My name is Yari Bangoura, and you do not know my story. I was born into a Lucky-Pot. It was an old, well seasoned cast iron Lucky-Pot that over time had fed well over 5000 people in my village. Whenever someone ate out of this Lucky Pot, white magic would most certainly visit you that night. Some say this is why I have been so blessed. Because I was born inside this Lucky Pot.

OK! So for the last 4 years i have wanted to write a book with the opening line “My name is Yari Bangoura and you do not know my story”. I cannot explain to you why, just as I cannot explain the reasons for or the meaning of my dreams. It is just life moving through me.

One thing that I can explain, however, is that I am a product of beautiful Pot Luck gatherings. Perhaps it was because I was raised by a wild pack of musical hippies in Mèxico, we were always invited to the hippy feast-gatherings in hopes that my parents would play live music. My mom on flute and step-dad on guitar and vocals would blissfully play their Bassa Nova-Jazz music as all of the ex-Patriot Gringos of Yelapa stood around stoned and well tequila-ed. Me, being one of the only Gringa childen in Yelapa, would sneak off to find local kids to bring back to the gatherings. I would enthusiastically feed hippy food (imported Tabouli, hummus, huge salads, hand made pizzas and apple pies) to the weary-eyed Bean and Tortilla-fed-Tribe member I had taken prisoner. Simultaneously, I encouraged the local child to try a slice of pizza while praying they would not take notice of all the Marijuana smoke floating above our 7 year-old-heads.

The Catholic church in Yelapa openly and loudly condemned Marijuana smoking because it is an act of the Devil. I knew this because I had gone to church in the Pueblo with my tia Esperanza who feared for my poor 7 year old un-saved soul. At these Pot-Luck gatherings I didn’t want the Bean and Tortilla Tribe kids thinking that I was a descendant of the Devil Tribe… Man that convincing was a lot of work!

And so to make a long and beautifully jungle-mold story short, i have a thing now for pot lucks. Funny and conveniently enough, my partner does too. Not only do we enjoy trying new (mostly vegetarian-vegan) food and sharing feasts with our Tucson Tribe, but we also like holding a sacred space where we can ask one-another for support or for hugs or for blueberry pie while receiving love. Both Alok, that’s my partner, and I are deeply rooted in the belief that one needs strong and delicious community to fully thrive in this world. We like to intentionally honor our Tribe and hold them in our arms as much and as Authentically possible… Pot Lucks are a wonderful and yummie way to accomplish this. And so Alok and I have decided to invite our Tucson Tribe into our loft monthly to break bread together, to share love with each other. The doors are open to whomever wishes to join us! It’s seriously beautiful…

Without one’s Tribe, without one’s community: I have nothing…

Last Sunday we had a super gorgeous gathering. I wanted to set up a “kissing-booth” for people to sit in and i would photograph them smooching. That didn’t happen, but this did: