T'Keyah Crystal Keymah: vegetarian actress

T'KEYAH CRYSTAL KEYMAH IS BEST KNOWN for her performance on the Emmy Award-winning comedy, In Living Color. Keymah then played Scotti Decker, the sexy general contractor, on the ABC comedy On Our Own, and Denise Everett, an earthy comedy writer, on Fox's The Show. She has guest starred on The John Larroquette Show, The Commish, Quantum Leap, and Roc. Keymah also played the role of flight attendant-turned attorney-turned aspiring chef-turned wife and teacher Erica Lucas on CBS' Cosby. Today, Keymah stars as Tonya Baxter on the Disney Channel's comedy series, That's So Raven.

From the age of three, Keymah enjoyed entertaining her family--singing, dancing, and reciting original poems and stories. She wrote her first play and her first song in elementary school. She performed with the Mary Wong Comedy Group in high school before Florida A & M University's School of Business and Industry recruited the National Merit Scholar. During and after college, Keymah taught theater, dance, and pantomime. She has also done many theater performances and produced films.

Despite her busy schedule, T'Keyah Crystal Keymah enriches her life with charitable work and writing. She graciously offered to share some of her reasons for becoming vegetarian and a few of her own vegan dishes with Vegetarian Journal readers.

SOMEONE ASKED ME RECENTLY WHY I became a vegetarian. I had not been asked that question in so long that it gave me pause. My mind raced back to when I first cut out animals from my diet and was bombarded with why's. Why so often then and so seldom now?

The most likely reason is that I was so vocal about my conversion, preachy even, in the beginning. I would tell anyone who wanted to know, and many who did not, exactly what they were eating, what havoc it was wreaking on their bodies, and how tragically their food had suffered to become such. To put me in my place, the universe made my diet the hot topic at every food gathering I attended and invited all present to attack me freely. On guard, I practically dared anyone to challenge my motives, my information, or my resolve. Over time, my defense-driven bravado gave way to glum irritation and finally boredom. As a result, for a long while I avoided sharing meals with carnivores (and sometimes still do), but eventually I learned that those who attacked my diet the hardest were doing so in defense of their own.

So when recently asked, "Why did you become a vegetarian?," it struck me as an odd question. Sort of like, "Why did you become a woman?" Well, to be honest, I do recall each decision to remove another animal from my plate. But in my mind those decisions were about habits. And habits, the things that one does, are quite different from the thing that one is. Sometimes, things we do are in contrast to the things we are--that is, until our spirits will no longer allow it. Speaking for myself, I was the thing that I am long before I began doing the things that I do.

My earliest veggie memory is that of my grandmother's summer garden. Although I was never eager about my weed-pulling duties, her enthusiasm was contagious. And for me, watching those tomatoes begin to turn red was magic! My grandmother showed equal passion at the grocery store when ordering cuts of meat, but that activity had the opposite effect on me. Thinking back, I realize there were several red flags, but the indication of my true nature came at the dinner table. As a child, my favorite meats were hot dogs and bologna (I know, I know). One could argue that these are easy snacks for a child to make. I believe, however, that I preferred those non-animal-looking things because of what was brewing in my subconscious.

One night, we were having chicken. My grandmother was particularly perturbed that I was picking over the meat and demanded to know why. I feebly explained that it disturbed me that the veins in the leg looked so much like my veins. I didn't go so far as to say that every time I looked at the thing I imagined someone taking a bite out of my arm, but I was thinking it. My argument didn't go over well with anyone, and I was forced to continue to pick at the carcass until all consumable pieces of flesh had been consumed.

Topping the repulsion of that night was the time I watched my grandmother make hamburgers. She had just plopped a package of freshly ground beef in a glass bowl, and it occurred to me that there was liquid coming from the meat. "What is that, Grandmother?" I asked, pointing to the red pool forming at the bottom of the bowl. "That's the juice," she said. "Yes, but what is it?" I repeated, recalling that the butcher had not added any 'juice,' nor had she. "That's the juice," she repeated with a pause that said, 'And that's all you need to know right now.' Perhaps these are the incidents that spurred my later decisions, or perhaps these were indications that there was already something in me that would make them inevitable.