Mndakola entered the small hut mumbling to herself as she often did. She was usually making some fuss about the laziness of her grandkids or about all the work that needed to be done. This time she was mentioning something about the flowers she was bringing to Nelago – their size, colors, or smell. Nelago didn’t hear what she was saying, she only acknowledged the noise. She opened her eyes and watched her grandmother bending her back to enter the reed-roofed short hut. She was in her sixties but could bend over and reach anything on the ground with the livliness and flexibility of a twenty-year old. She was indeed strong, as her name told. But, Nelago didn’t think of these things. Her grandmother’s movements and actions were as normal to her as the setting sun; a world without either didn’t seem real.
Mndakola shut the small wooden door so that the chickens wouldn’t enter. Then she turned and looked along the floor of the hut. She began sweeping the dusty and sandy ground around Nelago with a bundle of long stick grass used as a broom. She was careful not to disturb her sick child and didn’t look to her face. Mndakola never felt Nelago’s wondering brown eyes watching her. After she finished sweeping she laid the handful of white and pink petal flowers around the reed mat. She gathered them from the assortment that grew along the outside walls and passages of the sandy and dusty floors of their homestead. Nelago loved those wildflowers, especially during the rainy season. They bloomed at everyone’s feet, for all to see.
She spread the flowers and knelt on the floor just by Nelago’s head. She didn’t touch or caress her with her hands, but her eyes held the child’s body to warm and protect it. Nelago felt that security of her grandmother’s eyes that were piercing, but loving. Mndakola was unlike her grandmother Kaino, who always had the most charming smile on her face and unlike her grandmother Eva who had a large deep voice to go with her wide face and warm hands. They were sisters and shared a common love for their families although they each expressed it uniquely.
Nelago often looked into her grandmother’s eyes timidly and frightfully. Mndakola had a hard face; an especially hard one for little children to look to. Nelago seldom blinked. Her arms were crossed about her chest and goose bumps rose about her body. Now she was cold. Mndakola began to speak in her sharp, fast tone.
“Nelago, oya ku leka ongolohi ya zi ko?” did they bite you last night
“Eee, Kuk.” yes, grandmother
“Tate Kulu ote ya ngashigaye na omeya.” grandfather is coming now with water
“Kuk, ondi uvite talala.” grandmother, i feel cold
Nelago was shivering. Her arms and legs were slightly shaking. She wore a waist dress, knitted by her Grandmother Hilema, that fell to her shins. Mndakola stood and grabbed the wildebeest fur that hung from the thatched roof, and placed it over her cold granddaughter.
30 July 2007
21 July 2007
Back in the day...
This past Monday I traveled back to Virginia Tech. This was the first time I had been there since I graduated 5 years ago. Tech’s football program really came alive in the years that I attended school there. Michael Vick, who was on Thursday indicted by a grand jury on charges dealing with pit-bull fighting, put Tech on the national sports scene map. (Tech has had a great football team since before the Bruce Smith days, but it wasn’t until Vick arrived that the school received nationwide attention for the wins at Lane stadium) It was an exciting and wild time to be in Blacksburg. I always had bragging rights with high school friends about my school’s football team. Tech at that time seemed to be everyone’s favorite and the bandwagon got bigger and bigger.
I wasn’t at all surprised when upon returning to Blacksburg I found myself getting lost. When I graduated expansion had already started to explode. Many of the old streets and roads are filled with new and newly renovated shopping centers and businesses. Blacksburg now even boasts a Starbucks coffee. (I can’t seem to escape the high priced medium Mocha latte) New campus buildings have gone up everywhere with the same patented Hokie stone. While I was on campus, however, it took me over thirty minutes to find the English department. It had apparently moved a couple of times and in my pursuit I only ran into science students who quickly replied that they had no idea where the English department was and hoped that it was the furthest thing from them. I snickered. English majors get no love, especially at a technological school.
Much of the intrigue, anxiousness, and excitement I felt about returning to Tech was, sadly, in regards to the massacre on April 16. A couple of days after the shootings took place and my mind was exhausted from the in-your-face TV coverage and often vulgar New York Post headlines, I decided to talk with some of my students about what happened. One group of high schoolers with whom I spoke was either very distraught or very unaffected. A few students claimed that the incident was a random act that could have happened anywhere and at any school or college in the States. Other students stated the south must be a crazy place since stuff like that never happens in the city. I replied that people are killed, beat up, and//or robbed probably hourly in the city. But, they said, you never hear about massacres in the hood in which one person goes on a shooting rampage, like at Tech. Those students claimed that violent crime in their neighborhood was often territorial and isolated. They even said much or most of the violence is based on gang interactions and gang affiliation.
(Being a part of a group is very essential to a teen’s existence. ET – also known as entertainment – groups have been the “in” thing this past academic school year. Students choose a gang to affiliate with, but not to be an official member. That means that student may wear beaded necklaces which are a certain color that is associated to that gang. ET groups may also attend gang parties or events without still being in the gang itself. ET groups also often give props to these gangs on their infamous MySpace page. The danger with the ET groups is that there’s that thin line that divides just hangin’ out with someone and being associated with for what he/she stands. Also, the ET groups seem like a mere stepping-stone to becoming a gang member. This whole phenomenon just proves how group affiliation is essential to a teen’s survival and existence.)
Now, moving back to the topic of the incident at Tech and my students’ reflections. With the last point the students made about violence being related to gang action, I asked how many of them felt safe in their neighborhoods. Some said yes. Some said no. So, I said, isn’t that a form of violence in itself? Violence is not just physical abuse, it can also be the feeling of being threatened as well. Do gangs and gang affiliation groups create a sense of belonging I asked? Absolutely. But, I said if it is at the expense of someone else’s sense of safety is that fair? I was trying to challenge their belief that ET groups were merely harmless and for fun. I don’t have the answer I said. I just wanted them to challenge what they think they know to find the truth for them. I asked them about their expectations for college in regards to safety. They said it should be a safe place. What does that mean? They were painting beautiful pictures of campuses filled with green grass and open lawns, romantic school buildings, a diverse student body. Sound familiar? Do you think Tech was safe? No way, they said. How can a dude enter campus like that and nobody say nothin’? So, is any place completely safe? No, they said. Was this going where I thought it was gonna go, I thought? Often it doesn’t, but you just keep at it.
I also spoke with a group of middle school students about the massacre. This lesson just reaffirmed for me the differences in their age groups. As I was introducing how our discussion would take place Mary was trying to get Leonela’s attention to ask her how her hair looked. Emily interrupted me every 3 seconds to ask another question. Marlon and Luis were silently gigglin’ about somebody lettin’ one rip in the corner, and Josh was doodling on his notebook, which I had asked him not to do at least 5 million times in April alone. Oh, boy, I thought. Where would this go? I felt myself getting very frustrated. I went to this school where this terrible tragedy took place, it’s all over the news, can’t these kids have a little decency, I thought, and just take it seriously, for once. My thoughts spiraled like that for a good ten minutes. My approach, looking back at this, was to dictate to them how I wanted them to feel and think about what happened. That’s not realistic teaching. It’s easy to look back at this and realize. Teaching is not dictating, it’s bringing the kiddies to the water to let them figure out how to drink. My emotions for what happened got the best of me.
And what emotions are those? My Dad and I ate Italian subs at a new restaurant on Main Street, just below the bar that I worked at during my junior and senior year at Tech. It was raining. It was a bit chilly. I was thinking about what Tech clothing apparel I would buy for Ma and Jazzy, and then it hit me: the in-your-face TV coverage and grotesque photos from the Post. The first of the shootings occurred at the same dormitory where I spent time hanging out and sneaking in booze my freshman year. The shooter’s dorm room was in the same building that I lived in during my sophomore year. The location of the remaining shootings was in the same building that I sat through English and Spanish classes just 5 years ago. It was still raining. Later in the day the sun came out and shined. It was muggy. I fondly remember a day during my senior year in which I went to class in the morning wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt. It was blazing hot for April. After my class the sky became mysteriously dark and the wind began to blow. I entered another class. An hour later I returned outside to an inch of snow on the ground and pouring snowflakes from the sky. I think something like 6 inches fell. Some things you can’t explain. I feel for and pray for the victims and the victims’ families. I feel for and pray for the shooter – who is also a victim – and his family. I hope and pray that my kids and our society can find some kind of peace with our unpredictable and mysteriously beautiful world. GO HOKIES!!!!!
I wasn’t at all surprised when upon returning to Blacksburg I found myself getting lost. When I graduated expansion had already started to explode. Many of the old streets and roads are filled with new and newly renovated shopping centers and businesses. Blacksburg now even boasts a Starbucks coffee. (I can’t seem to escape the high priced medium Mocha latte) New campus buildings have gone up everywhere with the same patented Hokie stone. While I was on campus, however, it took me over thirty minutes to find the English department. It had apparently moved a couple of times and in my pursuit I only ran into science students who quickly replied that they had no idea where the English department was and hoped that it was the furthest thing from them. I snickered. English majors get no love, especially at a technological school.
Much of the intrigue, anxiousness, and excitement I felt about returning to Tech was, sadly, in regards to the massacre on April 16. A couple of days after the shootings took place and my mind was exhausted from the in-your-face TV coverage and often vulgar New York Post headlines, I decided to talk with some of my students about what happened. One group of high schoolers with whom I spoke was either very distraught or very unaffected. A few students claimed that the incident was a random act that could have happened anywhere and at any school or college in the States. Other students stated the south must be a crazy place since stuff like that never happens in the city. I replied that people are killed, beat up, and//or robbed probably hourly in the city. But, they said, you never hear about massacres in the hood in which one person goes on a shooting rampage, like at Tech. Those students claimed that violent crime in their neighborhood was often territorial and isolated. They even said much or most of the violence is based on gang interactions and gang affiliation.
(Being a part of a group is very essential to a teen’s existence. ET – also known as entertainment – groups have been the “in” thing this past academic school year. Students choose a gang to affiliate with, but not to be an official member. That means that student may wear beaded necklaces which are a certain color that is associated to that gang. ET groups may also attend gang parties or events without still being in the gang itself. ET groups also often give props to these gangs on their infamous MySpace page. The danger with the ET groups is that there’s that thin line that divides just hangin’ out with someone and being associated with for what he/she stands. Also, the ET groups seem like a mere stepping-stone to becoming a gang member. This whole phenomenon just proves how group affiliation is essential to a teen’s survival and existence.)
Now, moving back to the topic of the incident at Tech and my students’ reflections. With the last point the students made about violence being related to gang action, I asked how many of them felt safe in their neighborhoods. Some said yes. Some said no. So, I said, isn’t that a form of violence in itself? Violence is not just physical abuse, it can also be the feeling of being threatened as well. Do gangs and gang affiliation groups create a sense of belonging I asked? Absolutely. But, I said if it is at the expense of someone else’s sense of safety is that fair? I was trying to challenge their belief that ET groups were merely harmless and for fun. I don’t have the answer I said. I just wanted them to challenge what they think they know to find the truth for them. I asked them about their expectations for college in regards to safety. They said it should be a safe place. What does that mean? They were painting beautiful pictures of campuses filled with green grass and open lawns, romantic school buildings, a diverse student body. Sound familiar? Do you think Tech was safe? No way, they said. How can a dude enter campus like that and nobody say nothin’? So, is any place completely safe? No, they said. Was this going where I thought it was gonna go, I thought? Often it doesn’t, but you just keep at it.
I also spoke with a group of middle school students about the massacre. This lesson just reaffirmed for me the differences in their age groups. As I was introducing how our discussion would take place Mary was trying to get Leonela’s attention to ask her how her hair looked. Emily interrupted me every 3 seconds to ask another question. Marlon and Luis were silently gigglin’ about somebody lettin’ one rip in the corner, and Josh was doodling on his notebook, which I had asked him not to do at least 5 million times in April alone. Oh, boy, I thought. Where would this go? I felt myself getting very frustrated. I went to this school where this terrible tragedy took place, it’s all over the news, can’t these kids have a little decency, I thought, and just take it seriously, for once. My thoughts spiraled like that for a good ten minutes. My approach, looking back at this, was to dictate to them how I wanted them to feel and think about what happened. That’s not realistic teaching. It’s easy to look back at this and realize. Teaching is not dictating, it’s bringing the kiddies to the water to let them figure out how to drink. My emotions for what happened got the best of me.
And what emotions are those? My Dad and I ate Italian subs at a new restaurant on Main Street, just below the bar that I worked at during my junior and senior year at Tech. It was raining. It was a bit chilly. I was thinking about what Tech clothing apparel I would buy for Ma and Jazzy, and then it hit me: the in-your-face TV coverage and grotesque photos from the Post. The first of the shootings occurred at the same dormitory where I spent time hanging out and sneaking in booze my freshman year. The shooter’s dorm room was in the same building that I lived in during my sophomore year. The location of the remaining shootings was in the same building that I sat through English and Spanish classes just 5 years ago. It was still raining. Later in the day the sun came out and shined. It was muggy. I fondly remember a day during my senior year in which I went to class in the morning wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt. It was blazing hot for April. After my class the sky became mysteriously dark and the wind began to blow. I entered another class. An hour later I returned outside to an inch of snow on the ground and pouring snowflakes from the sky. I think something like 6 inches fell. Some things you can’t explain. I feel for and pray for the victims and the victims’ families. I feel for and pray for the shooter – who is also a victim – and his family. I hope and pray that my kids and our society can find some kind of peace with our unpredictable and mysteriously beautiful world. GO HOKIES!!!!!
19 July 2007
Your machete is no match for my bird seed!
Thistles, thistles, thistles. Scientifically known as Carduus repandus: my new arch nemesis. And, if you have to cut them, they will be yours as well. They stand between 3 and 5 feet tall. They are prickly little devils. They are quite possibly indigenous weeds to Grayson County, VA, which is located in Southwestern Virginia, but they are definitely hereditarily pains in the arse.
To many, thistles are harmless: they are merely bird seed. That’s right. If you have a pet bird at your crib, you will buy it seeds to eat. Those seeds are most likely from the thistle plant. But, to cattle farmers all over the east coast thistles are bad news. Weeds can and will take over a whole entire field or pasture if you allow it. That means less grass for your cattle. Thistle weeds are biennial weeds, meaning they live only two years. One would think, well, okay I just have to cut them one time, but oh contrare. You see, once a thistle has grown throughout the summer it burgeons a beautiful purple flower. Once the flower petals dry up, however, they are easily blown with the wind through the air. And wherever they land is where you will have yourself another thistle plant for two years. This is an on-going, year-in year-out cycle unless you can cut the thistle before they bloom. (Enter: me)
For the past week or so I’ve been on the hunt for thistle: just me and my machete. My enthusiasm for cutting thistles seems to dwindle as the number of days on the hunt increases. As I cut one there’s another just laughin’ at me and tauntin’ me. Bad weed, bad weed.
Warning to all reading thistles: I will judo-chop you with my machete!!!!
Oku na uupsya...
Mundjego was certain she was dead. He couldn’t see how she could’ve survived. He entered the small stick hut to find her laying atop the reed mat, not moving. Her eyes were closed. Yesterday’s sweat that had covered her forehead and face had dried. Her skin smelled of salt. She was dehydrated. Mundjego just stood in the doorway staring at Nelago. She was so young. She would’ve married in two or three years, many moons, Mundjego thought, to one of the neighboring boys – maybe Pokolo or Shigwedha or even her cousin Zulu, with the white spot, the spot of Kalunga, on the top of his head.
It had been five days since she had been outside in the open air. Her condition worsened each day. Every time Mundjego or Mndakola would take her water to drink to try to cool off her sweltering body. The other kids were not allowed to see her. Even Ongula and Kauko, who were both in their twenties were told to stay away from Nelago in the stick hut.
Mundjego saw her closed eyelid twitch. He looked closer and noticed her small chest, not yet breasts, gently and slowly rise and fall.
“Nelago. Nelago owa kotha?” are you sleeping?
No response. Either she didn’t hear her grandfather or her mind told her body not to move; his voice was the cacophony of her unconsciousness.
“Nelago. Nelago. Nelago, penduka akwetu. Owa kotha?” Nelago, wake up love. are you sleeping?
She moved her head, and his body loosened. He was relieved. In her waking her eyelids fluttered. Her eyelashes were long, so long that Mundjego wondered if she could feel the tips brush her upper cheekbone. The fluttered like the wings of butterflies.
Nelago turned her head and slowly opened her eyes. She showed no emotion. She wasn’t up for showing emotion and couldn’t. Mundjego saw this despair. His face was ice cold as always. His face was thin and his cheekbones were high and well-defined almost like a skeleton.
“Nelago.”
“Kuk.” grandfather.
“Owu li huepo?” are you better?
“Oku na uupsya Kuk.” it’s hot grandfather.
Her eyes were half shut and her voice was soft. Mundjego only stood in the doorway as before, not moving.
“Owa hala okalepe nomeya?” do you want a cloth with water?
“Eee.” yes.
“Ngiini?” what?
“Ano, Kuk.” yes, grandfather.
And he was gone. She wouldn’t remember his quiet entrance or exit. She only spoke because the rhythm of her mind had been disturbed and her response would bring back the harmony. And the harmony did return when his voice left. After a moment her eyelids shut and she went back to sleep.
It had been five days since she had been outside in the open air. Her condition worsened each day. Every time Mundjego or Mndakola would take her water to drink to try to cool off her sweltering body. The other kids were not allowed to see her. Even Ongula and Kauko, who were both in their twenties were told to stay away from Nelago in the stick hut.
Mundjego saw her closed eyelid twitch. He looked closer and noticed her small chest, not yet breasts, gently and slowly rise and fall.
“Nelago. Nelago owa kotha?” are you sleeping?
No response. Either she didn’t hear her grandfather or her mind told her body not to move; his voice was the cacophony of her unconsciousness.
“Nelago. Nelago. Nelago, penduka akwetu. Owa kotha?” Nelago, wake up love. are you sleeping?
She moved her head, and his body loosened. He was relieved. In her waking her eyelids fluttered. Her eyelashes were long, so long that Mundjego wondered if she could feel the tips brush her upper cheekbone. The fluttered like the wings of butterflies.
Nelago turned her head and slowly opened her eyes. She showed no emotion. She wasn’t up for showing emotion and couldn’t. Mundjego saw this despair. His face was ice cold as always. His face was thin and his cheekbones were high and well-defined almost like a skeleton.
“Nelago.”
“Kuk.” grandfather.
“Owu li huepo?” are you better?
“Oku na uupsya Kuk.” it’s hot grandfather.
Her eyes were half shut and her voice was soft. Mundjego only stood in the doorway as before, not moving.
“Owa hala okalepe nomeya?” do you want a cloth with water?
“Eee.” yes.
“Ngiini?” what?
“Ano, Kuk.” yes, grandfather.
And he was gone. She wouldn’t remember his quiet entrance or exit. She only spoke because the rhythm of her mind had been disturbed and her response would bring back the harmony. And the harmony did return when his voice left. After a moment her eyelids shut and she went back to sleep.
09 July 2007
Wally-locks and the 3 bears...
The rains were coming soon. It hadn’t rained in about a week and a half. Mundjego wasn’t worried though. Looking at the sky and listening to the winds at night, he knew it was only a matter of time. The sun had already set, but the skies were lustfully colored. Remnants of the sun’s magnificence were visible well past daylight hours during the summer months. The bottom half of the sky was a strong, reddish orange. The top half of the sky was a dark and effervescent blue. The deepness of the blue lessened more and more and then transformed into black as the sky soared towards the North Star. A long and bloated cloud interjected the horizons. The cloud started from the north, which was to the left of Mundjego and stretched far to the south, well beyond the sight of the African bush. In many places the puffy cloud exploded and flew into the sky.
Wind began to blow from the north. Mundjego stood watching the cloud and felt the cool breeze on his hot and worn face. He closed his eyes briefly. The rusted axe that he held rested on his shoulder. A small boy passed nearby in the bush of omusati trees. Mundjego couldn’t see whom it was, but wasn’t scared.
“Oto yi peni?” where are you going?
“Kegumbo.” to home
Mundjego heard the voice of a small boy.
“Oh, Haiti! Popitha nawa mati.” oh, what! speak well boy
Pause.
“Wu hala po Kuku.” good afternoon, grandfather
“Ano.” yes, it’s good
“Nawa-nga.” that’s good
“Nawa. Ngoye olye?” fine. who are you?
“Nambala.”
“Nambala…Nambala olye?” Nambala who?
“Nambala Hamutenya.”
“Humba! Nambala Hamutenya. Eowa. Tate omwe li? oh! is your father at home?
“Eee.” yes
“Kundelapo.” greet him
“Eowa, Ku.” okay, grandfather
“Eowa, mati gwandje. Oshi li nawa.” okay, my son. it is good
The boy walked swiftly and quickly as the evening African wind. He had a chore, an errand to run and couldn’t be late. Mundjego turned to go home. His rusted axe was in one hand and the firewood in the other.
Since the 4th of July I’ve been in Charlottesville, Virginia. My sister Charlotte lives there in a beautiful home about 15 miles or so from the center of town. It’s funny though because you (i.e. I) usually equate miles with minutes in automobiles, give or take some. So, you (i.e. I) would think that the town of Charlottesville would be 15 minutes from my sister’s crib. Not so. The urban sprawl makes my mile per minute determinator bogus! It’s more like 45 minutes on a busy day due to the continuous stoplights and shopping centers. On Friday Char had to go to work. She left me her car so I could do a little exploring, but I was to pick her up from work around two. On the way I got lost, of course, so I called her for directions. She was directing me to an area of town and told me to turn near a big shopping area. Hold up, said I. All I had been doing was passing shopping centers.
Eeeeeewwwww! This is more of a shopping center urban sprawl. Do we really need a Target, a Home Depot, a Wal-mart, and a Kmart all on the same strip? Along with shopping centers I also passed several land-for-sale signs. Are big businesses merely buying out the small land owners to profit exponentially? I commend those homeowners who refuse to sell their land to the developers of the already developed America. You see their homes amidst the Tonka bulldozers and trucks, but they’re not selling. I remember as a kid growing up in Raleigh there was this plan to make one of the biggest malls on the east coast. Most of the land had been cleared, except there was a lone driveway surrounded by tall pine trees that led to a small house. The owner refused to sell his land. The plan for the huge mall was somehow disrupted and never went up, though a smaller complex was built. The house was finally destroyed, however. Under what circumstances I am not sure.
Looking at the big picture, this is all for the ease of more consumer expenditures. But, do we really need it? Perhaps, I’m a hypocrite, because I have shopped at this particular mall complex many times. And though I don’t like to admit it, I have frequented Starbucks for the ease of the Internet access and the mochas (that hurts to admit, really). Maybe, the over flux of the big businesses limits our choices, which is why I have gone to those places – or so I would like to rationalize. Maybe it’s the relatively lower prices offered by the Wally worlds and tar-geis that makes them so appealing (this excludes Starbucks however; a medium, or grande as they like to call it, Mocha costs almost 5 bones). So, that means we will buy more for our money. Okay, but do we need it? Although I can possibly rationalize buying cheaper goods there, I certainly can not rationalize with the cheaper wages they offer their employees – minimum wages while el gran jefe de Wal-mart and other execs earn millions upon millions per fiscal year. Sure, building a Wal-mart creates jobs, but is a job worth it if the salary barely assists you in a comfortable and stress-free life? If Wally world really wants to make that case why don’t they offer free daycare opportunities for its employees when working and free health care services for all family members. They could even hire their own Wally world doctors with the signature Wally world smiles and open their own Wally world hospitals so that all of its employees could have equal opportunities at health care. Why not offer a Wally world transportation service so employees could get to and from work in a stress-free and environment friendly way. I certainly am not for this Wally world utopian society, I just think that it’s clear that their supposed reasoning for more development could be more equal to all, rather than one sided to the executives who reap the benefits of the real laborers.
In short: make your own informed decisions about where you shop. It is your prerogative, but we can not, as compassionate humans, forget or neglect to acknowledge that our decisions (and dollars spent) directly affect others. And, keep Charlottesville green, at least that’s what the bears tell me!
Next stop, Grayson County, VA.
Wind began to blow from the north. Mundjego stood watching the cloud and felt the cool breeze on his hot and worn face. He closed his eyes briefly. The rusted axe that he held rested on his shoulder. A small boy passed nearby in the bush of omusati trees. Mundjego couldn’t see whom it was, but wasn’t scared.
“Oto yi peni?” where are you going?
“Kegumbo.” to home
Mundjego heard the voice of a small boy.
“Oh, Haiti! Popitha nawa mati.” oh, what! speak well boy
Pause.
“Wu hala po Kuku.” good afternoon, grandfather
“Ano.” yes, it’s good
“Nawa-nga.” that’s good
“Nawa. Ngoye olye?” fine. who are you?
“Nambala.”
“Nambala…Nambala olye?” Nambala who?
“Nambala Hamutenya.”
“Humba! Nambala Hamutenya. Eowa. Tate omwe li? oh! is your father at home?
“Eee.” yes
“Kundelapo.” greet him
“Eowa, Ku.” okay, grandfather
“Eowa, mati gwandje. Oshi li nawa.” okay, my son. it is good
The boy walked swiftly and quickly as the evening African wind. He had a chore, an errand to run and couldn’t be late. Mundjego turned to go home. His rusted axe was in one hand and the firewood in the other.
Since the 4th of July I’ve been in Charlottesville, Virginia. My sister Charlotte lives there in a beautiful home about 15 miles or so from the center of town. It’s funny though because you (i.e. I) usually equate miles with minutes in automobiles, give or take some. So, you (i.e. I) would think that the town of Charlottesville would be 15 minutes from my sister’s crib. Not so. The urban sprawl makes my mile per minute determinator bogus! It’s more like 45 minutes on a busy day due to the continuous stoplights and shopping centers. On Friday Char had to go to work. She left me her car so I could do a little exploring, but I was to pick her up from work around two. On the way I got lost, of course, so I called her for directions. She was directing me to an area of town and told me to turn near a big shopping area. Hold up, said I. All I had been doing was passing shopping centers.
Eeeeeewwwww! This is more of a shopping center urban sprawl. Do we really need a Target, a Home Depot, a Wal-mart, and a Kmart all on the same strip? Along with shopping centers I also passed several land-for-sale signs. Are big businesses merely buying out the small land owners to profit exponentially? I commend those homeowners who refuse to sell their land to the developers of the already developed America. You see their homes amidst the Tonka bulldozers and trucks, but they’re not selling. I remember as a kid growing up in Raleigh there was this plan to make one of the biggest malls on the east coast. Most of the land had been cleared, except there was a lone driveway surrounded by tall pine trees that led to a small house. The owner refused to sell his land. The plan for the huge mall was somehow disrupted and never went up, though a smaller complex was built. The house was finally destroyed, however. Under what circumstances I am not sure.
Looking at the big picture, this is all for the ease of more consumer expenditures. But, do we really need it? Perhaps, I’m a hypocrite, because I have shopped at this particular mall complex many times. And though I don’t like to admit it, I have frequented Starbucks for the ease of the Internet access and the mochas (that hurts to admit, really). Maybe, the over flux of the big businesses limits our choices, which is why I have gone to those places – or so I would like to rationalize. Maybe it’s the relatively lower prices offered by the Wally worlds and tar-geis that makes them so appealing (this excludes Starbucks however; a medium, or grande as they like to call it, Mocha costs almost 5 bones). So, that means we will buy more for our money. Okay, but do we need it? Although I can possibly rationalize buying cheaper goods there, I certainly can not rationalize with the cheaper wages they offer their employees – minimum wages while el gran jefe de Wal-mart and other execs earn millions upon millions per fiscal year. Sure, building a Wal-mart creates jobs, but is a job worth it if the salary barely assists you in a comfortable and stress-free life? If Wally world really wants to make that case why don’t they offer free daycare opportunities for its employees when working and free health care services for all family members. They could even hire their own Wally world doctors with the signature Wally world smiles and open their own Wally world hospitals so that all of its employees could have equal opportunities at health care. Why not offer a Wally world transportation service so employees could get to and from work in a stress-free and environment friendly way. I certainly am not for this Wally world utopian society, I just think that it’s clear that their supposed reasoning for more development could be more equal to all, rather than one sided to the executives who reap the benefits of the real laborers.
In short: make your own informed decisions about where you shop. It is your prerogative, but we can not, as compassionate humans, forget or neglect to acknowledge that our decisions (and dollars spent) directly affect others. And, keep Charlottesville green, at least that’s what the bears tell me!
Next stop, Grayson County, VA.
03 July 2007
NC state fair (via Coney Island)
What better way to spend a beautiful Saturday (the weekend before the fourth of July) than to experience the North Carolina State Fair…I mean Coney Island. Jasmeen and I headed down to the Brooklyn neighborhood from uptown Manhattan, a subway trek of about an hour or so.
Some of the highlights:
1) the boardwalk – there’s tons of people, tons of opportunities to people watch, lots of music and dancing. Every 100 yards, or so, there’s a different music scene. To the right of the Cyclone, which to me is the major directional reference point of Coney
Island, we found a mini salsa club in the sun...
To the left of the Cyclone we found a mini disco, where we found the most interesting and entertaining performer. This dude (60 year white male, still dressed for the disco era) was on point! His moves were impeccable. He was the wooer of all the disco-dancing ladies. They couldn’t resist his suave, his charm, his, well, the picture tells all…
2) shoot the freak – there’s tons of state fair-esque dollar and two-dollar games that can’t be missed. My favorite was shoot the freak. This game is located on the boardwalk just by one of the main boardwalk entrances to the amusement park and ride area. For two dollars you too can shoot the freak, or attempt to. When you pay your two dollars you are given a paint gun, fully loaded. The freak is about 25 yards below you. He is dressed in the usual freak attire – hockey goalie uniform and pimped out gas mask. He moves left, he moves right, he does the Barry shuffle. He’s a quick freak. The game host makes it more interesting by talking trash to you, the shooter, and the freak, saying things like, “come on freak, my granny moves faster than that. Come and shoot the freak, two dollars, shoot the freak.” The crowd is hypnotized. While we were watching, the freak got his coffee break. He took off his freakish attire. He was just a kid. There were crowds of people around us. One girl behind Jazzy and I said to her friends, “he ain’t no freak, he looks Dominican.” Freaky-deaky!
3) the cyclone – you must ride the infamous cyclone if you trek to Coney island. I say infamous because, BYOSC – bring your own seat cushion – it’s a bumpy ride.
4) the food – we ate two dollar tacos from a boardwalk stand and drank $6 fruit smoothies. Wait a second, did I just say $6 fruit smoothies…it is New York. Bring your $6 fruit smoothie money with you when trekking to Coney Island.
5) the pier and the beach – on top of all the roller coaster, game, food, and music madness, there’s more. On the pier you’ll find more music lovers, but mostly fishermen throwing out tyson’s chicken in a cage as bait. Seriously. A whole uncooked chicken leg is placed in a cage and thrown into the Atlantic. We only spotted one small fish catch and one crab catch. Maybe the fishes were looking for hot sauce as well...
Some of the highlights:
1) the boardwalk – there’s tons of people, tons of opportunities to people watch, lots of music and dancing. Every 100 yards, or so, there’s a different music scene. To the right of the Cyclone, which to me is the major directional reference point of Coney
Island, we found a mini salsa club in the sun...To the left of the Cyclone we found a mini disco, where we found the most interesting and entertaining performer. This dude (60 year white male, still dressed for the disco era) was on point! His moves were impeccable. He was the wooer of all the disco-dancing ladies. They couldn’t resist his suave, his charm, his, well, the picture tells all…
2) shoot the freak – there’s tons of state fair-esque dollar and two-dollar games that can’t be missed. My favorite was shoot the freak. This game is located on the boardwalk just by one of the main boardwalk entrances to the amusement park and ride area. For two dollars you too can shoot the freak, or attempt to. When you pay your two dollars you are given a paint gun, fully loaded. The freak is about 25 yards below you. He is dressed in the usual freak attire – hockey goalie uniform and pimped out gas mask. He moves left, he moves right, he does the Barry shuffle. He’s a quick freak. The game host makes it more interesting by talking trash to you, the shooter, and the freak, saying things like, “come on freak, my granny moves faster than that. Come and shoot the freak, two dollars, shoot the freak.” The crowd is hypnotized. While we were watching, the freak got his coffee break. He took off his freakish attire. He was just a kid. There were crowds of people around us. One girl behind Jazzy and I said to her friends, “he ain’t no freak, he looks Dominican.” Freaky-deaky!
3) the cyclone – you must ride the infamous cyclone if you trek to Coney island. I say infamous because, BYOSC – bring your own seat cushion – it’s a bumpy ride.
4) the food – we ate two dollar tacos from a boardwalk stand and drank $6 fruit smoothies. Wait a second, did I just say $6 fruit smoothies…it is New York. Bring your $6 fruit smoothie money with you when trekking to Coney Island.
5) the pier and the beach – on top of all the roller coaster, game, food, and music madness, there’s more. On the pier you’ll find more music lovers, but mostly fishermen throwing out tyson’s chicken in a cage as bait. Seriously. A whole uncooked chicken leg is placed in a cage and thrown into the Atlantic. We only spotted one small fish catch and one crab catch. Maybe the fishes were looking for hot sauce as well...
02 July 2007
White People...
Last Wednesday (6/27/2007) was the last day of school. Students were full of excitement and anxiousness for the carefree days of the hot, humid climate of NYC. On my block in the Heights, stickball will fill the street blocks along with the cool water being spat from the wide-open fire hydrants. Dominoes will be played by los abuelos and sounds of merengue and bachata will fill the thick air until the early hours of morning. Around 4 or 5 pm folks will head down to the Riverside park and la fiesta will expand, encompassing not only merengue and bachata, but Raggaeton, mariachi and salsa, not only stickball, but el futbol, roller skating, and basketball as well. And yes, more dominoes. Summer’s a wonderful time to be a kid!
One of my fondest and most striking memories of teaching during the last two years in the Bronx comes from last year. I taught Global History I and II to 9th graders. For those of you who don’t know, Global History is usually taught during grades 9 and 10 in the state of New York. It’s a two-year course and at the end of grade 10 students take the Global History state Regents Examination, which is a comprehensive standardized test. Students in New York must pass a certain number of Regents examinations to qualify to earn a diploma. There are two types of high school diplomas. One is the local diploma, which is based on school-wide grades. The other is the Regents diploma, which is based on Regents scores. The Regents diplomas hold more “value” in the eyes of JoCos and four-year universities and colleges.
Global History is an overwhelming subject to teach. The curriculum for Global I and II covers Paleolithic life until the Enlightenment era. That’s a span of about 10,000 years, give or take some. And that is to be covered in ten months. I was advised by teachers and teacher mentors to cover general topics and focus on units that I found most interesting and from those units connect themes to other time periods and eras. I was like, “yeah,” and ended up spending about two months on Ancient Egyptian life. I had a lot of good ideas, but the lack of teaching experience and lack of organization skills slowed my pace. We went in-depth into the lives of the pharaohs and power structures of the dynasties. The kids were able to explain, among other things, how King Akhenatan changed religion for the people of Egyptian times. However, come to find out the Regents examination for that year had one question on Ancient Egyptian life…and it was about identifying the major river of Ancient Egyptian life.
During another unit of study we were analyzing the Roman Empire. We read and studied about how the Empire changed and influenced the world. The kids were kinda into it, but as I have found with teaching (and learning for that matter) in general, it’s sometimes only as interesting and captivating as how it relates to you. This isn’t with every subject, but these are teenagers, and they have quite different motives for studying ancient Roman life than advanced academia scholars. So, I tried to bring it to them. I asked them one day if, in light of how we had defined Empire in terms of the Roman era, they thought the United States was an Empire. Hands down they responded yes.
I asked them to prove it and they brought up Iraq and said that was a clear example of how an Empire works. The majority of my kids believed Bush was in the wrong in changing the Iraqi world with false accusations of weapons of mass destruction. Their response wasn’t a surprise. Neither was their adamant disapproval of Bush. We had discussed this issue previously in class.
I wanted a little more from them, however. I asked them to explain in terms of American life how the United States is an Empire. They responded that it was even more obvious in the land of the free. At this point a few of the more out spoken students took the lead with this debate, which became more of a discussion. The students said that it was an Empire because certain people held the power, the money, the resources, while others lived in their shadow. They gave examples. They said, “look at our neighborhoods and the ones in Manhattan.” They said look at our school with hardly a class set of books and look at the schools in the suburbs. They went on to say that even people behaved differently based on their caste role in the Empire. I asked them to explain. They went on to explain how white people had it made, while blacks and latinos had to work a little harder, “to get theres.” The discussion got more heated. One student called out that white folks were racist. The class cheered and agreed. I said, hold up, I’m white. They said, “mister, you are not white.” I’m pretty white. For those of you who know me, you know how white I am. I’m German-Irish. It don’t get much whiter than that. I asked them to think about what they were saying. Yeah, yeah, they said. They thought about it. They said they didn’t like white people, often thought they were racist, didn’t think they could trust them. But, I wasn’t white, so they said.
My kids trust me. I trust them. I respect them. They are in-tune to their world and to this world. I can’t help but to agree with them on many levels. I don’t think all white folk are racist. But, I do believe they (my kids) are right. We do live in a world where the power structures that be separate the haves from the have nots. It can, in some form or fashion, be traced to race. Is it a malicious separation, not in many cases. But, there has been a conditioned mindset here that has been passed on from generations past. Slavery plagued this nation, as did Jim Crowe. There are still remnants of that past prevalent today. We have to find those and bury them for good.
So, how did it end? I ran out of time teaching. That has been my fatal flaw in the classroom – the dreaded bell. Did I convince them that all white people didn’t selfishly relish in the empirical fortunes of America and that even some were attempting to break down that empirical power structure? Not sure. I’m not a mind reader. Plus, if this white privileged mindset is a product of conditioning and hard to break, it must mean too that the “other” underprivileged, underestimated, and often times ill-respected mindset is a product of conditioning as well and just as hard to break. It is only through the open, sincere, and compassionate dialogue across races, beliefs, opinions, and ethnicities that will break the conditioned mindsets of America. Thoughts?
One of my fondest and most striking memories of teaching during the last two years in the Bronx comes from last year. I taught Global History I and II to 9th graders. For those of you who don’t know, Global History is usually taught during grades 9 and 10 in the state of New York. It’s a two-year course and at the end of grade 10 students take the Global History state Regents Examination, which is a comprehensive standardized test. Students in New York must pass a certain number of Regents examinations to qualify to earn a diploma. There are two types of high school diplomas. One is the local diploma, which is based on school-wide grades. The other is the Regents diploma, which is based on Regents scores. The Regents diplomas hold more “value” in the eyes of JoCos and four-year universities and colleges.
Global History is an overwhelming subject to teach. The curriculum for Global I and II covers Paleolithic life until the Enlightenment era. That’s a span of about 10,000 years, give or take some. And that is to be covered in ten months. I was advised by teachers and teacher mentors to cover general topics and focus on units that I found most interesting and from those units connect themes to other time periods and eras. I was like, “yeah,” and ended up spending about two months on Ancient Egyptian life. I had a lot of good ideas, but the lack of teaching experience and lack of organization skills slowed my pace. We went in-depth into the lives of the pharaohs and power structures of the dynasties. The kids were able to explain, among other things, how King Akhenatan changed religion for the people of Egyptian times. However, come to find out the Regents examination for that year had one question on Ancient Egyptian life…and it was about identifying the major river of Ancient Egyptian life.
During another unit of study we were analyzing the Roman Empire. We read and studied about how the Empire changed and influenced the world. The kids were kinda into it, but as I have found with teaching (and learning for that matter) in general, it’s sometimes only as interesting and captivating as how it relates to you. This isn’t with every subject, but these are teenagers, and they have quite different motives for studying ancient Roman life than advanced academia scholars. So, I tried to bring it to them. I asked them one day if, in light of how we had defined Empire in terms of the Roman era, they thought the United States was an Empire. Hands down they responded yes.
I asked them to prove it and they brought up Iraq and said that was a clear example of how an Empire works. The majority of my kids believed Bush was in the wrong in changing the Iraqi world with false accusations of weapons of mass destruction. Their response wasn’t a surprise. Neither was their adamant disapproval of Bush. We had discussed this issue previously in class.
I wanted a little more from them, however. I asked them to explain in terms of American life how the United States is an Empire. They responded that it was even more obvious in the land of the free. At this point a few of the more out spoken students took the lead with this debate, which became more of a discussion. The students said that it was an Empire because certain people held the power, the money, the resources, while others lived in their shadow. They gave examples. They said, “look at our neighborhoods and the ones in Manhattan.” They said look at our school with hardly a class set of books and look at the schools in the suburbs. They went on to say that even people behaved differently based on their caste role in the Empire. I asked them to explain. They went on to explain how white people had it made, while blacks and latinos had to work a little harder, “to get theres.” The discussion got more heated. One student called out that white folks were racist. The class cheered and agreed. I said, hold up, I’m white. They said, “mister, you are not white.” I’m pretty white. For those of you who know me, you know how white I am. I’m German-Irish. It don’t get much whiter than that. I asked them to think about what they were saying. Yeah, yeah, they said. They thought about it. They said they didn’t like white people, often thought they were racist, didn’t think they could trust them. But, I wasn’t white, so they said.
My kids trust me. I trust them. I respect them. They are in-tune to their world and to this world. I can’t help but to agree with them on many levels. I don’t think all white folk are racist. But, I do believe they (my kids) are right. We do live in a world where the power structures that be separate the haves from the have nots. It can, in some form or fashion, be traced to race. Is it a malicious separation, not in many cases. But, there has been a conditioned mindset here that has been passed on from generations past. Slavery plagued this nation, as did Jim Crowe. There are still remnants of that past prevalent today. We have to find those and bury them for good.
So, how did it end? I ran out of time teaching. That has been my fatal flaw in the classroom – the dreaded bell. Did I convince them that all white people didn’t selfishly relish in the empirical fortunes of America and that even some were attempting to break down that empirical power structure? Not sure. I’m not a mind reader. Plus, if this white privileged mindset is a product of conditioning and hard to break, it must mean too that the “other” underprivileged, underestimated, and often times ill-respected mindset is a product of conditioning as well and just as hard to break. It is only through the open, sincere, and compassionate dialogue across races, beliefs, opinions, and ethnicities that will break the conditioned mindsets of America. Thoughts?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
