“Surviving the Nation of Islam. My story..” Pt.2 by Nijeta Ankh

Peace.

Let’s get right to it! I think I should have written this years ago. Again, sorry for the delay!

For those who question why I am doing this, it is to save lives, heal spirits, and show abuse is so prevelent a hidden aspect of black culture. Also, to show the claims that the Nation of Islam under Farrakhan makes (in regards to care for black women, family, and the community) are untrue, based on the organizational workings. As I maintain, it is a elitist organization which separates by class, the acquiesce to control, and even skin color, classifications dtermining who is favored, or not. This can be in it’s origins or in current leadership, we may never know. This is what I have experienced.

As I recall and transcribe, keep in mind, I have to classify what is necessary and unnecessary as far as what I am revealing. In the proverbial terms, we haven’t even VIEWED the “iceberg” let alone touch it’s nearest tip! I can’t talk about this without talking about N.O.I. Nor can I speak in terms of my early years without speaking of N.O.I. I explained why that is in pt.1.

Based on the family history and stories relayed to me, Min.Farrakhan and my step-father (Amin Muhammad) met in New York sometime in the 70’s. I am not sure when Amin Muhammad joined the Nation of Islam. From the stories, they met while Farrakhan was the minister of the mosque in Harlem. Amin Muhammad was a native of Queens, New York. He was an intimidating figure. Large, long-limbed, athletic build, very fair-skinned, part west indian man. I didn’t realise back then that he actually could pass for a white man. He was a very militant, staunch, black muslim type (sometimes) with a charmimg smile. My mother is a petite, bronze colored woman with long ebony hair, dark eyes, and the humblest persona. But she hide a fire under her dollface beauty (I’m sure Amin was jealous of her as she was never allowed to have friends). His father was a war veteran, Harlem gangster and native of Queens as well. Horse Collar was his name. His government name was actually Connie and that is who my mother and stepfather decided to name me after, when they changed my name.

They changed my name after deciding to marry while students at famed black universities (Morehouse and Spellman). They changed my name because my father died in a freak car accident, just before they met. During the same time, my mother also adopted the belief of Islam and the teachings of Elijah Muhammad. Both of them as well as many “African Americans”were actually raised catholic, during that time period. In essence, it isn’t a stretch, to go from catholic to muslims since the modus operandi is similar. I discuss that is some of my videos. By the time I was 2 years old, Amin made the decision to relocate us to Phoenix,Arizona. I believe, this was because he wanted to make sure I never knew who my biological father was or to ever know any of those many relatives. He had my mother cut off all communication to my biological family and never spoke of them again, nor revealed my identity to me. To this day both parties haven’t spoken.

This hurried relocation was just after the fall of the Nation of Islam. I was a baby so I cannot say for sure all that occured or how my family was affected by the fall itself. Based on what I heard about that time (which was very little) they did follow Warrith Deen for a short time and left to secretly start observing as followers of Elijah Muhammad, observed the fall and maintained belief.

But I can’t say for sure.

What I can attest for is that Amin was a frightning anamoly! A bully, antagonist, indignantly Interrogating trial lawyer if he suspected wrongdoing (like not sweep a floor or wash dishes correctly). And the Inquisitor if found guilty, which he deemed you were if he felt like it. He was a tyrannical psychopath…in a bowtie. Me and my little brother would compare wounds after beatings, and get dishes he would toss from all over the floor. The beatings came cyclical..in emotional patterns. Basically, whenever he felt like it. My mother would be a silent witness to the beatings! Within the Quran there is enough to make wives feel powerless, bound and controlled by a husbands desires. My mother wasn’t a dumb woman but suffered such self-depreciating verbal abuse if she didn’t do things like fix his hotdog the SAME WAY they make them in Coney Island(this is once Joshua Farrakhan influenced our family into eating meat) Over the years I grew intense resentment. The way he talked to her was so debasing. And based on her replies, she knew we were trapped with him.

I believe that he knew I disliked his abusing my mother and made me a psychological target..which he could play target practice with. Once again, whenever he liked! His wrath started to lazer beam focus on me from the time I was 5 yesrs old. His favorite way to decipline was to have us take off all of our clothes and whip us with a large leather belt as hard as he could until he got tired ! He was a SADIST! I STILL HAVE SCARS and YOU COULDN’T PAY ME A MILLION DOLLARS TO GO THROUGH THESE INCIDENTS IN A DIANETIC SESSION (even if I WAS A MEMBER OF N.O.I , i,d rather walk a catwalk of hot coals!)..I digress. I know now that Amin had resorted to some kind of programming on me. He wanted me to believe that I was inferior to him. To do this, he needed to misalingn my higher self and lower my vibration. He spoke to inject thoughts of dereliction, debasement, humiliation and insanity. Like them “niggas in New York” as he use to say. I was a “nigga” he needed to bring into conformity of the “teachings” I never really challenged him. Still, he would yell at me for hours, almost in a lecture mode (with me standing in front of him like at basic training). And I had no choice but to listen. He would tell me that he would ruin my life if I made him an enemy. I fought the negative talk , mentally, every day! Once again, I really didnt challenge him. I just looked at him. Maybe he knew I was reading him. He absolutely hated my eyes and would complain “why are you looking at me like that”. I had no idea why..at that time. Remember, I thought he was my father. At times I did think something was wrong with me, the way the “teachings” were used to automatically marginalze anything not up to par with these super abstract and emotionally charged concepts of the N.O.I doctrine. Such a”pleasing Allah”. If you didn’t please Amin, basically, you were on “nigga shyt”. He used that word and called us (his wife and children) that derogatory form many times! Being the religious zealot part narssisist who’s family and friends preferred not to be around, we rarely had outsiders around. Possibly because he mimics Farrakhan when he speaks (alot of them do that). And he has to have ALL THE ATTENTION (a trait of a sociopath) and had an abusive past with his sisters (my so-called aunts) as well. Therefore, perhaps it was fitting that by the early to mid eighties, he was made a captain at Mosque #32 and kept the post for multiple years.

Sometime in 1987, Amin Muhammad entered my bedroom to wake me up for prayer time which was 4 am. This was the usual start of the morning(he would make us walk or run for miles before sunrise). I felt him hovering over me. But any child will try to steal a few minutes of sleep, so I kept my eyes closed. In those moments, I felt Amin Muhammad slip his hand under my gown and fondle my breasts. I froze! I was polarized with shock and terror and a feeling of arousal and confusion and extreme anger! I opened my eyes once he pulled his hand out of my gown. I arose as I was told and proceeded to get ready to say prayer. I looked for a scarf to cover my head..went to WASH MY HANDS but my mind was stained forever…I went to say prayer. As we prayed as a family in the living room, I didn’t. I was in a state of fight or flight. My body, arched over in prostration, was fitting for how I felt, totally dehumanized. After prayer, I didn’t kiss him on the cheek (which was customary to greet with a hug or kiss after prayer, each family member).I went to the bathroom. My mother comes in after asking why I didn’t kiss my father and I broke down so deeply, it was as if someone had died. My mother hugged me and aske”d what was wrong and I told her that he had molested me. This was the SAME MORNING so I WASN’T REALLY HAVING IT! NEVER WAS! Anyway..my mother did relay that I knew that he touched me and the very same morning this is how it was “handled” : My step-father sat in his easy chair. I was standing in front of him (reprimand ready…that’s all I could expect in that position which was usually held for hours while being screamed and yelled at about how poor of a person I was. How poor my charachter was) but this was different. He says ” Your mother told me what you said . If you want me to go, I will go (move out)”. My mother stood in silence. I thought about it. Maybe I could have a childhood and not this endless torture session…maybe I could have friends….maybe a boyfriend one day…nah..my mother will hate me. She acts as if she needs to prove something to him. She acts endebted to him. “No, it’s ok. You can stay” I said. And THAT’S HOW THEY HANDLED HIS PEDOPHILIA BEHAVIOR! I was 13 years old.

3 years later I found out who my father actually was. My grandmother (a devout catholic who always wanted to get one up on my muslim parents) gave me the 411!! And that was my fathers obituary and my grandmothers address in New Orleans. I connected with some family members but not until 1996. When I was 16 a petty argument over a young man leaving a beeper number for callback caused my stepfather to find the situation he needed to finally get rid of me. He through me out of their home without a toothbrush or pajamas. This was while I was a student in Mesa community college and was working at a clothing store. I had paid for my own semester, that semester. I asked my store manager, a black lady in her 30’s if I could stay with her until I figure out what to do. I was not connected with my family (on any side) I was not given my Social Security monies (which they stole from me for 3 years). I was primed for destitution…..for being a challenge to Amin.

This overlaps with the Farrakhan family and Mosque #32 in which they either didnt know, knew and cared a little, or didn’t give a damn about what happened to me. Joshua Farrakhan had actually became Amim Muhammad’s best friend. His family and our family were together most weekends. We watched movies, had bbq’s, went on special outings (like Verde River near Phx) and basically were like family. The night Amin Muhammad threw me into the night, I walked to my job. Joshua “uncle josh” as we called him, came to my job and said he heard what happened. He said I could stay with him IN A HOTEL, WHICH WAS NEAR THE SOUTH MOUNTAIN POINTE. He left his key! I took the key. And I thought about the look I had just seen in his eye. Did he want to have sex with me?? Why didnt he offer to take me to Sis.Marie’s? (His wifes house) It was clear enough to me that it would be wrong. So I NEVER WENT.

Mind you THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS GONE, I WAS IN TOUCH WITH MY MOTHER WHO SECRETLY KEPT CONTACT. BASICALLY, AMIN WASN’T CHECKING FOR ME. And I WAS IN A STATE OF DEEP ANGUISH inside. NO ONE COULD HELP ME MAKE SENSE OF IT. At some point after my x-communication, my family left the mosque for a “inactive” period. They maintained that they were BELIEVERS!

MY MOTHER ALSO STARTED TO ATTEMPT TO PROGRAM ME WITH LIES , SAYING THAT I LEFT HOME AND THAT AMIN DIDN’T THROW ME OUT. SHE SAYS THIS EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS THERE. SHE SAW HIM THROW ME OUT. I DIDNT REALISE I WAS DEALING WITH A VILE TRICK OF ABUSERS CALLED “GASLIGHTING”. IT IS A DENIAL OF CULPABILITY EVEN THOUGH GUILT IS CLEAR. EVEN THOUGH A WRONG WAS DONE, IT IS DENYING IT EVER HAPPENED. IT IS USED TO DRIVE VICTIMS INSANE! This is how she handled my incessant “grilling” why do you let this happen? Why do you let him do these things to me? She would respond like it was my imagination. She would say she didn’t remember any abuse! She would also get nasty and indignant and this started to make me feel rage towards her. I couldnt innerstand what I was dealing with. A Taurus like my step-father, she also kept positions such as Captain, Study group leader, and children’s class teacher for Mosque #32!

About 5 years after AMIN separated me from my belongings, mother, and siblings, I wrote and recorded “Ghettos Child” https://www.amazon.com/Ghettos-Child-Nutmeg/dp/B000008Q3R . My name, NUTMEG was a catalyst and so was I! I am the first female rap artist to gain attention for Arizona! There were a few others, but I REPRESENTED PHOENIX! I loved what had protected and loved me. And in that estimation, that was the streets. So where was the Nation of Islam?

They actually didnt make moves to support me EVEN AS NUTMEG, EVEN AFTER BRINGING KOOL G RAP TO THE MOSQUE one Sunday! EVEN AFTER HE GAVE 1000$ that day. No one in leadership could figure out how/why to support me! I wondered if my step-father had something to do with that..

As for the abuse, I SOUGHT HELP FROM THE NATION! I was naive and deluded on the doctrine that it was our nation and I should be able to garner some type of support or mediation from an official (preferably Farrakhan himself). But nothing. Sometime in 1998, I want to Mosque #32 and gave a formal complaint that I had been abused. I was put in a meeting with “officials” basically the Captain, Minister, and Sister Captain. And these individuals were Minister Joel Muhammad, Captain Abdullah Muhammad (son of Elijah Muhammad) and Joel’s daughter, Captain Halima Muhammad. I recall it was tape recorded. I explained what had happened..as best that I could. I couldn’t get past explaining when Amin Muhammad wrapped a belt around my neck and threatened to kill me at age 14. They stopped the tape and said ” well sister somebody has to help you” and they basically called my parents. They never spoke again of it. That has been their policy on abuse.

Honestly..this actually wears on my vibration. Lemme resume this tomorrow while I go meditate.

Peace N’ Light!

N.A.☥

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