes mad before the brother. Waris finds a way to stop her smitten male cousin from raping her in her Auntie's home. Claiming her name is Marilyn Monroe, she braves passport blues when returning to Britain from a risky trip to relish a modeling assignment in Morocco.

While living free in England, Waris is disinterested in men.

Yes, she is a living, emotional woman, but she soon learns that she is different from other women, unstitched women. Sewn up, she is closed to the notion of a boyfriend, and she finds herself blacking because of pressure from blocked menstrual blood, a burden her mother calls a woman's burden. I love Waris for defying her Auntie's reprimand that it isn't African custom to discuss their bodies with white men. A Dr Macrae discovers she's been sewn WAY TOO tight. He is amazed she's made it as far as she had, and he later performs corrective surgery. Her circumcision, thought, brings tears to her best friend's eyes, when she asks to view the deed before Waris' brave procedure that finally makes urination and menstruation more bearable.

The story rolls out like a claret carpet, and I love it when Waris meets her musician husband, Dana. It is love at first sight, the ensuing romance legend.

If you, too, love cuddling up with a fabulous book, DESERT FLOWER is the book for you. With Waris as your tour guide, step into another world, eat different food, encounter strikingly foreign customs, meet a cast of characters you will long memory. Travel to Somalia without leaving your living room.

Via books, I have been to the Mother Continent several times last year, the year of my intense love affair with African women. One day I shall walk the desert and smell its flowers for myself. Until then, I'll be content to examine printed flowers and be grateful that women survive the queue of atrocities in the name of tradition, for beside the travesty is the memory of what it means to stand up in the desert and thrive.

Waris' name means desert flower. In 2008, she launched a worldwide campaign against female genital mutilation and served as a UN Goodwill Ambassador. Now that is what I call a flower worth keeping.....

The Golden Goddess

Make a Difference in Darfur: Write Letters to Members of Congress

Flex the Power of Your Pen

There is a mountain of paper and snippets of notes scattered across my home office desk. Recently, from my paper pearls, I excavated a sample letter to members of Congress in regards to making a difference on Darfur. Better late than never, I praised myself, as I paused in my flurry of activities and culled time to tweak it, retype it, and mail it to Democrats Henry "Hank" Johnson, Jr., and John Lewis, of the fourth and fifth districts, respectively.

The purport of the epistles is to take action against the GENOCIDE in Darfur. Before or after writing your letter, please go to http://www.darfurscores.org/ to discern how your local representative is making the grade based on his support for key Darfur-related legislation and other initiatives.

YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE. Come out of the mirror, find some paper, and lift a pen.

SAMPLE LETTER to MEMBERS of CONGRESS:

[Senator/Representative Name]
Address
City, State Zip

Dear [Senator/Representative]:

I am deeply concerned about the tragic events currently unfolding in Darfur, Sudan, and am writing to ask that you support increased funding for peacekeeping and humanitarian operations in Darfur.

Up to 450, 000 people have lost their lives in Darfur since the genocide began in 2003. More that 2.5 million people have been displaced, their livelihoods and villages have been destroyed by government forces and their proxy militias, and many thousands of women and girls have been raped.

I urge you to do everything you can to assure that the peacekeeping forces in Darfur are fully funded and that humanitarian aid reaches all those in need. Please also demand that the Obama Administration continues to pressure the international community to plan for a United Nations takeover of the African Union mission in Darfur. TheAfrican Union has shown important leadership, but it does not have the capacity or the funding to do enough. Genocide is a crime against humanity and it requires an international response.

As someone who believes in standing up for Universal brotherhood, I believe we have a moral obligation to do all we can to stop the atrocities.

Sincerely,
[Your Name]
Your address
City, State Zip



GEORGIA CONGRESS

Chambliss, Saxby - (R)
416 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510

Isakson, Johnny - (R)
120 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510

Jack Kingston (R)
District 1 - Republican
2368 Rayburn HOB
Washington, DC 20515

Sanfrod D. Bishop, Jr.
District 2 - Democrat
2429 Rayburn HOB
Washington, DC 20515-1002

Lynn A. Westmoreland
District 3, Republican
1213 Longworth House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

Hank C. "Hank" Johnson, Jr.
District 4, Democrat
1133 Longworth House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

John Lewis
District 5, Democrat
343 Cannon House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

Tom Price
District 6, Republican
424 Cannon House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

John Linder
District 7, Republican
1026 Longworth House Office Building
Washington, DC 20515

Jim Marshall

District 8, Democrat

515 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, DC 20515

Nathan Deal

District 9, Republican

2133 Rayburn House Office Building

Washington, DC 20515

Charlie Norwood

District 10, Republican

2452 Rayburn Building

Washington, DC 20515

Phil Gingrey

Georgia - 11th, Republican

119 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, DC 204515

John Barrow

District 12, Democrat

213 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, DC 20515

David Scott

District 13, Democrat

417 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, DC 20515

An Interview with SWING's Golden Goddess

Jolie Du Pre, the lovely and talented erotica author/editor, teamed up with Logical-Lust to birth the Google News worthy, groundbreaking e-anthology, SWING! With a keen eye for good erotica, Jolie gathered an unforgettable marquee of writers to whet the lusty appetites of readers bold enough to take the plunge.

So come in. Sit down. And permit my interview and our discussion to serve you, until you're sated enough to cast your inhibitions aside and loose yourself under the riveting covers of SWING! Adventures in Swinging By Today's Top Erotica Writers.

1. Why do you write erotica and what do you love best about it?


Erotica is sensual, alive, vibrant with love, attraction, possibility, intoxication and raw emotion. I write it because it allows me to slip into the softness, the electricity, the hard parts of the exchange between two lovers and feel the magnitude of sexual chemistry in a plethora of different ways, in as many ways as there are lovers.
I feel powerful and creative and beautiful when I write, and even more when I write erotica. By writing erotica, I breathe life into the reality that women can do and be anything that we desire, including writers who create sassy, spicy, intelligent, mesmerizing characters, who claim their own sexuality.

2. Tell us about your story in Swing! Adventures in Swinging by Today's Top Erotica Writers and please feel free to give us an excerpt.

My story centers on a Swing party leaving D.C., heading to Toronto for a sexy weekend of intrigue and heated play. The charming couples are professionals, who adore one another and a constant string of good-time forays out of the country.
On this adventure, my protagonist, Dr. Neco Young and her scrumptious wife, Layla, are in for a surprise at the French Connection, one of Toronto's elegant bed and breakfast establishments.

In this story, I incorporate my passion for performing burlesque and life's joy of the "Turnaround," when we find, after the smoke clears, that we are not as closed to a person or concept as we'd originally thought.

My Excerpt is entitled "One Weekend in Toronto."

Although Washington Dulles International Airport is hectic, our flight isn't. We touch down in Toronto, Canada, and the city feels like an old friend.
K.C. calls to say Howard loves the French Connection, and Mimi and Kennedy, who flew in earlier, were madly in love with the rooms. Perfect. Layla adores pretty rooms, too, as she and Fee and Mimi are good for giving the guys and me the slip, on most trips, so they can play in their rooms or bathrooms in girl bliss.
If we aren't golfing, the boys and I beg for front-row seats.
Once everyone is accounted for, we dine at a French restaurant, before boarding a one-hour, night cruise that showcases the city’s breathtaking views from Lake Ontario. There is the gorgeous harbour front, the CNN Tower, Niagara Falls and the unforgettable Toronto skyline. Hands down, K.C. is the shit, and Howard better recognize.
At evening’s end, we all crash back at The French Connection, reflecting on the blessings of our safe arrivals and the shimmering beauty of Canadian nights.
Then Fiona gets beyond herself, a woman who stands by her word, a woman after my own heart, and saunters over to K.C.
“Sweetheart, you’re awesome, but sometimes I wanna beat your ass.”
She starts batting those long lashes like she does when she’s hot and bothered. Starts sweeping that back-grazing hair, Asian straight and onyx black, and points a French-manicured forefinger inches from K.C.’s nose.
“If I’m that awesome, why you wanna do that---jealousy?” K.C. banters in her characteristic sassiness, batting her lashes, too, and giving Fee challenging face, as the gay boys say.
“You’re too good, that’s why.”
“At what?”
“Everything. Reason enough for your ass whipping?” Fee pivots and singles out Mimi and Layla accusatorily. “They’d love to do the same, except they’re too ladylike to voice it.”
“Uh huh.” K.C.’s gaze sweeps the women, and a funky smile brightens her classic-pretty face.
“Let’s save time here, Mama, and ask me, because you’ll have more to envy when I tell you,” K.C. pauses and puts her little cappuccino hands on those warrior hips, showing off her Ashanti thighs and legs in a sexy, short-ass skirt, “the ladies are cooking brunch in the morning in stilettos and ribbons. So ladies, be creative. That’s why I wanted everybody to bring certain things.”
“Darling, that should be fun, but K.C., may I whip your ass tonight?”
“A one-time deal, Miss Fee. Where do you want me?”
Determined, Fiona digs a flat head hairbrush from her handbag. And a fuchsia butt plug. Dainty purple paddle and coils of colorful yarn. Laying her toys on the sofa, she makes herself comfortable and motions for Howard, Mimi, and Rusty to find other seats and, face visibly softening, stares at K.C. and pats her lap.
“Strip,” she orders. “Then ass up.”
“My pleasure.” K.C. obliges, and she and Fiona lock eyes as she strips.
Watching, I’m warming fast, a heatstroke flushing me, the room becoming unbearably hot. I look at Layla. She’s glued to the scene before us, like everyone else, one hand in the waistband of her Capri pants, fingering her kitty.
The sheer sight of K.C.’s ass makes me shudder, just the way it’s shaped, all fleshy yet sculpted and toned, just cocoa pounds of pure female delight. I always want to ride it and spank it and lick it and kiss it! The way her back flows into the tributary of her butt ought to be captured on screen, in photos, in print, on something! Goodness, I love women.
She does what Fiona asks, booty perfectly centered in the lighter woman’s lap.
As Fiona strokes K.C.’s back, her face is an indication of how luxuriant the woman is. Then she strokes that ass, popping the cheeks, rapturously admiring the way the muscle jumps, and shakes. Childlike, she’s oblivious to us now, the pleasure too enthralling.
One finger takes a leisurely stroll up and down the back of the toned thighs and suddenly darts to the crevice between her cheeks. My eyes follow. K.C. moans. Howard is chicken-choking himself with long, absorbing strokes.
“Spread them. Now,” Fiona demands, voice dripping with desire and control.
Instantly, K.C. obeys, grabbing a handful of plump ass cheeks and gingerly pulling them apart. I nearly topple off my chair, looking, desiring.
Fiona brings the brush down hard on K.C.’s right cheek. It wiggles, K.C. releases a surprised whimper, and my breath catches in my throat. Oh, yes! The sound is intoxicating, the picture mind-blowing, the sound pussy-clenching.
Whack! Whack!
Both cheeks jiggle now. Fiona gives it to her again. And again. We all lean forward, observing the slow purplish-red burn under K.C.’s hot cocoa skin.
“Aaaw! Damn, Fee. God forbid I really piss you off!”
Pop! Pop! Smack!
“It’s Miss Fiona to you, love.” Then she reaches for the yarn and nods to Mimi to assist her. “Tie this mouthy wench’s wrists to her ankles and leave a space in the middle so I can get back to the task at hand, please, darling.”
“Howard, don’t you agree this angel’s a mess? Am I wrong?”
Howard bobs his head, bottom lip tremulous, dick bulging purple.
“Thank you.” Fiona caresses K.C.’s succulent globes and whines, “See, baby, even your hubby thinks you deserve breakfast in bed tomorrow, on that breakfast tray, with flowers.”
“Yes, Miss Fiona,” K.C. moans, wrists softly bound with colorful yarn. “Whatever you say. Brunch in bed sounds delicious.”
“Perfect. Now, be quiet and moan prettily.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Fiona can’t seem to get enough of caressing K.C.’s tender plumpness, so she taps that ass now, lightly, before coming down with the flat end of the brush in a shower of stinging blows. K.C.’s sighs, moans, and pleas saturate the softly muted living room air.
“Come here, Neco,” Fiona coos at me in a seductive whisper. She sucks the fuchsia butt plug into her bow-cup mouth, pushes it in and out slowly, until it's silky wet.
“Here, put this in place, and make sure it doesn’t shoot out, okay?”
A wicked smile on my lips, I say Ok. Just inhaling the salacious play between two polar opposite women, gorgeous in every way, turns me on.

3. Name some other books where we can find your work.

My work can be found in the following publications:

DOLLY: A Novel by Claudia Sarden (Holloway House)

PURPLE PANTIES (A Zane Anthology) My story is entitled "The Purple Panty Revue."

LONGING, LUST, AND LOVE (An Anthology) My story is entitled "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

THE HOOT & HOLLER OF THE OWLS (An Anthology of writing by Hurston/Wright Writers' Week Participants) My selections debut my character Wanda B. Wonders, who is a tribute to Langston Hughes' character, Jess B. Simple.

VENUS MAGAZINE ( My 2 poems, "I Come Out" and "The Promise" appear in vol 11, no. 4 of the magazine.)

GIETIC: Erotic Poems/Kinky Short Stories (An Collection of poems and stories by Gia Bella and The Siren) I am writing as "TheSiren."

THE LUST CHRONICLES (A Logical-Lust Anthology edited by Rachel Bussel)

I can be found on www.MySpace.com/theSiren4U.
You can follow my life here at http://www.thegolden-goddess.blogspot.com/.

4. What are you working on now?

At present, I am accepting opportunities the Universe sends for me to perform burlesque. Thus, I have stepped away from the writing to fully immerse myself in this experience.
When I return to my writing, I will embrace the completion of a 3-book collection of Wanda B. Wonders short stories. I will revise, polish and market my second, novel manuscript, an erotic/romance delicacy, tentatively entitled "If You Love Me, Come."
Then I will refocus on a play, a collection of stories, a spokenword CD, a young-adult novel and a blog radio show.

5. If you could offer one piece of advice to a new author, what would it be?

A new author might be happier writing from the wellspring of passion that bubbles up from the desire to tell a good story. Otherwise, if she writes solely to make money, she chances walking an inevitable path toward the destination called Depression.
When the winds of rejection arrive, she may find herself discouraged, judging herself, thinking she shouldn't be where she is.

Not only that, a new author who writes with another author's style in her head rarely greets the chance to discover her own voice and style. Comparing yourself to others, you prepare your ankles for fractures waiting to happen. You are you. Discover who that writer is, while yet exploring, admiring and learning from others. Excavate your voice, your style, your signature from the gifts that you are. To crib August Wilson, one of my favorite writers, "Make a mark in the unmarked place."

And listen to Walter Mosley and other writers on writing, if you so desire. I relished Walter Mosley's "This Year You Write Your Novel" last year. I loved it! However, I discovered I held my own opinion about his major point. It remains in my locs, echoing softly: "If you do not write EVERY day, it won't be the end of the world." What is meant for you will forever be yours. Believe. Make it your intention to write daily, but most importantly, enjoy your life...and whatever the day brings. You will do what you came to do, eventually.

Peace, love and beautiful butterfly blessings,

The Golden Goddess