Trauma´n´Drama ist der Titel von Gregory´s Autobiographie. Er hat mir eine kurze Zusammenfassung davon geschickt, die mich sehr berührt, geschockt und verärgert hat.

Es gibt noch sechs weitere Romane, die Gregory bereits geschrieben hat. Geschrieben, um nicht den Verstand zu verlieren. Geschrieben, um die Erlebnisse aus seiner Heimatstadt zu verarbeiten. Hier findet man einer Übersicht dieser Texte.

Mich hat Trauma´n´Drama am meisten bewegt, deswegen wollte ich diesem Text besondere Aufmerksamkeit schenken.

This is the story of my life. An autobiography. As a five year old child, I was used to transport heroin and cocaine, by having it placed into my pockets by my mother´s husband as he took me with him on drug runs. The bundles of balloons were placed in my pockets, just incase the police stopped us while on delivers. I was exposed to smoling weed and drinking wine at the age of six. At eight I was counting drug money, placing it in stacks of thousands. At the age of 12 I was selling weed and carrying guns. I would always hang out with older kids, while on my way to being a good gymnast.
There´s an old African adage: „It takes a whole village to raise a child.“ But what happens when the whole village is filled with drug dealers, killers, thugs, gangsters, robbers, gamblers, prostitutes, thieves etc? That child woll likely be a product of his physical and social environment that he was groomed into.
The story of my life will take you throgh the many mazes in my existance, on the streets and Death Row where I reside today.


Our Little Secret

© Peter Reinäcker /

The day was finally here, I cleaned my cell spotless and placed most of my Personal belongings into two boxes, just in case I went to the Adjustment Center which is another name for the prison „Hole“. I wasn’t worried about Going to the hole, I had been in the hole many times in my life, since Juvenile Hall days, and prison. I had an objective to fulfil.

I took my freshly starched state prison jeans and shirt from under my Mattress. I didn’t have real starch, my starch consisted ofhot water mixed With sugar in asprat bottle. The pants and shirt looked as if they had been Cleaned and pressed at the cleaners. The hot water and sugar worked good.
As long as I didn’t get caught in the rain, ifthat happen I would be in a Sticky situation.

I had been sleeping on the clothing for the last two months anticipating This special day of October 11. On this day seven years ago, my daughter Akilah Kesi was born. I was incarcerated when Akilah‘ s mother was three Months pregnant. It was the worst feeling lever experienced, not being There for Akilah and my now-ex woman. Akilah was too young to a degree To understand that her Daddy was on Death Row.

I chose her names, names that represented her character and nature to the Fullest. Akilah is a Arabic name which means: intelligent, one who reasons;
And Kesi is a Swahili word name meaning: „Born when her father was in Trouble.“ Weiterlesen

The movements of my heart

I get deep from within my heart, where it bleeds out my sorrow, wondering if I’ll be judged and put to death tomorrow. Tried, lied on, wrongly convicted by the media, and jurors who weren’t of my peers, so they won’t try and can’t understand, fighting for rights, justice and equal opportunity is the struggle of the black man. On this deadly voyage (a reincarnation of the Trans Atlantic Slave trade disguised as a Justice System) I’ll travel alone, to reclaim my kingdom on the African throne.

My shield and spear, demolishes and fear, sharp and strong, made of steel. The beats of the drums are my heart beat and will.

My will to survive this system allows my spirit to have no mercy in this war; I’ll destroy my oppressors and aggressors like they destroyed my ancestors.
Strength, beauty, veracity, spirit and struggle, compelling myself not to hesitate when its time to juggle.

The balance of life or death, pressure from being held captive all these years have made me a sacred diamond of wealth.

I’ll approach this battle slowly with caution, like a black panther stalking prey; I see the vultures and hyenas lying in the wait. But I can’t or won’t make any mistakes.

I am on the move, like a train with no breaks.

I am in the belly of the United Snakes beast, it’s dark and cold down here, with no fire, I must serve this knowledge on the raw.

Using my third eye, and street smarts of an out law.

Making my markings from the warrior within, my journey and struggle is the life in its realist manifestation of all Afrikans.

Excerpt from „Hard Knocks old school“ by Gregory Tate aka Camara



Photo: © Gerd Altmann / PIXELIO‘

I have legs, but cannot run far.
I have eyes, but cannot see the sunrise or set.
I have ears, but cannot hear the sounds of children playing and laughing.
I have a nose, but cannot smell the trees, fruit, freshly cut lawns or a gardenia in a woman’s hair.
I have arms, but cannot embrace what I desire to touch.
I have a heart, but it is filled with sorrow, yearning to be free.
I have a rage so strong, yet loving and tender.
I have a love as intense like the infernal of hell, yet it’s restrained for there’s no one to share it with.
I have dreams, visions, and expectations that are so remote to the realities of this poem.
All these and more I have, but I still remain Immobilized on death row.