You can never see yourself as the world does. No matter how many mirrors you look into, you won't see what everyone else does. Beyond Face Value is not just a lesson Rajée had to learn, but it is an ethos she now lives her life by. Have you ever believed you were destined for a path that was totally different from where you started, or felt that life was directing you against the normal, the expected and the accepted, and that every challenge you faced was due to a higher power guiding you to a greater place? Rajée's story is both inspiring and devastating in equal measure. An outcast literally from birth, Rajée has had to fight racism, prejudice and ignorance her entire life. Through a series of events that would have broken even the strongest man, Rajée emerged as a butterfly does from a cocoon into a beautiful spirit, yet the cruelty of life has deprived her of the traditional facial value. Her story to the global stage after word of her horrendous and painful botched silicone injections came to light in Florida. Quickly, the damage inflicted on her by Oneal Morris (a.k.a. "Duchess") had attracted the media, both nationally and internationally, within a matter of weeks. At the age of 44 she finally had a platform to speak out about injustice and cruelty. She appeared with CNN's Anderson Cooper and Dr. Phil, as well as on German, Japanese, Spanish, and British television. This attention and the positive reaction to her plight, gave her the extra strength to tell the whole story that led her to, essentially, a back alley for facial injections of "fix-a-flat". Rajée's story is about one transgendered woman's incredible journey to truly understanding beauty, but it has touched millions, not just through understanding the plight of a transgendered woman, but because everyone has experienced, at some point in their lives, the disapproval of their parents, bullying at the hands of ignorance, discrimination, and events
Beyond Face Value
By RAJÉE RAJINDRA NARINESINGH ALEX VAUGHNiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Rajée Rajindra Narinesingh
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-5717-4Contents
Introduction.............................xviiThe Early Years..........................1Shallow Innocence........................19Leaving the Nest.........................41The Metamorphosis........................54Like a Ton of Bricks.....................73Worldwide................................94Karma....................................109Finding the Beauty.......................119
Chapter One
THE EARLY YEARS
I lay in my bed in the fetal position, with a towel pressed firmly, yet tenderly to my swollen face. The towel was both cold and wet from all the ice I had dumped quickly into it from an ice tray, before I ran into my room, and locked the door, before anyone could see me.
My lip was completely split to the point I could actually separate the left and right side of my top lip. The pain was almost unbearable but the hurt I felt was more than physical, I was so ashamed, and yet so angry for feeling so. How was it possible that I could feel this way when I had done nothing wrong? I stared at an old dresser in the corner with tears in my eyes and I couldn't help but wonder why what happened to me had and how my life had ended-up the way it was.
This was not the beginning of my life, nor was it really the early years, but this, in many ways was the beginning of me taking control of my own life and beginning a path to understanding why I was put on this earth in the way that I was.
To answer the question of why my life had brought me to that point, in a bed in what I called my home, bloody beaten emotionally and physically destroyed, I definitely have to start from the beginning. So in sharing with you I'll do the same and take you to a place in my life beyond that broken moment.
You should never ask a lady how old she is., but hell I'm sharing my journey with you so I'll be forthright with everything. It was in Brooklyn, NY on April 7th 1967 that I came into this world. I should have said born, but I honestly don't think I was born until a lot later in my life, when I felt I understood my purpose here was beyond face value.
I grew-up in the 70's and 80's, during a time when there were no computers, cell phones or remote controls. As soon as I write this I remember that in fact my sister and I were my father's remote control, he would call us from outside or from upstairs to come turn the channel for him. Dad was certainly the king of his castle.
Anyway back to my entrance to the world, according to my mom she was visiting her best friend from high school Estelle at the time and went into labor with me. I was delivered by c-section, a very healthy baby boy, weighing seven pounds with a head full of wavy black hair.
My dad was in Philly somewhere when I arrived onto the planet. My parents named me Rajindra. It is an Indian name. My father had a lot to do with my name because he was East Indian from Trinidad. For those of you who know Hindi or are familiar with Indian names you will know that my name Rajindra is typically a male name. The first part, "Raj" means king. Sometimes it is used to describe royalty. I remember seeing a picture of Princess Diana in a magazine and the caption was "Lady Diana looking quite the Raj." "Indra" is the head of the Hindu gods. So actually my name means "King Indra."
Most people feel a connection to their names. In the Indian culture names almost have a spiritual karmic vibe. I know that in Trinidad families will even consult the Pundit (Hindu priest) for a name for their baby.
I have memories from as far back as before I was even one! I have memories of my mom and me as a baby staying with my aunt Tee Tee for a while. I'll tell you more about Tee Tee later. She ends up playing a key role in my journey. More importantly is that I remember my dad not being with us. I also have memories of me being in Tee Tee's arms in what I would find out later in my life was a clothing factory. I can see my father walking up to me and playfully pointing a pencil in my face. Tee Tee of course pushed it away from my face. Later on I would hear that my father had lied to my mom and told her that he was not working. My mom got a call from some guy who told her that my father was working and the name of the company. Well let's just say that my mom, Tee Tee, Tee Tee's mom and little me paid my dad a surprise visit at his job. After that dad pretty much took on his financial responsibilities as well as his responsibilities as a father. There was also some talk about dad about to be deported and him deciding to do the husband and father thing to avoid it. I can't remember what family member I heard that from and I really don't know how true it is. I never bothered to bring it up to my mom. It seems really pointless at this stage of the game. It's so odd the things you remember when you take that journey back over your past.
Growing up with the kind of background I did sure made you love food, and speaking of Trinidad boy do I love Indian food from Trinidad. I love it more than the Indian food from India. It has a Caribbean flare to it. Trinidadians use a dark curry and don't cook with yoghurt like Indians from India. The East Indians arrived in Trinidad in 1834. The British brought them from India as servants. 147,592 of them came from India. So what has happened through the generations is that there has been a blending of East Indian and Caribbean culture. Especially with the food, there I go talking about food again, what can I say, I love to eat. Anyway you can also see the blending of cultures with a type of music called "chutney." It is an Indian and Caribbean mix of music. A lot of the Indians in Trinidad still hold on to the traditions from India. Especially when it comes to births, weddings, and funerals.
Dad ate with his hands in the traditional eating style of India. He even ate rice with his hands, trust me there is definitely a technique to doing it and making it look both natural and elegant. It is all in the way you pick the rice up off the plate and get it in your mouth with your thumb. I never was able to get the technique down. The only time my father would use eating utensils was if we went out to eat at a restaurant. I chuckle when I think back, it was so unnatural for him, and he would look so awkward eating out! It was kind of funny and cute at the same time. My dad was very Indian in a lot of ways, but as I say that I remember there were things about him that were certainly unique of Trinidadian culture, like Steel Band music, which he absolutely loved.
My Grand mother Agie's generation really stuck with the traditions. I remember visiting my grandmother in Trinidad and her always covering her head when she went into town or to a function. I even remember her and some of my older aunts speaking some Hindi. They would mix it in with English. Especially when they didn't want me to understand what they were talking about, this was often.
The two major racial groups in Trinidad are of either East Indian or African descent. The East Indian and Blacks definitely had their share of racial tension. I know that my dad and a lot of his family were prejudice against Black people. Yet he married my mother, who was a Creole mix of French, Black and Native American. His family did not react well to say the least. I believe it was because East Indians came to Trinidad long after Blacks had been there. The cultures were very different from each other and the East Indians came to Trinidad as indentured servants whereas the Blacks had come as slaves. Two groups of color at odds against each other. Now there was some mixing but not without social consequences. A child from an East Indian and African mixed parent is called "Dougla." Dougla is a Hindi word that means mix, but in Trinidad it also had a derogatory association to it, so I started my life with that badge stamped firmly on my head.
My mother came from a rich history too, both of my parents have deep history and I think that is something I got from both of them, I have always been fascinated by the history of where we come from. For instance my mom told me New Orleans is well known for its people of Creole mixture. Creole usually means a person mixed with black and European blood (especially French or Spanish descent) but some Creole people, like my mother also have a Native American blood line.
Although my mom didn't have typical Black features, the knowledge that she had African blood in her was enough to make my father's family uncomfortable.
My mom and dad met around Temple University in Philadelphia. Dad was taking some classes at Temple and mom worked at an insurance agency in the area. Due to my mother's racial mix she had quite an exotic look, at the time her hair was down to her waist; mom said that dad actually thought that she was from Trinidad at first. Creole people often times were mistaken for many different races and nationalities.
During the days of great racism here in America, some Creole people passed as white or something other than Black to try and live a better life. I have a few relatives that did this. Many Creole people lived in a world between White and Black. Often times they were not accepted by either of the groups, so they would live in communities of their own. My great, great grandmother (Grandma Frank) was from France and came through Ellis Island in the late eighteen hundreds. She ended-up marrying my great, great grandfather who was a mix of Black, White, and Native American. He was a cousin of the famous historian & author—Dr. Carter G. Woodson. Dr. Woodson is often times cited as being the father of African American history. I wonder what he would have thought of me? Anyway, Great Great Grandma Frank sounded like a woman after my own heart because in those days I'm sure a White person would have had to have some balls (no pun intended) to marry someone of color. Yet she did and stood her ground, a family trait I am glad I inherited. They had four children. Three girls and one boy. Two of the girls were able to pass as white, and did exactly that when they grew-up. The youngest girl (Aunt Emma) and the only boy Henry (my great grandfather) looked mixed race. Great grandfather Henry married my great grandmother (we all called Nana Bolling). She was a mix of Black and Native American. So my mom's side of the family consisted of many different looks.
My mom tells me a story about her and the family taking a trip down to Virginia to visit family when she was nine. They stopped at a diner to get something to eat. My great grandfather Henry and my uncle Sonny (great grandfather Henry's oldest son) went into the diner to see if it was okay if they eat there. The both of them kind of looked like they could be Italian. Uncle Sonny had very light skin, blond hair and green eyes. The staff told them sure they could eat there. Well mom said that when the family piled into the restaurant everyone looked. The waitress came over to the table and apologized to them. She said that they would not be able to eat there but they would fix the food for them and they could carry it out. My mom had to use the bathroom and they did let her use it. My mom has light beige color skin and at the time she had long wavy hair down her back. I guess my mom was light enough to use their toilets.
So, can you say mutt? I am really a mix of things. That's probably why a race was not put on my birth certificate. They couldn't tell who was what. Little did anyone know at that time that the doctor should not have put male on my birth certificate either.
From a pretty young age I had a sense of family. You know a mom, a dad and me, and eventually my sister. When I was born both mom and dad were 24 year old. I don't think dad was too happy about mom getting pregnant and him having the responsibility of having a child to take care of, but after I arrived he got with the program. Despite his dysfunction he did his very best to provide for us. Now when I say dysfunction I am referring to alcoholism and womanizing, oh dad was a Don Juan. Look I know a lot of men run around on their wife but dad rubbed it in mom's face, he was bold about it, almost proud of his infidelity. Besides women dad had another love, he loved the English game of cricket. I spent many years growing-up at Fairmont Park in Philly. That was where my father's cricket club was. That was the family thing to do on the weekends in the summer. My dad was always volunteering my mom to do the tea time for the cricket team and believe me, when mom did tea time it was more like a dinner buffet.
If we were not at the cricket field on the weekend we were up at my Uncle Ram's house. He was my father's older brother and was actually the first sibling to move to the United States from Trinidad. He married my Aunt Myla who was white American. So you know she was a hit with the family in Trinidad. They had two children, my cousin Tonia and then Ramesh. We had some good times up at Uncle Ram's house when he and my dad weren't arguing. There was always good classical Indian music playing and delicious Trinidadian Indian food. We kids would dance to the music and put on shows for the adults. But dad and Uncle Ram seemed to always clashed with each other. Tonia had a hard time with her dad growing-up like I did. Ramesh was the favorite like my sister was with my dad. For so long I just assumed that was how it was, one kid was just luckier than the other. Even though we don't talk much Tonia and I are still cool. Ramesh and I are not, we both have our reasons, and I will leave it at that.
I feel my mom was more ready to have the responsibility of a child, especially after I arrived. She was the only child and was raised by her grandparents and aunts and uncles. I don't know very much about my mom's mother, but from what my mom told me she did not have a very happy life. Mom says that she feels that some things that happened to her caused her to have mental issues. She died when my mom was eleven from kidney failure and for those eleven years of my mom's life she was away. Mom told me that she would say she was going to the corner store and leave with just her purse and not return for months and in one particular case a few years. There are many things that were swept under the carpet. The reason for why she was the way she was, we will never really know. Like whom my mom's father was. That's a big mystery. Supposedly he was some guy who she really did not want to have sex with and she ended-up pregnant with my mom. I imagine growing-up being raised by extended family would have a person yearn for a solid family unit. This is probably why she put up with so much from my dad. I can remember during some really turbulent times my sister and I were actually begging her to leave.
It was about the age of four when I began to realize that something was different about me. In other words I wasn't acting like the other boys in the neighborhood. Now by age four I had already experienced quite a bit. I had a horrible accident where my hand was burned and required a skin graft, I lived abroad in my father's home land of Trinidad for six months, and I already knew how my father's belt felt slapping against my skin and had welcomed a baby sister into the household.
I was so excited to hear that I was going have a brother or sister. Mom miscarried twice between my sister and I and she was pretty sickly during the pregnancy. I remember her having to go to the doctors once a week for some sort of special injection. As her stomach got bigger I began to anticipate my sister's arrival. I would feel my mom's stomach every day and ask her when the baby was coming.
Even though my sister was a little thing, she arrived at about six pounds. Yet for my very small framed mom, that was pretty big. She told me later it was totally different for me; I was up high under her breast. Even in the womb I knew what body part I wanted. She said that many people didn't even know she was pregnant. When she got to the hospital to deliver me the nurse thought her girlfriend Estelle was the one having the baby, embarrassingly, Estelle was not pregnant. On June 28th 1971 my sister arrived.
I woke-up that morning looking for my mom. I guess I sensed something was going on as I went into the kitchen, my parent's bedroom, and even looked in the closet. I thought my mom might have been hiding from me. I then went to my uncle PoPo who was shaving in the bathroom and asked him for my mom. He looked down at me and smiled. He said that my mom had gone to have the baby. Even though I wanted my mommy I was so excited that the baby was finally coming, I felt like I had waited years and years.
Kashmira, my new sister immediately became my father's favorite. I remember the day she came home from the hospital, we got Kentucky Fried Chicken. Even at that age I loved KFC. Some things never change. Well, I guess I had to replace my pacifier with something. I called it my "tuktuk" and I was addicted to it. Until one morning when I woke up crying for it, my mom told me that the trash men had taken it and it was on the trash truck that was going down the street. So that was the end of that and I got over it. Surprisingly, I got over it pretty quickly. I think it was my fear of my father that made me suck it up pretty fast. From pretty early on I began to fear my father. He certainly did not hold back on beating me.
So, at age four is when the name calling began, I was already programmed to suck it up, yet I knew the name calling was wrong, even if I didn't understand what they meant. I remember this like it was yesterday. My parents had just gotten a house in a nice middle class neighborhood called Mount Airy in Philadelphia and I was playing in the drive-way with some of the other children in the neighborhood.
What was this word they were calling me? Eventually I went to Mr. P to ask him what the word meant. Mr. P was a fireman and all of the kids used to like to hang-out by his garage. I looked up at him and asked him what "faggot" meant. Well of course he didn't answer my question, but just by his reaction I knew that it couldn't mean a good thing. He said not to pay attention to what the other kids were saying.
Around the age of five is when I found my mom's make-up kit. I powdered my face, just like I had watched my mom do. I put some lipstick on and paraded around for my parents to see. I guess subconsciously I knew that one day make-up would be a daily routine for me. Well at first my parents laughed but then my dad got this serious look on his face and ordered my mom to go wash it off. Mom swept me up and took me to the powder room to clean me up. I didn't want her to. I was having fun.
Well if I thought the kids in the neighborhood were rough on me, I was in for a rude awakening when school started. Talk about bullying, the kids were relentless with me. The name calling got worse, and then the physical bullying kicked in, literally. The boys would beat me up, take my lunch, and then one boy threatened to kill me with a knife that he had. I really believed I was going to die at the ripe old age of six. I don't really understand why the kids were so horrible to me, even now. I had always tried to be friendly and kind. I didn't belong, I was different and that was that.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Beyond Face Valueby RAJÉE RAJINDRA NARINESINGH ALEX VAUGHN Copyright © 2012 by Rajée Rajindra Narinesingh. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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