Not literally, but it feels like it. Last week, my Buffalo Challenger newspaper colleague, friend, and principle photographer Brother Simba Mlee died. He was 78 years young. His sudden death shocked me. Turns out that his cancer came back and it came back with a vengeance and took him away in a heartbeat.
Brother Simba was affectionately known as the "Ambassador of Peace and Love". He was a Pan Africanist. A black hipee. A man way ahead of his time. He had traveled to Africa and collected so much knowledge. I rarely saw him without a camera. He never greeted you without a smile, and didn't talk bad about anyone. Simba, could talk to anyone. He was known for talking to anyone from African American Mayor Byron Brown to the struggling homeless brother on the street. His knowledge of the world was amazing and if there was a problem Simba would drop knowledge about how to take care of it.
That's the type of man he was.
Simba has a special place in my heart because he and Al-Nisa "Barbara" Banks both encouraged me to write my 4-1-1 column for The Challenger and I just went after stories that white media wasn't covering: community news, celebrity interviews, good news, focusing on black businesses and leaders, racism in our community, and writing editorials. I thought no one would read my column because I wasn't bashing anyone or preaching hate. I was so wrong and he was right. He saw something in me that I didn't see for myself.
I saw Brother Simba like clock work every summer at cultural festivals, music festivals, and picnics. Camera always in hand. I'll never forget the advice, he gave me when attending a cultural festival, don't buy colognes or perfumes. Come to the festival for cultural knowledge because you can buy those other items anywhere. Again, he was right.
At his four-hour funeral, everyone came to pay their respects. The Buffalo Mayor, New York State politicians, friends and family from across New York State, and hundreds of admirers of this icon. I will be forever grateful for our talks and the fact that he was alive to meet my daughters and watch me grow as an author-writer-mother-and black woman.
There's hole-in-my-heart today. I know that pain will dull. Just not as quickly as I would like. I have hundreds if not thousands of stories to tell about Simba. And my daughters will hear them. I miss his smile already.
Peace and Love, Brother Simba. Peace and Love.
Posted By: Marsha Jones
Sunday, August 8th 2010 at 11:48AM
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