Don’t underestimate the power of a change in perspective.
Simply rephrasing the question “why did this happen to me?” to “why did this happen for me?” created a whole new worldview for Adimu “WolfHawkJaguar” Madyun, an Oakland-based lyricist, filmmaker and father of six.
Don’t underestimate the power of a change in perspective.
Simply rephrasing the question “why did this happen to me?” to “why did this happen for me?” created a whole new worldview for Adimu “WolfHawkJaguar” Madyun, an Oakland-based lyricist, filmmaker and father of six.
“At times in your life,” says Madyun, discussing how he got to this juncture, “you’re going to have to go on a ‘hell journey.’” His personal process of self-transformation, one that pushed him to the line with his health and encompassed the ending of his marriage, eventually led to him rebuilding himself and redefining his art.
“That pain made me focus,” Madyun says, sitting in a cafe near Lake Merritt–the place that aided his healing process and inspired his 2019 film,Tent City.
Wearing dark sunglasses and a tangerine orange and royal blue outfit from his Tanzanian print-inspired fashion line In The Hood, Madyun explains how the film came to be. A veteran hip-hop artist, educator, and Pan-Africanist grounded in the spiritual purpose of storytelling, before sharing his artwork, he contextualizes it by explaining what was happening in his community and personal life at the time.
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After being married for 14 years, he and his former wife reached a point where their energies were going different places.
In the role of “Cicero Jacobs,” Abakah-Jacobs portrays a loving father caught in a downward spiral of depression on the heels of his wife’s death from cancer. In writing the film, Madyun says he wanted people to be moved to a state where they’re emotionally open. “Crying is one of the most vulnerable things that we can do,” he says. “In the vein of vulnerability, you find the power. And that’s where you can really see yourself.”
Simultaneously, Madyun was facing health issues. On the heels of having COVID-19, his hearing had been replaced with a loud ringing. Not being able to do music and not having any sense of scent, Madyun questioned his mortality, “I’m just like, ‘man, is this it?’”
A person who prides himself on traditional values of manhood, that breaking point pushed him to critique the idea of sacrificing yourself for the betterment of family and community–a concept that had been instilled in him since he was a child in Compton, prior to moving to South Africa and then onto Oakland over twenty years ago.
“When you do that,” says Madyun, referring to the idea of self-sacrifice while drinking a latte, “sometimes you find yourself giving from your essence, not your excess.” He continues, palming the white coffee mug while explaining that a person’s metaphorical cup–spiritual reservoir, if you will–has to overflow for them to be able to give to others. “Because we give so much, and we’re not replenished,” he says, “we start depleting ourselves.”
The first step in tending to self was identifying the things taking from his cup, and finding ways to replenish himself. He then started asking, “what does therapy look like?” and “what does time to self look like?”
Madyun calls the film, and his art in general, “the medicine.” He refers to the depletion of self that led him on his hell journey, and says the film allows viewers to see a similar depletion in society. From there we can begin the process of healing those wounds; just as he walked the lake to heal his own.
But this practice wasn’t new. A leader in the Urban Peace Movement’s Black Men’s DetermiNation group for the past 14 years, he’s had these discussions with young Black men in Oakland in their late teens and early 20s navigating what life is throwing at them.
He started on this mentorship path in 2012 after his spirit was called to serve. He’d recently dropped Hunter Poetry, a groundbreaking hip-hop album he made as an offering to the Orishas.
His art, steeped in the concepts of spirituality as well family, discipline and abundance , caught the ears of Galen Silvestri. A community oriented activist and head of United Roots, Silvestri was working behind the scenes to maintain a Black men’s group that was originally founded by Marquees TK. Silvestri, as well Nicole Lee from Urban Peace Movement, saw Madyun as a good fit to continue this work.
“At that time,” says Madyun, “that was in total alignment with everything I was doing.”
He took charge of the group, holding weekly meetings where young men would share stories of what they were dealing with, receiving tidbits of wisdom on how to navigate life circumstances.
“We took the essence out of humanity,” Madyun says, referring to the things that led to the mental health issues plaguing our community–forces like capitalism and gentrification. “And we’ve been walking by it every day.”
Madyun held the position until “the spirit” finally turned to him and said,”Alright, now it’s on you.”
He pulled from the same lessons he shared with the young men: spending time outdoors and dedicating himself to the gym. He meditated, recited affirmations and connected with ancestors. He also prioritized doing therapy to address the wounds of his inner-child.
He takes a breath and reflects on his experience. “There’s something magical about pain,” says Madyun. “It’ll force you to focus.” And from that discipline, he says, comes a change in perspective, which allows for inspiration to seep in.
He began walking Lake Merritt every morning, playing music by South African artist Mlindo the Vocalist on a bluetooth speaker. A sad album about losing a woman, Madyun would walk the lake in tears; the music allowed him to cry.
Far from the only one moved by the popular singer’s vocals, Madyun noticed that another person started tagging along during his daily walks.
Six years later, Madyun is currently in the process of working on a follow-up film titled Resurgence, which focuses on community-based first responders who work on the frontline of the mental health crisis– without any government funding.
“There was a brother that used to sleep right over there,” he says pointing out the cafe’s window toward The Pergola on the northern side of Lake Merritt. “He started following me,” Madyun recalls, “I’d looked back, he’d be in tears too.”
The man wouldn’t come closer than an earshot while smoking a cigarette and shaking his head to the music. Madyun felt for him, but never introduced himself, either. Instead, he let the vibe speak for the both of them. After a while Madyun realized both he and the man were at the lake to heal.
He then started wondering what his story was, as well as the stories of the other people who had tents around the lake.
Partially inspired by Boots Riley’s open critique of predatory capitalism in the film Sorry To Bother You, Madyun aimed to tackle homelessness and mental health issues in his next project.
“I want to expose people to the healer,” he says of the film, explaining that the goal is to protect those who are fighting for us.
A veteran in the world of cinema production, Madyun has a handful of projects under his belt. But still, when it came to this project, self-doubt still crept in. Madyun didn’t have a film crew or money, he wasn’t even a practicing script writer at the time. “And then,” Madyun says, “all the healing stood up and said, ‘Hey bro, move by faith, not by sight.Big dog, you got this.’”
That “hell journey” that started with a depleted spiritual cup, took him to deal with his own wounds and landed him at the lake, happened for a reason. “That moment of ‘why did this happen to me’” was converted to “why did this happen for me?,” he explains.
He soon invited brothers from the Black Men’s DetermiNation group to join him on his walk. He played Mlindo the Vocalist on the bluetooth speaker and allowed the men to see the unhoused situation for themselves. And then he introduced the idea of the film Tent City to them.
The men instantly opened up, sharing stories of family members who’d fallen into similar circumstances. “So we’re all walking the ake, crying,” recalls Madyun, “thinking of all the abuse that has happened to the loved ones that we know, and those that have slipped into that deep, dark abyss of mental health.”
Tent City, a short narrative film that debuted in 2019, features Oakland Poet Laureate Ayodele Nzinga, as well as Pierre Scott, Tina Bathsheba Harambe and lead actor Sizwe Abakah-Jacobs (who is joined on screen by his actual daughter, Saba).
In the role of “Cicero Jacobs,” Abakah-Jacobs portrays a loving father caught in a downward spiral of depression on the heels of his wife’s death from cancer. In writing the film, Madyun says he wanted people to be moved to a state where they’re emotionally open. “Crying is one of the most vulnerable things that we can do,” he says. “In the vein of vulnerability, you find the power. And that’s where you can really see yourself.”
Madyun calls the film, and his art in general, “the medicine.” He refers to the depletion of self that led him on his hell journey, and says the film allows viewers to see a similar depletion in society. From there we can begin the process of healing those wounds; just as he walked the lake to heal his own.
“We took the essence out of humanity,” Madyun says, referring to the things that led to the mental health issues plaguing our community–forces like capitalism and gentrification. “And we’ve been walking by it every day.”
Six years later, Madyun is currently in the process of working on a follow-up film titled Resurgence, which focuses on community-based first responders who work on the frontline of the mental health crisis– without any government funding.
“I want to expose people to the healer,” he says of the film, explaining that the goal is to protect those who are fighting for us.
Madyun says the film is about a hero’s journey through hell, where the protagonist is in a situation where they might make it, and they might not. “It’s going to be based on their decisions,” says Madyun in an ominous tone. “Because, like we say, there ain’t no wrong or right, it’s just consequences.”
Again, it’s all a matter of perspective.
