The Archive.

Baba Kamau Kambon is the most sincere, genuine, loving Black man I have ever known. He loves his race and does everything in his power and more to protect us and all our different selves: our psychological/emotional selves, our cultural selves, our economic selves, our education selves, our health selves, our spiritual selves, our social selves and our political selves. He loves his family and also works tirelessly to protect us in each and every one of these areas.

Growing up we would always talk about how the trunk of his car was always full — with things for his family. If we were hungry, he had rice cakes. If we were cold, he had sweatshirts, socks and hats for us. If our clothes tore, he had a needle and thread. Scissors, bobby pins, safety pins, tools and the infamous duct tape, you name it. No matter what we needed, Baba Kamau is always ready. On the case for the race.

Baba Kamau Kambon is a visionary. He saw his family building our own log cabin on land we own and living in the woods in a serene holistic environment and he made that happen. He envisioned a place where community could gather together to read, to listen, to learn and where the spark of knowledge could shine brightly for our race — and he made that happen too. With indomitable willpower. He saw the collapse of amerikkka coming and repatriated with his family to Abibiman — the land of Black People. Baba Kamau doesn’t just have vision — he has SUPER VISION.

On a more personal note, throughout my life, Baba Kamau has always made time for me and our family. When I think of him, I think of growing up and us playing catch together. Cutting firewood together. Changing oil and brake pads on the VW beetle together (he did most of the work). I remember him teaching me how to ride my bike. How to swim. How to whistle. … Such a thoughtful man. Such a caring man. I told him on many occasions that he is the best Dad in the history of the world and I truly mean it.

Baba Kamau Rashidi Kambon. I will always love you. I can never fear this thing they call death, because, in transition, I will only join my father.