PROLOGUE

 

Casserole Banks was in the kitchen making his five-year-old daughter, Nigeria, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Nigeria and her mother, Havana, were the loves of his life. He was thirty-four years old, slim built, six feet two inches tall, with coal black skin, and soulful dark eyes. At this point in his underachieving life, he'd expected to be a lot higher up on the success ladder than where he actually happened to be. He'd always dreamed that he would one day have a chance at blocking shots and breaking ballers' ankles in the NBA. His handles were as smooth as hot butter on a muggy summer night. He was once a local high school basketball star back in the day. However, his hoop dreams went up in smoke during the spring of his senior year at Robert E Lee high school. Casserole was profiled, pulled over, searched and arrested, on the way back from Atlanta with twenty pounds of marijuana in the trunk of his car. He was convicted and sentenced to three years in the Alabama Department of Corrections. His dreams of playing in the NBA had evaporated like an early morning mist on a fresh cut lawn. Even after being released from prison, he was still somewhat optimistic about his future. But reality showed up in the big picture of his stagnant life, bringing him painfully back down to reality. He never thought that in this season of his existence he'd still be selling weed for ten to twenty dollars a pop, to potheads and high school kids. It was demoralizing. He couldn't figure out why a woman as alluring and intelligent as his wife, Havana, hadn't wiped her hands with his sorry ass. He'd promised her the world but couldn't deliver it. Havana was the essence of a regal black queen. She was twenty-nine years old with skin so black and soft that she literally offended the sensibilities of white women and light skin African American chicks. She was so black that one might think that she would've developed a complex by growing up in the skin tone obsessed United States of America. However, that wasn't the case at all. Havana had always been proud of her luxurious black skin. If the saying, "The blacker the berry the sweeter the juice" were true, then Havana's juice was sweet enough to cause a mouth full of cavities. The woman fulfilled the cravings of a black man's sweet tooth. She had an hourglass figure, natural shoulder length hair, almond shaped eyes, and perfect white teeth. Her smile was so infectious that when she smiled at someone, they instantly fell in love with her. Havana was a black goddess, and her daughter Nigeria, the spitting image of her. The little five-year-old girl had blindingly black skin, curly black hair, adorable dimples, and one of the prettiest smiles that ever graced a human face. But not only was she the mirror image of her mother, but she was also cursed with her daddy's love for basketball. She'd watch every WNBA game that came on television with him and constantly begged him to take her to the park, to play one on one against him on the basketball court. Even though Havana hated the fact that her daughter would rather play basketball than with Barbie dolls, there was nothing she could do about it. The girl was obsessed. It was a waste of energy trying to deter her. Other than Nigeria's unexplainable infatuation with the game of basketball, she was intensely curious about life and the world around her. She questioned everything. Today was no different.

"Daddy" Nigeria said, while examining a jar of Smucker's Jelly. "What is jelly?"

Casserole stared at her as if she'd asked him what the meaning of life was. He didn't actually know what the hell jelly was. He'd never really even thought about it. However, he didn't want his daughter to think that he was intellectually retarded. So, he tried to answer her question. He really, really tried.

"I dunno, baby. I guess it's just like wet, smashed up fruit."

"But why is it smashed up?" She asked inquisitively.

"Uhh... They smash it up because the peanut butter is so thin that if the fruit laid on top of it, the peanut butter wouldn't be able to breathe."

"What?" Nigeria frowned. "Daddy, that's crazy."

"Listen baby, just eat it and be glad that them white folks who invented the shit, smashed it up for us. It's good ain't it?"

"What are you in here telling my baby?" Havana asked, strolling into the kitchen.

She'd heard Casserole explaining his ridiculous theory of jelly from the living room.

"I was just teaching her about jelly and jam." He smiled sheepishly.

"I bet you were." Havana laughed. "Don't have my baby going to school quoting you and making a fool out of herself."

"Okay then, Mrs. Know It All. Why don't you tell us what the hell jelly is?"

"Yeah, mommy." Nigeria chirped. "What the hell is jelly?"

"Nigeria Sudanya Banks! You better watch your mouth lil girl!" Havana warned her.

"Sorry mommy." She apologized.

Casserole winked at her, causing Nigeria to bless him with one of her trademark heart melting smiles.

"Alright then." Havana continued. "Jelly is made when you turn fruit into a juice-like substance, so you can spread it on bread."

"A juice-like substance?" Casserole scoffed. "So, what you saying is that you can drink it?"

"I guess you could if you wanted to." Havana replied.

"Eww! Gross!" Nigeria gasped. "That shit sounds nasty!"

Casserole burst out laughing.

"Nigeria! You is begging for a whooping!" Havana threatened her.

"Sorry mommy." she sighed. "It just keeps coming out."

"Go put your shoes on, so we can head over to the mall."

"Okey Dokey." She giggled, skipping out of the kitchen.

"What are we gonna do with her?" Havana sighed.

"She'll be alright." Casserole assured her. "There's plenty of successful people in this world who curse from time to time."

"Maybe you're right." She admitted. "Anyway, what do you have planned for today?"

"I dunno. I might head over to Macedonia and see what's tea with mom dukes. She keeps complaining about me not visiting enough."

 

"That sounds like a good idea. Tell her I asked about her."

"I'll do that."

"Nigeria!" She called out. "If you're coming with me, it's time to go!"

"I'm ready mommy." Nigeria squealed, twirling into the kitchen. "Bye daddy. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Be good." He gave her a big kiss on the cheek. 

"I'll call you when we're on our way back." Havana said. "Love you."

As she and Nigeria walked out of the front door they were suddenly ambushed by a swarm of US marshals and Montgomery police officers.

"Get on the ground!" The officers yelled, their guns drawn. "Get on the ground now!"

Havana grabbed Nigeria and dropped to the ground in sheer terror. She'd been rendered temporarily discombobulated. No idea whatsoever about what was going on. After hearing all of the commotion, Casserole charged out the front door into the mob of uniformed and plain clothes officers. They immediately wrapped him up, slammed him, and choked him until he blacked out.

"The suspect has been apprehended!" One of the officers laughed, into the mic on his collar.

Another officer placed Casserole's wrists in a pair of handcuffs, after reading him his Miranda rights while he was still unconscious. His wife and daughter looked on in pure horror.

Daddy!" Nigeria cried. Tears streaming down her face. "Get the hell off my daddy!"