Senseless

I was looking out across the Atlantic the other day and while I gazed across the waters my mind pondered what this view was like for my ancestors hundreds of years ago. It reminded me of a piece I wrote a few years back that I thought would be appropriate to share with you all now.

Senseless

I see darkness; nothing but darkness before my eyes. Without the sun to signal dawn and dusk I live in constant night for no telling how long. Yet, I manage to see the emptiness that’s conquering all of those around me. It is engulfing us all and leaving behind mere shadows of our former prominence. When last I saw the light they shoved us all, hundreds of us, into this hellish vessel they presume sea worthy. Hidden we must be in order to escape Poseidon’s wrath for this clear curse to his waters.

Sleep escapes me as well. Constant wails and shrills keep me from resting my senses yet I can no longer sense the presence of my limbs due to these cramped quarters that confine me. I hear the tongues of many, some foreign and some familiar yet all seemingly loosing their meaning in my ears. Except for the words of the pale men; those words never fail to prelude some sort of terrific horror, and then the shrieks again.

I think of my sister when I hear a young girl’s cry. Is it her that screeches this time? Has it been her before? Or has she given into silence?

A constant stale odor stings my nostrils day in and day out. From waste to blood to who knows what all in together as if conspiring some great evil deed. And the death, I smell that too. That scent is the most menacing. The stench eminates from every corner, from every crook, from everyone who suffers both breathing and not for we all are in a state of death down here.

Cold metal constricts me as it cuts and chafes the shell of what I loosely call my humanity or what still remains of it. Day by day their weight increases or maybe my will to sustain them diminishes. My legs have lost their feeling and I wonder if I will ever rise again. I feel the presence of what I always knew and always was leaving me with each passing minute as I leave them behind. I feel the shackles cut deeper as the chains yank us to our feet. The unforgiving restraints sever me as I now experience the cool sea air on my skin. Sensation returns to my extremities as they stretch again for the first time in what could have been weeks. The vibrations from the fiddlers and drummers and the pounding from the dancing of others moves up through my feet but somehow the intended message gets lost in translation. I feel nothing.

I sample the rich air that marks a sharp contrast to the stale and piercing flavor of down below. The taste is more fulfilling than any of the slop that they force-fed me could ever be. There’s a delicious taste I long for more though. A bittersweet flavor, but appetizing all the same. The air taste cooler now as a sprint causes my breath to accelerate. That flavor I long for is so near, just a few more steps until it is mine.

The bittersweet taste of salt water is so refreshing and so liberating.

Buffalo Soldier - Bob Marley & The Wailers

Distant Lover

I have found a new love in the last few weeks. To be honest, I was both apprehensive and enthusiastic to make her acquaintance but that anxiety departed upon our initial encounter. Her beauty was breathtaking and I was immediately smitten.

Our connection was swift and undeniable. An eerie familiarity with this stranger intrigued me. She seemed to know more about me than I knew of myself and promised to remove the blindfolds which, unbeknownst to me, had rendered my vision askew.

However, she maintained her vulnerability by showing me her imperfections. Her storied and troubled past often ran parallel with my own narrative, and shared a common genesis. Her struggles were my struggles, her pains were mine also, as well her triumphs and delights. I rejoiced in our commonality and celebrated our variances.

Yet and still, I have not forgotten my first love. My distant lover who lies more than four thousand miles East. I cannot forget the manner in which she brought me from a boy to a man, provided for me and protected me. I cannot forget the things she taught me, whether it be the flaws of my miseducation, the frustration of that realization, or the jubilation in my search for truth.

To my distant lover: You are remembered and I shall return.

Disclaimer: I thought it would be evident but emails and other messages speak to the contrary. This is NOT about a person. I chose to personify Africa and America in order to make a vivid metaphor. Hope this clears that up. Lol!

Does She Know - Trey Songz

P.S. - Happy Birthday to all my fellow Virgos!

Korite '09

Since I arrived in Dakar I have been fasting for Ramadan. For those who don't know Ramadan is the holy month in Islam. One way in which followers of Islam observe this holy month is by fasting during daylight hours. That means no drinking or eating from dawn until dusk.

Although I am christian, I chose to observe Ramadan to get the full cultural experience of living here in Senegal where more than 90 percent of the population is muslim. It was difficult to adjust to everything such as the heat, walking places and teaching while fasting but, as you can see, I survived. Lol! In fact, it was easier than I expected it to be. Not simple by any measure, but not as strenuous as I thought it would be.

Yesterday the holy month ended with Eil al Fitr, which is celebrated here as Korite. My host, Amadou, lent my housemate Gary and I traditional bubus to wear for the holiday and took us with him when he made his morning rounds. We first went to his family home to have a breakfast of millet porridge, which is comprised of millet, yogurt, raisins, and pieces of banana and apple. We then went door-to-door throughout the neighborhood to greet the neighbors as is custom for the day.

Later we went to the Kane's house for lunch, the big meal of the day. There we met up with the rest of the SABS fellows to enjoy the holiday and, of course, EAT!

Take a look at the slideshow to get a better idea.

Haiku #3 (Sun-Kissed)

No, I do not tan

But I am kissed by the sun

So no burns for me

View from the Top

Last week I took a hike to the lighthouse along with three other SABS fellows, Gary, Camille, and Charlotte. In retrospect it probably wasn't the best idea to take on such a task during midday while we were fasting but, hey, we survived.

The view was amazing on the way to the apex and stunning once we arrived. Words can not explain so hopefully I can get this slideshow to work right so you can get a glimpse of what we saw.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42712623@N02/

Heal The World

Michael Jackson's universal appeal has been mentioned my entire life (someone once told me I was a part of the Thriller generation, lol) but from my American viewpoint the extent of his appeal had not truly been clear to me. That is until now.

On Thursday I was assisting in a seventh grade English as a second language class and at the end of the hour the teacher asked if any of the students knew any songs in English. Mind you, this was an ESL class so these children speak very little English. A modest girl, who had been silent most of the class period, rose to her feet and bashfully made her way to the front of the room. Then these demure words barely escaped her lips, "There's a place in your heart, and I know that it is love ..."

I am almost ashamed to say that at this point I did not recognize the song. Sure it was familiar but I couldn't recall the opening line. In fact, I googled the words to do this post. Yet, here she was, a francophone who wasn't even alive when the song was released, reciting MJ's lyrics like the tune was still topping the pops.

However, that wasn't the most amazing part. As the girl continued to make her way through the first verse other voices began to join in. By the time she reached the chorus the entire class was singing along – word for word, note for note. I was floored. I sincerely doubt an American class of middle schoolers are capable of that. His reach is truly phenomenal.

Rest in peace to the King of Pop; he will truly be missed.

Catching Up ...

Not too much has gone on in the last few days, not enough for a full post anyway, so here's a collection of recent happenings.

News At Home: HU Protest

This past Friday a collection of hundreds of Howard University students, staff and faculty united in protest on the campus of my alma mater. They protested a wide range of issues including the lack of validation for university scholarship recipients, violation of union contracts, and the removal of Vice Provost of Student Affairs, Charles Gibbs. (See the whole list of demands here.)

As a proud alum, I must say, I was a bit disappointed that I could not participate and that there wasn't a significant catalyst while I was enrolled. On the other hand, I am very proud of the coverage by The Hilltop and hope that I had a hand in preparing those who run the newsroom now.

A friend and fellow Hilltop alum, Tina Burton, produced a video of the protest.

In Local News: First Day of School

Yesterday marked my first day teaching at SABS. For the first month the school day is cut in half for a few reasons including the rainy season and the SABS' start date is nearly a month before other Senegalese schools open their doors.

One thing I noticed immediately was the attire of the students. Normally they wear uniforms but for the first few days they are permitted to wear what they choose. It was evident that American hip-hop culture has infiltrated the West African coast. The kids were adorned with western-influenced fashions from Yankees fitted caps atop their heads and designer specs to inordinate Air Yeezys and high heels on their feet. From first glance, school in Dakar seemed no different than an inner-city school Stateside.

That all changed in the classroom. The level of respect for instructors, passion for knowledge, and reverence for education puts American pupils to shame. These young people understand the eminence of education and viewed their opportunity at SABS as a privilege and not an obligation. I believe the difference in attitude is a major contributor to Americans falling so far behind ... and opposition to pro-education messages is a factor as well.

Unfortunately, school is cancelled until Friday due to heavy rains. Check back later in the week to see more about how the rains affect life here in Dakar.

Trust

On the bus today I saw the most interesting thing. A man with his young son boarded the very crowded bus and almost immediately the elderly man next to me reached out from his seat to grab the child. Th elder pulled him past the people in the way and sat him in his lap.

It took me a moment to understand what had just occurred because, for me, it was out of the norm. The elder noticed the boy, who would've had to stand, and gave him a seat in his lap and he stayed there as the father went to the back of the bus to pay the fare. He did not know the child, or the father, but just did what was best for the boy.

The reactions of the man and his son were far from the norm for me as well. The father did not question the elder. The boy did not look to his father for reassurance. All three accepted the event as just a part of everyday life and it completely blew my mind. In the States the whole thing would have happened differently.

First, the father would have flipped if a strange man grabbed at his child, the boy probably would have thrown a fit and onlookers would have demonized the elderly man who had nothing but good intentions. It just shows the difference in culture and how we lack the trust that they have here.

Just my observation.

Haiku #2 (Neighbor's Goat)

Loud goat lives next door

He bahs and bahs all night long

Makes me want goat stew

Wade In The Water

We begin our small trek from our domicile on the border of Ouakam. My new housemate Ahmadu leads the way through the area he has grown up in. The home of his childhood lies just across the street and the road is filled with his longtime friends and acquaintances.

Gary and I follow closely behind as we make our way through the dirt roads. People surround us on all sides chatting away in Wolof. I recognize a word there, a phrase here, but it’s mostly gibberish to me. Somehow, I still understand what they are saying. Maybe it is the tone in which they speak, the gestures they use, or some inexplicable human connection–whatever it is, it makes me feel like less of an outsider and more like I belong.

Our journey will be dim as we can only count on the sparse moonlight that escapes the cloudy night sky. Oddly enough, the dark brings me no fear. If I were somewhere in the States perhaps it would. Neighborhoods of northwest D.C. may instill a slight fear or even neighborhoods of my hometown of Lansing, Michigan become eerie in the darkness of night but not here. Ahmadu strides along with confidence so I follow suit.

Looking up I notice a structure that reminds me of the new condos on gentrifying U. Street in the district. It is funny how a world a part some things can be so familiar. Our path goes through a field where there is a big market on the weekend, Ahmadu tells us. The village of Ouakam is just across the field on the left and straight ahead is the distant glow of the lighthouse on the shore.

Small talk between English and French (I’m learning) accompanies our walk through the field as we approach the road. The occasional headlights of taxis and buses bring extra light to the hike. Looking ahead there is a dwarfing monument on the hill above. Masake (the daughter of Madame Kane and fellow HU grad) told us before about how the people of Senegal don’t like the monument because it’s expensive, depicts a woman with European features, shows the family of three dressed scantly clad almost as if they were savages, and the designer was foreigner. Ahmadu further went on to tell us that the statue cost the people of Senegal $13 billion! I would be upset too!

Now we have reached the Carnish, (forgive me, I may have spelled that incorrectly) which is the road that runs by the sea. As we travel along the shoulder cars whip by. Exhaust fumes from many of them remind me that the United States doesn’t have a monopoly on pollution. A cool breeze wisps by cutting through the exhaust, almost as if to tell me that nature will prevail.

At last we have arrived! Standing in the sand I gaze across the vast sea with a million thoughts whizzing through my mind. One realization takes precedence. Here I stand peering from the very same angle at the very same water that my ancestors gazed upon centuries ago. However as I look out I do so as a free man who has come back to this land of his own volition and the liberty to return or stay according to my prerogative. My ancestors, on they other hand, stared out into what must have appeared to be a watery abyss with no possible idea of what tremendous tribulation lie before them.

So much has happened in only five days here in Dakar, Senegal. I eagerly await the experiences of tomorrow!

This Too Shall Pass

Last night my roommate Gary and I moved to our place of residence for the next ten months only to find that living with the Kane's was a cakewalk. We walked into a place with concrete floors, no air conditioning, an open-air hallway, no generator if the power goes out, loud noises from the street and we are currently sleeping in the living room because the rainy season precipitation is too much for the roofs in what will be our bedrooms. I don't say all this to complain but just to give you an idea of the awakening that we had.

However, when examining these matters we came to the conclusion that many were tolerable and merely annoyances. Most importantly, we realized that many of our issues would lessen or disappear entirely in time. We can get rugs for the floors, the fans work just fine to keep us cool, once the rains stop the outdoor corridor will cease to be an issue, and when we move into our bedrooms we will be farther removed from the clatter of the street.

We've decided to take all of this in stride and look forward to tomorrow. Honestly, why complain about a once in a lifetime experience?

In The Morning - Mary Mary

Haiku #1 (Mosquito Net)

My mosquito net

Rubs my face, irritating

Must get used to it