Whether we hailed from Brooklyn, Benin, or Barbados, we all grew up on Michael Jackson. Feeding ourselves on a strict diet of his music, his moves and his magic. I remember my eyes widening when I saw the moonwalk, my heart pumping with excitement, my body slowly fumbling to find its own coordinates, my lips sprawling in a smile, and most of all, I remember the oohs and aahs of a generation, that would span the next forty years.

 

For many of us, long before Obama, M.J. was the ambassador of change. He was an icon of style, grace, and humanity. He was our man in the mirror. Jamie Foxx recently said that Michael "owed us nothing but his music," and I believe that this debt was paid in full. The AFRican Magazine pays tribute to the King of Pop: