Dani's Melange

Street Art

2012-02-03T12:50:00.000-08:00

I finally had the time to watch the documentary, Exit through the Gift Shop; a feature focused on street art. I heard about this film whilst at grad school and through friends, but never got around to viewing it. I thought the title was brilliant and I believed the documentary to be about...well duh...the gift shops you have to go through once you exit the museum. I love gift shops and I cannot exit a museum without a visit to the gift shop. I usually buy noting more than a few post cards, magnets, or some other small trinket to remember my visit to the museum. Although I enjoy the gift shop experience, I do realize that, like the rest of the capitalist machine, the gift shops manipulate our wallets. You can’t take photographs in many museums and the chances are slim that you will ever see this art again. You want to remember this experience and gift shops prey on that sentiment. So no matter what the cost, we often find ourselves amongst other visitors in the ever so crowded gift shops!

But I digress… as Exit through the Gift Shop wasn’t about gift shops at all. Rather, it was about street art. The documentary was shot by somewhat of a mad man who became obsessed with capturing street art to the point where he turned the gaze from the street artists onto himself; he took on the pseudonym, Mr. Brainwash and set out make a bigger name for himself than the artists he exposed before his rise in the movement.

The most interesting aspect of the documentary was how street artists collate their art. For many, street art may appear as nothing but unplanned scribble. However, in many cases, the art is often planned out with care taken not only into the details of the art but also the location. Even more impressive is how these daredevils elude authorities and place their art in the most precarious places. What Mr. Brainwash was able to achieve in this film was to continue to pull the movement of street art into the mainstream. One of the featured artists in the film was Banksy, street arts comparative to Picasso – selling out art shows across the globe as well as commanding top dollar for his pieces at major auction houses.

Zagreb Croatia

Since traveling in and living in Europe, I have paid special attention to street art: you cannot escape it. Even the most sacred monuments are decorated with street art. As street art is becoming more mainstream, the image of graffiti scrawled across NYC subway stations and in the most degenerate of neighborhoods is fading. This is not the graffiti of our childhood or our parent’s generation. No longer relegated to vanity tags, street art as a movement has progressed into a new mode of expression: one that informs, advocates, and inspires.

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Valencia, Spain. Whilst there, I landed in the middle of a protest (which I blogged about previously) and what did I see? - An individual holding a sign about educational cuts with a Banksy picture on it. Street art is a mode of protest in itself and in this case been used in a protest movements. Street art simply is a movement within a movement.

In Philadelphia, where I hail, street art has morphed into something to promote beauty and pride in neighborhoods. Battered neighborhoods have been adorned with giant murals espousing messages of hope and honoring some of Philadelphia’s greatest including the likes of Grover Washington, jr. In my teaching classes, I have been asking my students what their take on street art is. The reaction has been mixed. Some view it as vandalism whilst others view it as art and an expression of freedom. One student indicated that he never noticed any street art in Madrid. I was bewildered as I can’t go a few steps without seeing some semblance of street art – be it good or bad. Additionally I can’t miss the daily clean up efforts to remove the previous night’s tags. At times I do feel it to be destructive. I would hate to come out of my house and see someone’s signature on my wall. Although I value places like the Basílica del Sacré Cœur or the Parthenon, what better way to get people’s attention than to tag a public place? If we can congregate on public corners, why can’t we express ourselves on public buildings? For me, street art has come to stand for those people who live on the margins of societies - who may not be represented, who live in the shadows, and whose voices have been muffled.

National Portrait Gallery in Washington,DC

My student’s obliviousness to street art led me to one realization: street art has become so common and widespread that it has in fact become background to our existence. Just as the sound of the trains passing underground, the birds chirping in the morning, or the cars buzzing past our window. Personally, I cannot ignore it or simply pass it by. I have become a very scaled-down version of Mr. Brainwash and over the years I have captured various street art on my journeys from Croatia to Belgium and now Spain. Viewing street art in Spain allows me to understand the sentiments of the people. So when they say the streets are talking…they are literally talking!

Check out some of my pictures from street art across Europe. Also, if you are in Philadelphia, be sure to take a trip on the Mural Arts Tour; one of the gems of Philadelphia.

Belgium

Valencia - Rajoy is the new PM

Life without Internet

2012-01-24T17:08:00.000-08:00

An unfortunate twist of fate, also known as I think the landlord didn’t pay my telephone/internet bill, rendered me without internet service for an entire 4 days. This, incidentally, was after Wikipedia and other websites went ‘dark’ for the day in protest of proposed legislation in the United States on piracy and copyright infringement. Life without internet meant that I had to actually leave my cave and face the world, a feat I only tackle when going to work. I have morphed into a homebody who simply can’t be bothered with life on the outside. Fortunately, there are several cafes near me that offer wifi. So, I didn’t feel so cut off from the world, just inconvenienced. However, you pay a price at these places; I could opt for the super expensive cup of tea for 45 minutes of timed internet usage at Starbucks or a cheap cup of tea for unlimited internet usage with a shabby connection at a non chain cafe– you take your pick. For the past few days, I choose a healthy option of both.

Once in my cave there was nothing there to keep me company – no stereo, no television – only the lesson plans I was tired of working on, a book by Salmon Rushdie that I didn’t have the mental capacity to read, the four walls of my studio, the strange sounds coming from the flats around me, and my laptop. I could do so many productive things, but instead I pop in three of the only English DVD’s I have and watch them on repeat. The line-up was Daddy’s Little Girls, Kings of Comedy, and Bridget Jones. I’ve seen all of these movies countless times. This time, however, I had the time and desire to watch all the deleted scenes, special features, preview of other movies, director’s commentary, and anything else featured on the DVD that under normal circumstances I would not even dare to watch.

By the time I got around to writing about not having any internet, my internet was restored. But what if there was no internet? I’m not the first to pose this existential question. The great writers of South Park tackled this question in one of my favorite episodes as posted below (** warning – South Park is raunchy, not for the faint of heart, vulgar, politically incorrect, not suitable for children, and just plain wrong**).

I can’t imagine life without internet just as I can’t imagine life without computers, telephones, cars, woman’s rights, bras, or a host of other modern things that I have gotten quite accustomed too. As the episode in South Park alludes to, however, there tends to be an over-reliance on the internet and therefore the internet has rendered us handicapped to a certain extent; we are no longer able to differentiate between real life and the unreal as we create relationships in our head through internet dating and internet porn, we create our own avatar through places like Facebook and Twitter assuming characters and identities that we are afraid to pose in real lift. And what about the transfer of knowledge? Undoubtedly, the internet has allowed us to communicate with each other at a faster pace. Look at the Arab spring and the use of Facebook to get the message out, but long gone are the days of researching things in an encyclopedia or books. Now, we get our information from Wikipedia – where people like you and I can insert what we believe are ‘facts’ about a subject.

While the internet has bolstered the way we think, do business, and has eased our life – I think I need to take some time, every now and then, to unplug, sign off, disconnect, and go-off line so that I can have a taste of what it is like to exist in the real world every now and then. Although I was steaming mad, I am grateful to have had a few days of silence with just myself, Bridget, and that ever so fine Idris!

http://www.sharenator.com/There_Is_No_Internet_South_Park/

Valencia

2012-01-24T16:28:00.000-08:00

January 22-January 23 2012

So I decided to take a break from my very busy schedule and spend a day in Valencia with a friend. There are various options to get to Valencia from Madrid, but I opted for the cheapest – the bus. I’m usually not a fan of taking buses on long-haul journeys, but I really wanted to see a different part of Spain and I didn’t want to dish out a lot of money for it.

I left Madrid at 7:00am on a Saturday morning and the sun was nowhere in sight. Thankfully the bus wasn’t crowded and the seats were plush. My only concern was that my Avanza bus had no bathroom. I immediately went to the bus driver and expressed my concern in one of the only few phrases I know in Spanish. “No Banos???” “4 hours and No Banos???” The bus driver unapologetically told me no and pointed to where the closest bathroom was. I departed the bus and used the bathroom one last time and prayed that my overactive bladder would cooperate.

Thankfully we stopped midway through the journey so we could have a smoke, café, or simply relieve ourselves. In between my naps, I was able to see the beautiful Spanish countryside which was a combination of lush green fields complimented by brown farm lands. I was also excited to see several wind farms – something I had only seen in pictures and in movies (Volver), but never up close.

When I finally arrived to Valencia, I was greeted by weather in the 70’s (20c). I was hyped to take my jacket off and put my shades on. My friend greeted me at the bus station and we took off to the beach. The weather was not quite warm enough for swimming, but it didn’t stop people from sunbathing, playing games, having drinks at one of the cafes, or doing a number of other sporting activities. As I walked around and chatted with my friend, I noticed how diverse Valencia was compared to Madrid; a sight I no doubt welcomed. I didn’t feel out of place or that people were looking at me strangely.

After walking around the beach, we headed to the science center. I felt like I transported from the old world into the future. The science center is an amazing place with some futuristic architecture containing museums, theaters, and even a sporting facility. I didn’t go into any of the buildings. Perhaps I will save that for another trip! After checking into my hotel and dropping off my small bag, we headed into central Valencia where we embarked upon plaza after another, a classic arena, the post office, and government buildings which were all very typical (so I’ve been told). What I found most interesting on my visit into central Valencia was the protest. I took photos and videos of people preparing for and participating in the protest. One of my prize photos was a girl with a Banksy poster talking about cuts – I’ve posted it below. As my friend said – the new prime minister has just stepped into office and already people aren’t giving him a chance. However, as a student of mine reminded me today, it’s the same people in government so the issues that were there before continue now – in fact with the austerity measures the situation is getting worse.

After a nap and a wardrobe change, I headed back out to meet my friend and one of his friends. I munched on some Spanish tortillas and croquettes at 11:30pm (typical dinnertime for Spaniards) then we headed to some bars/clubs for drinks. The same relatively empty streets we meandered through earlier were packed and buzzing with people. The bars/clubs were crowded but we made a go at one playing some good music. I’m not into clubs and I really don’t like to be packed together like sardines, but I endured, two stepped, and hummed along to the music before I decided that I really wanted to go back to my hotel.

After finally get back to my hotel after some detours, I went to sleep, checked out of my hotel, and headed back to Madrid on my coach! My recommendation – visit Valencia for a weekend if you are living in Spain. If you are coming to Spain and plan on going to the East Coast, make Valencia a part of your stop. It’s an amazing city that is not lacking in character!

2012!

2012-01-01T07:20:00.000-08:00

Wow! I can't believe it's 2012 already and in just one week I will be 34. I certainly don't feel 34 and I can say that at times I don't act my age:)

So what can I say about 2011? It was a great year filled with travel, meeting new people, and completing a few accomplishments. I don't recall making any serious resolutions last year. I do know that this year my goal is to find a job, settle on a place to live, and start working on a family (that would mean obtaining some sort of man). I have been unlucky in the 3rd department, but very patient.

Aside from resolutions, the new year is a great time to clean out the closet. I don't mean a physical closet as some of my friends on Facebook alluded to, but I mean a symbolic closet - one that is filled with toxic people, habits, or things in your life that inhibit you from moving forward or render you emotionally paralyzed. Although difficult, it may mean moving on from a bad relationship, giving up that pack of cigarettes a day, or breaking up from a long-term friend.

So for 2012, let's get rid of our crutches, set ourselves free, and open the door for a wide array of possibilities. I know easier said than done as I am going through my own storm, but we have to believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel in order to go on....

Happy New Year!
Natasha

I'se a teacher now!

2011-12-17T10:54:00.000-08:00

On Friday, the 16th of December, I finished my teacher training at the International House in Madrid. It was a grueling two months of lesson planning, classroom instructions, projects, and teaching real students. At the end of it all, I am now officially qualified to teach... drum roll please...English!!! Yes, English to non native English speakers.

Although I officially received my qualification yesterday, I have been teaching in Madrid for over a month now. I already knew that teachers were underpaid for the amount of work they performed. However, that reality was established for me as I have not been able to sleep properly since I started working. My days and nights are consumed by lesson planning. Thankfully I don't have to grade or mark papers, but there is so much more to teaching English than having a command of the English language.

Teaching is about managing a classroom, anticipating problems, building rapport with students, keeping the students interested in the lesson, and also doing research (re-learning concepts that we haven't reviewed since we were in school). Often times there are no books or lesson plans. So I have to make up my own as I go a long; a very hard task for a new teacher with no previous training.

While my experience in Madrid hasn't been the most pleasant, I think the teaching aspect has been highly fulfilling. I am now considering other ways to use these skills I have acquired long-term. I could teach, but the pay is not compatible with the amount of work being done. Considering the amount of money language schools are earning across the globe to meet the growing demand of English learners - I'm thinking that opening up a language school isn't a bad idea!

Ackward - Supporting Independent Art

2011-12-17T10:21:00.000-08:00

It was a late night and as usual I couldn't sleep. What else was there to do...check Facebook. I will admit, I am growing quite tired of the usual Facebook status updates, but there was one post that caught my eye. A college friend posted a link to a series called The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl. Within moments of watching, I knew that I had met yet another kindred spirit on this earth.

I am awkward and I just so happen to be black. I can guarantee that there are many other awkward sisters and brothers out there who have found themselves in similar situations as 'J', the lead character. There are 11 episodes and I'm patiently waiting the release of the next episode. Episodes span such topics such as interracial dating, coworkers we hate, office romances, and friendships. Each episode is approximately 10 minutes. So, if you have a few hours - sit back, relax, and laugh.

What I love most about the series is that it is independently written and produced. In light of budget cuts across the globe, funding to arts and entertainment have been substantially reduced. I had a conversation with a classmate about this recently and he ranted nonstop about how governments around the world are mucking the people around cutting important programs such as funding to art projects. We could add to that list libraries, funding for school and so forth. However, instead of ranting about it we need to do something about it. If you love independent art, here is a chance to support. Click on the Awkward Black Girl website - watch and donate to the cause!

Check out the show at:

www.awkwardblackgirl.com

Island Beneath the Sea

2011-12-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

I recently (well within the past two months)finished Isabel Allende’s Island Beneath the Sea. I heard her on NPR a few months ago and decided that I could not keep passing by her books in the bookstore. I purchased the book from El Corte Inglis, a very expensive department store in Spain. It is the combination of Macy’s, Target, Best Buy, and Barnes and Noble with super inflated prices. Island Beneath the Sea is an excellent book;post-colonial/Caribbean fiction at its best discussing themes of Diaspora, slavery, assimilation, and mimicry. All of these themes are further weaved between tales of survival, hope, desperation, freedom, love, and revolution. Although this text is pushing 600 pages, I read it quickly in less than a week. I absolutely could not put the book down as I wanted to know the fate of the slave Tete. I became one of those people who read their book while walking down the street or while going up and down the escalator to catch the train (you know those people we all detest). Now that I’m finished Allende, I have moved onto Salmon Rushdie and Midnights Children – another archetype of post-colonial fiction (although I have not moved past the first chapter). I purchased the Satanic Verses last Christmas. I wrapped it up and put it under the tree for myself. I ended up giving it a classmate immediately after Christmas who said he always wanted to read the book. Although I was sad to depart with my book, I believe that I displayed the true spirit of Christmas!

So what are you reading at the moment and what is on your to-read list?

I am not my hair

2011-11-17T10:59:00.000-08:00

I knew before coming to Spain that my hair would be a great challenge. Yes, there are people of color here, but most Black females I see across Europe have weaves or braids. Very seldom do I see someone with their own hair. I began asking around for hair salons and looking on line. Then one day whilst riding home in a cab, I saw a sign for a Peluquera and the words Afro-European next to it. It was right around the corner from my house and I couldn't have been more excited. The next day I went in, talked to one of the employees and booked an appointment for the following week. I was taking a huge risk. I wanted a relaxer and didn’t know if they knew how to put one in or do hair, but it’s only hair. It will grow back - This has been my hair mantra no matter how I decide to style my hair: natural with no relaxer, my own hair relaxed, short Halle Barry cut, bob, wrap, etc.

The day of my hair appointment could not have come sooner. Like all visits to the hair salon, there is always a wait – even if there is only one person there (as in my case). It’s almost a golden rule that you must wait at hair salons. Even if you are the first person in line and in the chair, luck will not be on your side because you will still not be able to get out of the hair salon before someone else.

After waiting a long time, I settle on an Olive Oil relaxer. So far so good, I thought. She based my scalp, sectioned my hair, only applied the relaxer to the new growth…and then she let it set. I waited and waited and waited... I wasn’t burning, but I thought to myself ‘my hair is going to fall out’. I don’t know exactly how long I waited for her to rinse the relaxer out, but I know for sure it was beyond any amount of time I have ever waited for a relaxer to be rinsed out of my hair.
After the relaxer was finally rinsed out of my hair, I sat while a deep conditioner was applied to my hair. I got my hair thoroughly trimmed and then had my hair rolled, Dominican style. I sat under the dryer which seemed like an eternity and then I had my hair blew out hair Dominican style as well.

Similar to other African hair shops I have attended (mostly when I get my hair braided) more than one person was doing my hair. It was kind of odd because I have never had two people blow drying my hair at the same time. Now, imagine the worse burning and tugging experience at a Dominican salon. Now imagine that feeling on both sides of your head. I was in sheer agony, but I was happy to have a Dominican hair salon experience although the women were not Dominican.

From there, the experience went downhill. They attempted to flat iron my hair whilst spraying and applying all kinds of products on my hair that were not made for my hair. They failed miserably as giving me a basic ‘wrap’. I kindly thanked them, inquired about future services, and immediately went home and took a flatiron to my hair. I wrapped it properly, put my scarf on, and was happy that I could at least fix my hair the way I like (had I not been able to, the trip to the salon would have been a total disaster). Whilst wrapping my hair, I noticed that my prediction came true; my hair was over processed and my edges had broken off. Also, my hair changed colors. I now have a red/light brown tint to it!!

I’m still on the lookout for other salons, but I will go back as long as I specify what products I want used or do not want used in my hair. At the end of the day, very few people have been able to style my hair like I like it (shout out to Adrian in Chicago). I have noticed a Black Hair salon in Lavapies not far from the train station and several hair braiding shops near Sol (they are inside of tattoo shops).

The picture of me on this post was taken a few days ago in Switzerland. I have received many comments about my hair - so it wasn't a total disaster, but ladies I have some advice for you - learn how to do your own hair. It will come in handy when you can't get to a proper salon!

If you are in Spain (Madrid specifically)and have been to a hair salon that specializes in Black hair please let me know where you get your hair done.

My New Digs

2011-11-12T05:09:00.000-08:00

So I moved again the first week of November. This was the fourth time moving since stepping off the Easyjet plane in Madrid. Thankfully, these were not massive moves and fortunately I was able to move my few suitcases bit by bit rather than hauling everything across town in a cab at once. My new pad is quite special because I am living on my own; a luxury I had not been accustomed to for quite some time. It has been liberating to sit in my living room with my feet on the table and have a glass in the sink unwashed. Most importantly I do not have the anticipation that at any moment someone would knock on my door. While I am greatly enjoying the solitude within the confines of my four walls, I still have to deal with the externalities such as the neighbor’s dog, loud coughing, other people's tv, the dinging sound that is indicative of someone Facebook chatting and so forth.

My flat is located just a stone’s throw from the Times Square of Madrid. On the busy and ever so crowded Gran Via there are several large cinemas, Starbucks, McDonalds, and a plethora of H&M's. The streets between metro Gran Via, Sol, Callao, and Sevillia are overcrowded with tourists, slow walkers, and people who simply have no manners. In a crowd you can expect a few bumps and taps, but in Spain I feel as if I am the next tackle waiting to happen. I also feel deliberately assaulted on a daily basis. I can honestly say my patience is growing thin.

But tucked away from the madness and the wannabe rugby players are a few quiet, unassuming street (one of which hosts my flat). My neighborhood is a myriad of things: red light district meets gayborhood. There are countless artistic shops, quaint cafes and tapas bars. Equally, there are a host of sex shops, gay male revue posters plastered up and down the streets, gay pride flags, and prostitutes. When I first came to Madrid I felt people looked at me with utter disgust. I began matching their impolite, long stares with equally long and menacing stares. In my new neighhorhood and some random outings across the town, I sincerely believe that I am looked at is if I am a prostitute. Other than the tourists in my area, the only black women I see are prostitutes standing on the corners or under scaffolds on the busy streets. Unlike Belgium or Amsterdam where the prostitutes stand in the window advertising their goods like a cake in a bakery, these prostitutes are unassuming. For the most part they don't garner a lot of attention with wild 'prostitute' clothing. They are dressed in ‘normal clothes’ i.e. jeans, sweater, boots. In other words, they look just like you and I.

Since moving to my new neighborhood, I have noticed that people look at me in a different way, in a familiar kind of way. After being followed and catcalled by an older, White Male, as I turned down a side street, I realized that I have been mistaken for a prostitute!!

So, upon leaving my flat, I avoid pro-longed eye contact with anyone of the opposite sex and I stare hard (rather judgmentally) at all the women I see on the corner. Telepathically I am asking them “why” and at the same time letting them know I'm not one of them.

Anyhow, my spoken Spanish is improving dramatically despite not being properly educated in the Spanish language since the 7th grade. I am noticing a difference in the Latin American and the European or Castellan Spanish. Asking for something as simple and common as an Empanada proved difficult and even resulted in some unwelcomed sneers from the sales clerk. I'm immune to it at this point - although I wish that people would give me some credit for at least trying!

Well that is all for now. My next blogs will focus on the job hunt as well as the book I just read from Isabel Allende, my nights on the town in Madrid and my trip to the hair salon!

Hasta Luego!

Be Aggressive! Creolized Frepanish

2011-10-26T11:16:00.000-07:00

I received an e-mail today from a college friend. She explained that she read my blog and that in dealing with the Spanish people and their insularity, I needed to be more aggressive and more confident and ‘grab the bull by the horns’. Those were not her words exactly, but the gist of what her e-mail said (or at least what I implied it to mean). I wrote back that it wasn’t I who needed to be more aggressive and confident, but the Spanish people who needed to be more open. While I still hold fast to that, I do think that there is room for me to be aggressive in other ways.
For start, I have been very discontent with my living situation. I have moved three times in the past two and one half weeks and I was not eager to move again.

However, I knew that I could not remain in the same living situation and have an enjoyable experience in Madrid. I became aggressive and actively sought out places all while trying to complete my school work, attend to the flat I’m in now, and look for jobs. After a few days of emailing, internet surfing, and phone calls, I was able to secure my own studio in a very hip, trendy part of town.

As I was visiting my new flat with the letting agency, I saw a sign on the wall with Erika Badu’s picture on it. I was too far away to read it, but I did manage to see October 28. I thought she must be in concert as she just released an album. As soon as I went home, I googled it and found out she had a concert in Madrid THIS WEEK! The next day I found my way to the venue and purchased a solo ticket for the window seat to E Badu’s concert.

As I made my way to the venue, I noticed a few Black men on the train. I listened to their accent and confidently asked "Are you American”? Their response was as expected “Yes!” They were curious as to how I knew. “One knows their own kind”, I replied. We exchanged pleasantries on the train and it just so happened they were getting off at the same stop as me. They were only in Spain for one day (it seemed quite strange) and they were traveling together. I immediately thought they were a couple, but the one man remarked that his ex-girlfriend’s name is Natasha. While an ex-girlfriend didn’t exclude him from being Gay, I thought maybe they were on the down low and escaping the U.S. for a rendezvous in another country similar to the main character in Baldwin’s Giovanni’s room. We exchanged information and as I bid them farewell I was quite happy with my ability to stir up conversation with random strangers on the train. My new burst of confidence didn’t end there.

Upon arrival to my train stop, I spotted a young lady whose hair was not super nice, but manageable. I kindly asked her where she got her hair done, but she told me that she in fact was German and did her own hair. I wasn’t successful, but I had certainly built up courage and confidence. I had noticed him over the past few weeks and only said hello and goodbye. Clearly he was African, but I wasn't confident enough to stir up conversation, but as I started for the elevator I turned back and then decided to ask him where he was from. He told me that he was from Guinea. I couldn’t believe it. I was excited. The guy I’m seeing (depending on which day of the week you ask me) is from Guinea. I immediately wanted to impress him with my French and Spanish. It was truly all mixed together into a new creolized Frepanish. I explained that I wanted to meet more people of color and wanted to know where they hang out. He told me what hours he worked and that before I moved out of the building he would give me his details.

So, after a long few days which have consisted of teaching, studying, trekking across the city to find flats and concert tickets, I felt some hope for the next two months and all I can think about is my friend’s short, but inspirational e-mail and that dreaded cheer leading chant “Be Aggressive B- E Aggressive”!! This is exactly what I am going to do for the next two months!

Dos Semanas a Spain

2011-10-26T10:52:00.000-07:00

So, I have been in Spain for two and one half weeks and it has been a quiet. The bulk of my time has been spent trying to get my flat together, attend classes, and explore some of the neighborhoods. The classes have undoubtedly been the highlight of my time here. Last Friday I was excited to finally have a night out on the town with my classmates as one classmate was gracious enough to invite the entire class over for drinks and light snacks. It was really a nice time and I realized there are some people in Spain I can gel with although most of them are not Spanish.

Although it was a night out for drinks, I didn’t partake in the spirits as I am fasting from alcohol for a minimum of two months. One of the reasons was to work on my sleep as alcohol greatly disrupts my sleep. The other reason was simply to practice a little bit more discipline in my life. I also thought about abstaining from meat as the sight of all the meat dangling from the store windows makes me sick to my stomach, but for now I haven’t been able to say no to ground beef in my pasta or the occasional hamo y queso sandwich.

I had the opportunity to teach my first class last week and it was absolutely amazing. I had some feedback on what I needed to work on, but I really enjoyed meeting the students, learning where they are from, what they do, and even getting them to learn a little about myself. My last two relationships were with individuals who did not speak English as a first language. In fact, English was not their second language. While the one could speak immaculate English, the other can barely string a few sentences together in English. Yet, in both instances we were (are) able to communicate on a regular basis despite the cultural idioms and/or obvious language barrier. I have found this aspect of language amazing. My ex was a linguist. At the time I didn’t appreciated his work. It was not for a lack of interest, but more understanding in how it could be applied. I find anthropology difficult in that it involves watching people and studying them – which is a very hard concept for those outside of the field to understand (particularly post-colonial students). However, as I am embraced in yet another culture and immersed in another language I am in love with the idea of watching people speak and how they learn how to speak. It is truly a beautiful and transformative process.

I certainly look forward to teaching my next class and getting to know the students better. I also hope that if I don’t get an international development job that I am able to land a job teaching English some place or working on immigration issues.

So...no tapas yet, no bull fights, and no flamenco, but at least two of the three are still on my list. Not sure about the bull –fighting!

Notes from the Road: The Best is Yet to Come!

2011-10-13T06:57:00.000-07:00

The past month and one-half has been a complete whirlwind. I finished graduate school in London, went home (United States) for a month, back to London for a week, Switzerland for a week, back to London for two days, and then flew to Madrid where I have now taken up residence until the end of the year. I am, needless to say, tired. Not only am I physically tired, I am also tired of living out of a suitcase, traveling, and moving. Most of all, I am tired of saying goodbye to my family and friends.

I came to Spain to take an English teacher training course. I could have taken the class anyplace in the world. I chose Spain because they offered a part-time program which would allow me to not only focus on school, but immerse myself into the culture. Also, I had never been to Spain, I wanted to live in another country, and I wanted to learn some basic Spanish. All of these ideas sounded good as I explained it to other people and as I sold it to myself. I had no doubts about coming to Spain at all until...I arrived.

My friends and family can vouch for me when I say I was not super excited about coming to Spain. I do not know why. Perhaps it was my multi-sensory perception kicking in or maybe I was so tired of moving that I could not muster excitement for yet another move. When I arrived in Madrid, I was happy to meet sunny skies and hot days which was another key reason I chose Spain. This was a real Indian Summer. While it does get cold here, the average temperature is much better than in London on any given day. Once I was able to unpack for good I did not waste any time putting on my summer clothes (which consisted of tank tops, sleeveless shirts, skirts, dresses, and flip flips). For someone who comes from a geographic location with four distinct seasons (one of which includes massive snowfall), I was experiencing a treat and I have been basking in the sun every chance I get.

I left the enormous and complicated Madrid airport for my flat by taxi. Compared to London, taking a taxi from the airport to central Madrid is dirt cheap. I arrived at my flat and after a few moments my landlady appeared. She spoke no English at all. Not one single word of English came out of her mouth. I understand very little Spanish and speak even less. However, I understood that I was to stay with her, in her house, for two nights. The first two days in Madrid I slept and explored my surrounding area as well as figured out how to catch the train and get to school. I was excited to live around the corner from a famous bull-fighting stadium. Although I am still up in the air about whether I will visit or not. Attending a bull-fight was on my list of to do's until I realized they kill the animal in the end. I am not an animal rights activist, but I would feel bad paying to see an animal get slaughtered.

The best part of my time thus far was attending school. I do not know anyone in Madrid so I was looking forward to meeting some people from my program. There are 15 of us from various places: United States, Australia, Spain, United Kingdom, Venezuela, and Australia. I am the only person of African descent in the program. For the most part, I have not seen too many people of African descent in Madrid. My school and neighborhood are located in the Northern part of the city. I know they are here, but I have yet to find a massive community of blacks like I have in Switzerland. When I do see other blacks, they are usually on the corner selling CD's, magazines, or knock-off purses. One black women on a train called me her sister, in English, and asked me to help her out. I ignored her plea.

After the first day of class, I was eager to head back to my apartment and unpack. I began the tedious task of moving my things to an apartment a few feet from where my landlady resides. My mouth was floored when I walked in. I was greeted by an Asian man-child wearing a once-piece cow jumper. Additionally, his bed was in the 'living' room with a curtain closing it off. My 'room' was on the other side of the wall with only a curtain separating it from the bathroom. My room also consisted of two twin beds. I unpacked and as the day grew to a close I realized that this was not going to be acceptable. I packed up a few bags and booked a hotel on the internet.

After contacting the school and explaining the situation, the next day I moved into the apartment I went to upon arrival. It was a huge improvement; I had a real door that locked, a double bed, a nicer kitchen, and a bathroom that looked like it was built this century. I unpacked (again) and I was relatively happy. Despite the fact that my flatmates smoke and do not wash the dishes when they are done, I am ok with my living situation. However, I know that I cannot stay here beyond the month that I signed up for. While there are only two other people staying at present, the landlady will be bringing other people in to stay. After speaking with my flatmates I learned that she moves people in and out of rooms at will and comes in and out of the house when she wants without knocking (which I observed at both places). I feel as if I am living in a step above a hostel.

As a result, I have spent a considerable amount of time buying things that I got rid of in London or would not need had I moved into a suitable flatshare like an iron, trolly, drying rack, sheets, dishes, new floor rugs, and cleaning supplies. It is only after these purchases that I think "why didn't I just take this class in London"?

My neighborhood is nice, but uninspiring. All the stores close early. Today I was kicked out of a home goods store at 1:50pm because they were closing for the day. By the time I went to one other store and walked home, all the other stores along the main strip were closed. I am not surprised as plentiful holidays and early store closings are typical of Europeans across the board. I have found the major department stores and I know where to get almost everything I need. I live around the corner from a Burger King which I frequented twice in less than one week and I have found a Starbucks which gave me the much needed comfort of English speakers in the background to my iced-tea and cake.

I cannot formulate a valid opinion of Madrid as I have only been here less than one week. I can say that most of the people I meet do not speak English. I find less people in retail positions speak English than in any other country I have visited this past year. I have been accused of stealing in a store. I did not lock up my shopping from another store upon entering the new store. Although I had items they did not carry, they insisted that I show them my receipt (which I did not have). Finally I was let go with a warning to lock up my things upon entering. I am often stared at as if I do not belong. Other times, I am ignored as if I am invisible. As I am standing in line at stores or seated in a restaurant. People just walk right past me as if I am not even there. I often have to ask for the check because the waiter/waitress never comes back around once giving me my food. On another occasion a hotel clerk noticed a couple's disregard for my position in line (which was next) and made them wait until he dealt with me. Prior to coming to Madrid I read articles about the issues the country is having with their financial insecurity and the racial tensions between the Spaniards and the African immigrants.

For now, I will continue to explore, learn, and take in all that Madrid has to offer. Last night I listened to Martha Munizzi and Fred Hammond as I drifted off to sleep, I had to remember that while I am having a difficult few days, "my steps are ordered", "my latter will be greater than the rest", and that God says "for I know the plans I have for you...I know just what you are going through" And... "the best is yet to come"!

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers!

Hasta Luego!

Natasha

The Media Owns Us

2011-09-07T05:03:00.000-07:00

As we approach the dawn of the 10th anniversary of September 11, the only thought in my mind is that the media owns us. As an eye-witness and survivor of the attacks on the United States, I can honestly say I am not interested in all the media coverage and for years have refused to watch any documentaries, read any books, or watch any news stories rehashing the events of that day. The anniversary of September 11 is the icing on the cake as far as media coverage goes. However, some events over the past few months have really drilled into me the insatiable appetite we have for doom and fear and the media's extreme willingness to fulfill this appetite. The uprisings in the United Kingdom, the Earthquake on the East Coast of the United States and Hurricane Irene are examples of my point. During these events, every news outlet put on a full court press in reporting the events. It was a combination of impending doom, play-by-play reporting, and post-mortem dissections. I can honestly say, I have not seen so much media coverage or have been looped into this amount of media gawking since the last United States Presidential election and before that, the events of September 11, 2001.

The 'Riots'

When Mark Duggan was killed by the police in London, it was a relatively quiet incident. I recall reading about it on-line, talking about it to a few people at a barbeque just days after it happened, and reading a few posts on Facebook. Within days, however, the situation escalated and every media outlet across the globe was covering the incidents as they unfolded. My initial feeling was fear. I was made to fear the 'hooded' youths of London as I saw footage of people crowding the streets looting and committing acts of violence. Fear also rang in as pictures of burned down buildings surfaced and who could forget the picture of the women jumping from her burning flat into the arms of citizens on the street.

The maps of where the incidents were spreading did not aid in my fear and myself and others were on a self-imposed curfew. The message was "you could be next" and that fear was realized when I was woken up one morning around 4:30am with a fire in my backyard. A fire was set to the children's playground/treehouse behind my house. The only thing separating our house from the fire was the small community garden. Despite its distance, my mind immediately went back to September 11 and I went into frantic mode: gathering my passport, purse, wallet, hard drive, and darting out of the house as fast as I could. The fire did not spread and my fear grew into anger.

Beyond the overkill of reporting events as they happened, what disturbed me the most was the lack of agreement on the cause of the incidents. Academics, journalists, and community activists all gave reasons for the incidents from socio-economic factors, sheer opportunism, Marget Thatcher, the economic crisis, racism, and an endless list of excuses which failed to add personal responsibility to the list. In the midst of all the commentary was the trial by the media. Europe is big brother personified. There are cameras everywhere and I know that in most public places, I am being filmed. This factor was not taken into consideration as individuals were filmed and photographed stealing sneakers, clothing, electronic goods, and attacking innocent citizens on the street. As this footage was on constant loop, the public by way of the media, criminalized these individuals before they ever had a day in court. When it came time for real sentencing, harsh sentences were publicly handed down.

As things began to quiet down, the media kept the incidents on the front page by profiling some of the guilty. The poster-child of the riots was no longer the hooded youth, but social workers, chefs, those who volunteer in the community, and people from all races and socio-economic backgrounds. Weeks later, the incident has all but faded from the media, but the effects of the incidents are far reaching. My family has indicated how happy they are that I am now safe in Philadelphia (although safe and Philadelphia should not be used in the same sentence), criticisms have sprung up on how the government and the police handled the situation, threats of canceling the carnival loomed, and fears about what this means for the Olympics are at the center of the dialogue. There was an incident at Carnival (a stabbing) and another minority was recently killed in police custody. However, these incidents have received very little media attention. More importantly, there is little if any dialogue in the media with regards to preventing a future, similar incident, how to decrease crime, and most importantly how to decrease the number of incidents of those killed in police custody since that is what sparked the 'riots'.

The Earthquake

The day after I returned to the United States from London, the East Coast experienced an unusual earthquake. It was small in comparison to earthquakes felt in California on a regular basis as well as those felt around the world in places like Japan. In fact, I did not even feel the earthquake. A very tiny earthquake turned into another overtly reported news story where doomsday prophesies sprang up and people dramatized the events. I received messages of concern from my friends in London and earthquake 'stars' were born. As always, the most ridiculous people are now the poster-children for the earthquake. The stories were the same and for the most part uninteresting. Yet, this historic earthquake was rehashed and rehashed until the next story, Hurricane Irene, pushed it to the backseat.

Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene

When I first heard of the impending hurricane, I shrugged it off. We rarely get hurricanes in Philadelphia. I laughed at my Facebook friends who were acting as if this was the end of the world, sending messages to stock up on food and other supplies necessary for a hurricane. Situations like this always render common sense useless. If there was a massive hurricane with flooding, food would be floating down the street with the rest of house. Additionally, if the power went out and the house did not flood, all the food would be spoiled unless there was a back up generator, but I digress...

Just as September 11 has made us become more sensitive to 'terrorist' attacks across the globe, we have become more sensitive to hurricanes since Hurricane Katrina. While no one can prevent mother nature from wreaking havoc across the globe, we can prepare to prevent the least amount of damage and have an action plan in place for quick clean up. While the media plays a helpful role in dissemininating vital information, once again the media went on a whirlwind with the barrage of hurricane coverage. One news outlet was dedicating itself to 24-hour storm coverage. How many ways can we see newscasters standing in the wind with rain blasting on their face?

The storm was predicted as a Level 1 hurricane and eventually downgraded to a tropical storm. The storm came and went as predicted, not too powerful and fortunately, there was minimal damage. People did lose their lives, power, and homes, but minimal in comparison to a level 5 or Katrina strength hurricane AND minimal compared to what the media made us believe we were getting. After the hurricane the media came under attack for its coverage. I listened to NPR as some callers were appreciative of the coverage, but many attacked the doom and sensationalism that the media brought on in the name of keeping the citizens informed about an impending storm.

These three incidents are one of many examples of the media overkill. I believe the public needs to demand more from the media as well as create and support public media outlets such as NPR and WURD 900 in Philadelphia. As the presidential election is approaching in the United States, I fear that it will be the media that chooses the next president and not the people. Meanwhile, the situation in Libya has taken a back seat, J-Lo is getting divorced, and Beyonce is pregnant. What stories will get bumped from the front pages next?

A few of my favorite things: London cafes south of the river

2011-07-22T09:11:00.001-07:00

As I'm winding down to my year of living in London, I thought I would take the time to reflect on a few of my favorite things. Today I will focus on the cafes.

Other than the Starbucks in Russell Square and Balham, I have managed to spend quite a bit of time and money in some nearby cafes. Nearby is south side since I live in South London. When I first moved, I spent a lot of time at Kente on Sydenham High Street. I don't know much about coffee, but they made a nice Mocha, presented it well, and didn't overcharge. Their food options never looked appealing and the customer service could use improvement. After an absence of several months, I have started going into Kente again because it is the closest cafe before reaching the train station if you start at the bottom of the hill in Sydenham. I was delighted when I realized they sold almond croissants, but repeat visits have not produced any almond croissants and the regular croissants not only looked as if they were injected with steroids, but were not fresh.

Further up the hill, on the same side of Kente is Blue Mountain. The ambiance was much better than Kente and the staff was extremely friendly and polite. In the US polite and friendly in customer service could be synonymous with one another. Politeness is a rarity in London and friendliness is a bonus. While I stuffed my face with a variety of quiches, samosas, cups of Mocha and Tea, and whatever cake I fancied on a particular day, I got to know a few of the staff - where they were from and their names. Blue Mountain has a great location near the train station and close to a book shop so you can grab a book and head over to the cafe. It is a great meeting spot and they have quite a variety of food on the menu to fit everyone's palate. I will caveat that it is a bit expensive compared to other cafes in the area and it tends to be crowded most times I visit.

I'm not sure exactly how I found this place, but my absolute favorite coffee shop is From the Forest in Forest Hill. From the first time I visited, I knew this was a place that I wanted to visit on a regular basis. I got to know the owner a bit and some of the employees, one of which indulged me as I struggled to piece some Arabic sentences together every time I saw him. From the Forest went under major renovation and I was sad because I thought it was closing. But alas, it reopened and still maintains the vibe it had when I first went in there. There are the regulars (and I guess I would call myself a regular)and you can't leave without engaging in a conversation with one of the staff or another customer. It's a melting pot of individuals who want to chat and chew. What I can't get enough of is the almond croissant and the red velvet cake which is just a few items from their smorgasbord of cakes/pastries. I would say their prices are average and it is conveniently located across the street from the Forest Hill train station.

Last, but not least is SugaHill owned by my Turkish friend Yasmina. Similar to From the Forest, SugaHill has a young proprietor which is very inspirational for a young person such as myself (demographically I'm still considered a young person since I'm under 35). Yasmina learned my name very quickly and knows a lot about her customers. When you walk in, she knows what you want to eat and drink. She has an extensive menu which she is currently downsizing, but she has the best egg and bacon panini! I'm a bit of a snob with my deserts, so I only eat cake from Blue Mountain or From the Forest. Unlike all the other establishments, SugaHill has free wifi and keeps the radio on Jazzfm which is, in my opinion, the best radio station I have ever come across. Listening to the radio in her shop motivated me to buy a DAB radio so that I could listen in my room at home (and DAB radios are not cheap)! SugaHill also has its noticeable regulars and the prices are average. Yasmina admits the location is not the greatest, but it is a only a few meters from Blue Mountain and the Sydenham Train station (although off the main road). What is impressive is that she runs the cafe efficiently by herself.

For me, the cafe is synonymous with the barbershop/hair salon experience. I sit, I watch, eat, catch up on the latest gossip, and engage with a 'community' even if only a community in the temporary sense. The cafe is my own little piece of heaven. No matter what city I go to and how foreign it may seem, the cafe always serves as my refuge.

Greece

2011-06-06T19:39:00.000-07:00

I learned more about Greek and Roman culture than I had any other culture growing up having studied Latin for five consecutive years. However, as the years passed, I had forgotten almost all that I learned. Nonetheless, I was excited to visit Greece to refresh my memory, meet up with friends, and see the place that has been highly duplicated in various ways across the globe. Some of Greece’s contributions to the world include philosophy, the birth of the official Olympic Games, and literature. As a student of post-colonial culture, I haven’t been able to escape Hanna Arendt who wrote extensively about Greek politics in her text the Human Condition. Passionate lectures by our professor about the Vita Activa, the Agora, and the Greek Polis made me excited to see Greece and contemporary film hits such as My Big Fat Greek Wedding and My Life in Ruins filled my head with Greek stereotypes.

And so I left the lukewarm city of London and landed in a pleasantly warm Athens airport at the end of May. I took a short taxi ride to Glyfada where I stayed for the bulk of my short trip. Glyfada is a short distance from central Athens, has a great night life, a variety of restaurants, shopping, and decent beaches. Wikipedia calls it the Beverly Hills of Athens. I didn’t get to see too much of Glyfada to verify that statement, but Glyfada is a lovely town.
By the time I reached my hotel I was tired and hungry. The hotel restaurant was closed and there was no room service (this was a very well-appointed yet no frills establishment). Assured of my safety, I took off by foot to downtown Glyfada. In less than 10 minutes I stopped at one of the first places I saw: The Bobo Restaurant.

It was a combination of Boston Market and McDonalds. In other words it was fast food with a home-cooked flare. I had a chicken kebab garnished with fries, two snack pitas, and a salad. I swear no matter what part of Europe I travel to, fries are added to every meal. At the very least, I know that I can always find something on the menu that I can eat. My first night in Greece was uneventful. After dinner, I watched TV and went to sleep.

The next day I woke up refreshed and headed to the beach for the first time since 2007. When I told my landlady I went to the beach she was surprised as she thought I had an aversion to the beach. I told her my aversion was not to the beach itself, but to bathing suits. The beach was less than five minutes from the hotel. However, I made a detour to pick up some bits from town: a beach towel, beach bag, snacks, and a journal. As I walked around town I couldn’t help but notice how friendly the Greeks were. As I paid for items or was approached in stores, everyone spoke to me in Greek until I explained to them that I spoke English only. This warm reception was quite opposite to that which I experienced in Croatia. Glyfada was diverse and I saw a range of people who were noticeably of African and Asian descent. Thus, I was treated as if I could be a citizen of Greece and not just a tourist. In Croatia, on the other hand, I was approached as the “other” or as the person who didn’t belong and people were immediately trying to place me. “Are you Spanish?” one person asked. “American right?” another person beckoned. No matter where they thought I was from, the obvious in Croatia was that I was not from there.

When I finally arrived at the beach, the sun was glaring down on me, but the sea breeze countered the heat and I was in pure bliss. I read, wrote, listened to music, ate, contemplated, and took in the scenery. I wasn’t at the beach long when the sun gave way to clouds, rain, lightening, and thunder. As I was prepared to head to back to my hotel, I encountered a Greek stereotype: the Greek man who adores black women. I indulged the stranger and spent some time chatting with my new friend at a café on the beach which provided the perfect cover from the rain. When the rain stopped, we headed back to the beach, but eventually the rain returned and I decided to bid my friend farewell as I dashed back to my hotel in order to plan my next move.

Torrential downpours thwarted any further planning so I sat at a café and chilled in my hotel until I met up with one of my childhood friends from Coatesville. Talking to my friend was refreshing and uplifting because we both share the joy and pain of living miles away from our friends and family. We talked about getting our favorite foods shipped to us, reminisced about our college days, old friends, and family. While Skype, Facebook, and other technology has made it easier to keep in touch, there is nothing like having the opportunity to catch up with a close friend in person. Moments like that I cherish the most.

The next morning I woke up early and headed to central Athens by tram. The tram ride was about an hour from Glyfada. Once in Athens, I decided to get on the hop-on-hop-off tour bus. They have these tour buses in various cities across the globe and I have been dying to experience a city from the top of a bus. Normally, I would walk around a city endless, but the tour bus provided a great way to see the city in the least amount of time and the least amount of pain to my feet! For the most part, I stayed on the bus, but hopped off and spent a great amount of time viewing the Parthenon on top of the Acropolis, the Agora, and other sites. The remnants of these edifices were no doubt massive and impressive. However, there were certain instances where I could only sum up what I saw as “a bunch of old rocks.” I wasn’t entirely moved by what I saw, but just took it in as a part of history.

Later that evening, I met up with a friend of mine whom I befriended in Philadelphia. She was doing a tour of Greece through her graduate school program. We headed towards Plaka where there were tons of eateries and souvenir shops. After we ate, we were showered with attention from the Greek men. It felt good to be the object of attention (in a good way). My friends and I no doubt took advantage and had a great night in Plaka which also was my last night in town.
My final day in Greece I woke up early and caught the tram back into Glyfada where I met up with my new friend. Although I tried hard to avoid it, we ended up at Starbucks. After a light snack, drink, and conversation, I grabbed my bags from my hotel and headed to the airport.

I don’t know when, but I can guarantee that I will return to Greece in the near future. The beaches were lovely, the people were friendly and warm, and there is still so much left to discover from the countryside, to other historical monuments, and to the famous islands. If Greece isn’t in your travel plans, I strongly suggest adding it to your shortlist of vacations in the future!

Giovani's Room

2011-05-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

After some heavy reading and writing on Gender, Nationalism, and Palestinian Literature, I decided to read for pleasure. I headed to the school library and picked up Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin and the Diary of Anais Nin. Regrettably, I didn't get to read the Diary - which has been on my list for a long time, but I did manage to read Giovanni's Room. This book is the second I have read by Baldwin and coincidentally, the second book he wrote. While I was aware of who he was, I was formally introduced to Baldwin through an ex two years ago. After reading two of his books, I can understand why he admired him so much.

Previously, I read if Beale Street Could Talk and fell in love with his writing style. As I read Giovanni's room, a very short book, I lost a lot of love for the writing style. I was annoyed by all the commas and complex sentence structures, but I was able to move past the stylings in order to appreciate the content of the text. I admit to knowing nothing about LGBT literature outside of E. Lynne Harris, but I feel confident in saying that Baldwin undoubtedly set the stage and was revolutionary in writing on subject matters that were taboo in the U.S. at the time.

Written in the 1950's, Giovanni's Room was primarily about the relationship between two men in Paris, but it's a far cry from being relegated to a piece of Gay fiction. It details the inner turmoil of coming to grips with ones sexuality alongside themes of finding happiness, coming of age,finding oneself,and tragedy. As I read the book, I felt that my inner struggles were closely akin to David, the narrator/main character of the story.

Although the writing was complex, the book offered many though provoking moments and quotes with my favorite coming from David in the opening pages:

"People can't, unhappily, invent their mooring posts, their lovers and their friends, anymore than they can invent their parents. Life gives these and also takes them away and the great difficulty is to say Yes to life."

In the pages before this quote, David describes his decision to marry a woman he was not in love with. By marrying her, he thought that he could provide a sense of stability for himself and/or undue his homosexuality. But as David learned, one cannot hide from what is in our heart and at the end of the day, we must remain true to ourselves. Therefore, we must live life - without restraints, regrets, or worrying about the things we cannot change.

Just like David, I fled America and have found refuge in Europe. Additionally, I've had to battle with my own "moorings" so to speak - moving around from place to place, from one relationship to another, one hobby to another, etc. Within these spaces, I have sought to find and in some instances re-define myself. More importantly, I have sought happiness. Undoubtedly, these things have provided moments of happiness, but I realized that attempting to ground my happiness entirely in physical location, people, and objects is not enough and unfulfilling in the long-term.

Giovanni's Room ends with David's lover facing death for murder, his fiance finding out the truth about his sexuality, and David asking himself existential questions about life, love, truth, and happiness. There are no real solutions in this book and no complete resolve for all the characters. However, it was thought provoking and ground-breaking nonetheless and I can understand how Baldwin has been elevated in the ranks of American writers.

R. Kelly and Redemption

2011-05-16T10:44:00.001-07:00

On April 22, I went to see R. Kelly perform at the HMV Hammersmith Apollo. The interior and size was very similar to the Tower Theater in Philadelphia which meant there were no bad seats in the house. Over the years, I have not been the biggest R. Kelly fan. The only album I owned, before my recent purchase was R. I can't deny that I have rocked to his songs as they were played on the radio or in the club, but I was never compelled to buy his music or pay to see any of his concerts. Lack of overall interest coupled with his alleged sex scandal, I vowed to turn a def ear on R. Kelly.

However, with the release of his 2010 album, Love Letter, I became a converted or born-again fan. When I saw Kelly perform in the opening of the Soul Train Awards I was blown away. I appreciated the throwback performance, his voice, his classy appearance, and the lyrics to his new song, When a Woman Loves. Musicians are the biggest actors of all - effortlessly writing songs about love, romance, and happiness, but often live quite remotely from the songs they woo us with.

However, I felt some redemptive qualities in this song as it came across as much more than a love song. Rather, it's a soul crying out for salvation and forgiveness. It's not the first time a musician has brought this same force to a song. Remember Chris Brown as he broke down singing Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror at the BET Awards in 2010? While many coined his tears crocodile tears or mere publicity, there is no doubt that Chris Brown was or shall I say is experiencing some inner turmoil - but who isn't? Unfortunately, public figures don't have the luxury of negotiating the tough terrain of life in private as their pain, hurt, and humiliation are blasted on the front page of the gossip columns.

Through time, however, people forget, forgive, and move on and that is just what I did at the HMV Apollo as R. Kelly took the stage in front of a packed house. From the moment he stepped on stage after a 10 plus year absence from the UK, the crowd was on their feet. It felt more like a party than a concert and Kelly pumped us with hit after hit. There were no dancers, elaborate stage set-up, or outfit changes - just Kelly with a small band and two back-up singers. I Stepped in the Name of Love and by the end of the night everyone was Happy People.

Footnote: Croatia

2011-04-17T14:57:00.000-07:00

I read an excellent book this past semester called Footnotes in Gaza by Joe Sacco. It was a graphic novel about two incidents in the Palestinian-Israeli saga that were tragic, yet ignored. In other words, the two incidents were for many nothing more than footnotes to a story that has lasted for over 60 years.

I can not compare anything I've ever witnessed or experienced to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. However, I brought this book up for two reason: first so that I can encourage as many people as possible to read the book and second because I am fixated on the idea of Footnotes (only because I just spent my last night in Croatia, in my hotel room, adding the footnotes to my paper).

I like to think this thing called life is a book. When one chapter ends another begins. The story doesn't have to be linear and each chapter need not be equal in length. My book has been a choose your own adventure with many paths and derivations from likely paths (which you can read about in previous blogs). This current adventure, called Croatia, is going to be one of the many footnotes in my life. As I close out my last night in Croatia I can truly say that this was not one of the most memorable experiences I have had in my life - although a great experience nonetheless...

I woke up early on my last day to hit a museum which opened at 10:00am and closed by 1:00pm: The Croatian Museum of Naive Art. I have never heard of of the term Naive art. According to Wikipedia, Naive art is one that can be characterized as child-like in nature. Seemingly, it looks like the painter has had little or no training - hence I guess the name Naive. However, I found the paintings absolutely stunning and I was on the verge of shelling out some Kunas for a few pieces.

Although I had never heard of the term Naive used to describe art, I was very familiar with the style. It had hints of surrealism and impressionism; close resemblance to Dali and Rousseau. As I continue my research at home, I learn that Rousseau was considered a Naive artist as well as Gauguin and Horace Pippin (a Pennsylvanian artist).

The picture at the top of the blog was my favorite in the exhibit.

So after leaving the museum, I embarked on several landmarks around the city from the famous Ban Josip Jelačić square, Dolac Market, and Kaptol. While doing so, I enjoyed the moderate weather,stopped to buy a few souvenirs, lunched, and snapped photos. It was hard for me to really get into Zagreb as I didn't have any connection with the place and the constant stares from passerby's served as a constant reminder that I didn't belong. In some instances I ignored the stares and acted as if I belonged. Other times, I matched the stares back with intensity.

After being on my feet and walking around for nearly 5 hours, I decided to bring my Croatian holiday to an end. I headed back to the hotel, took a long nap, ate dinner at the hotel, had a few drinks at the bar (alone), packed my bag, and I can say I am officially ready to blow this joint!

There will be many more footnotes, but I hope the next experience - be it in travel, love, job, etc. will be a whole chapter and not merely relegated to a footnote like Croatia.

Broken Relationships - A lone at Last

2011-04-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

Day two in Croatia - I didn't get the early start I wanted to because I stayed out incredibly late the night before with my mates. I only had one beer (Negra Modella) at about 10:00pm the previous night, but a lack of sleep made this 30-something year old feel like I had a massive hang-over. I managed to get up (thanks to a phone-call) for breakfast before it ended at 10:00am. I went back to sleep and was woken up again at 12:00pm from knocks on my door. It was not meant for me to rest. Although, I needed to desperately.

I decided to leave my mates and do my own thing. My day started with a walk from the hotel toward the bustling city center. The weather was relatively pleasant and the sun was shining. I walked past the beautiful Botanical Gardens, the Croatian Archives, and former Library. The buildings are typical European-style, they are grand, the architecture is amazing, and unlike many of the great buildings I have seen in London or Paris, the buildings in Zagreb are full of color; there is no way you can miss the orange and yellow hues of some of the buildings.

I was disappointed to find the Ethnographic Museum closed (as it was only open from 10:00am -1:00pm on Saturdays). However, there were several museums in the same area so I skipped on over to the Mimara Museum, which similar to the Barnes Foundation in Lower Merion (PA) and the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, started from personal collections, but the Mimara can not compare to the Barnes although the building is amazing. The museum space consisted of 4 floors and could easily be visited in an hour. The highlight of the museum was a Renoir piece which was prominently displayed front and center of one of the halls. Other than the art deco, which I'm finding quite interesting as of late, I didn't find much else of interest in this museum. If you are into pre-19th and 20th century art, then this is the place for you.

After leaving this museum feeling quite ill, I set out for a walk hoping the fresh air would liven my spirits. To my disappointment, many stores were closed. However, I greatly enjoyed the walk. I walked to the British Square to find it empty. On Sunday's it is full of vendors outside (just my luck). I then walked to the Museum of Broken Relationships.

This museum or gallery was absolutely amazing. They had a coffee bar where I enjoyed a nice cup of water and tea while listening to UB40. "Finally" I thought to myself "Zagreb - I'm finally feeling you". I felt much better after I recharged a bit and walked through the gallery. I honestly thought it was just going to be trinkets from past relationships. However, it was much more than that. The space held trinkets, but also written statements from the owners about what the pieces meant and in some cases a bit of information about the relationships. There were various themes including Time and Grief. The pieces that stood out the most for me was a watch and a clock with a Skype picture underneath. The watch belonged to a woman who was in love. On the day that her partner told her he loved her, he took her watch off and stopped the watch to the exact time so that she would always remember. She thought the gesture was romantic at the time, but as the relationship didn't last, she regrets letting time "stand still" so to speak and wishes that she didn't waste so much time with that man. I'm sure we can all relate to that! The exhibit with Skype touched me the most because I also had a long-distance relationship where Skype was the main mode of communication. The woman explained how she always found herself calculating what time it was where he was (which is something that I did constantly). Additionally she went on to say that they broke up over skype - which I also can relate to.

The overall exhibit really spoke to me as I am sure it relates to anyone who has had a broken relationship. But what was so great about the exhibit was that it wasn't just about breaking up, it was also about finding a happy space and regaining our independence from a heartbreak which can literally render us stagnant. For many of the individuals, donating the items and writing about it was a means of catharsis, a method of providing closure and healing, and in some cases forgiveness.

After the gallery, I took a ride in a Funicular. It is one of the shortest in the world and took less than a minute to get to the bottom of the hill. The view from the top of the hill was amazing as I could see all the great buildings in the distance and see the vastness of the city of Zagreb. As the sun began to set and I felt a few drops on my face, I decided to grab a bite to eat before heading back to the hotel. After eating a hearty meal and walking back to my hotel, I was completely shattered. I took a nap, had my nap interrupted by my mates who came to check in on me, went back to sleep, raided the mini bar (just some chips and water), blogged, and now I'm off to bed again!

Until next time...

Croatia

2011-04-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

Yes. I'm in Croatia. Let's start with the first question on everyone's mind. Why am I in Croatia? Let's just say that I am too nice and I got tricked. As I have told many of my friends and family already (and sorry but I must repeat for those who have not been privy to my whining), I was planning on taking a short break to someplace close to London and inexpensive with a few people in my neighborhood. The initial talks were about Scotland. Then it ended up being Copenhagen and perhaps a few other places in between. I confirmed for Copenhagen and a few hours later got an e-mail saying we were confirmed for Croatia. I didn't even know where Croatia was and I still am a bit dodgy on the geography. I do know it borders Slovenia. Thanks to Wikipedia and a girl who almost couldn't board the plane with her European ID card, Croatia is NOT officially part of the EU. I tried to look up some travel warnings and the only warning I came across was a suggestion to stay away from Gentleman's clubs.

So what can I say about my first day? Well I've been in Croatia for 12 hours and all I have done is eat at a Mexican restaurant and go salsa dancing. While walking around trying to find our reserved hotel and then another hotel once the reservation was "not found", I got to see some museums and sites that I want to visit in the following days.

I can say, if not for Salsa dancing (which I enjoyed for the first 2 out of 4 hours I was there) I would have thought that there were no people of color in Zagreb.

Everyone is absolutely trying to rip us off AND they have - from the Taxi driver to the bar tender.

In closing, this first day has taught me a few things about myself: I need to work on saying no and be more decisive. I have also decided to embrace who I am: a planner and I will consider day 1 in Croatia a sunk cost. I will not whine about it anymore and just quickly plan the best that I can to make the next two days as awesome as possible!

Ghana: A 6 day retrospective - the conclusion

2011-03-20T19:58:00.000-07:00

I've been back from Ghana for several weeks now and have been slow in finishing up my retrospective. Since last I wrote, I was told that I need to work on my conclusions (as it pertains to my final paper for my postcolonial theory class). I find that "conclusions" are not my strong point be it writing or in relationships. My conclusions tend to be abrupt, volatile, abstract, and at times just not really conclusions at all. I guess one would call it a lingering pause...until next time.

Since going to Ghana, I have read several books on Israel and Palestine and I can truly say my eyes are wide open whereas before I was completely ambivalent to what was going on in Israel/Palestine. This was mainly due to the biased media in the U.S., but also my own ignorance because all the information is right in front of you, if you dare to seek it.

With trying to find an internship, reading for class,trying to have a social life, hosting a friend from the U.S., wrapping up my Ghana experience was the last thing on my agenda. Besides, no one was asking for it. But I do have a conclusion of sorts.

On the last day of my trip, I took a short walk from my residence, on an unpaved road, to the top of a hill to catch a taxi. The goal of the day was to go to an internet cafe and pick up my dresses from the Makala market. The walk wasn't long at all, but the dusty, unpaved road coupled with the heat made the short 5 minute walk feel like an eternity. I passed chickens on the side of the road as well as people collecting water since the water was out for the last few days.

The cab ride started the same as any of my trips by car the entire week...we were stuck in traffic, bobbed up and down out of crater-sized potholes, dodged in and out of traffic once it started moving, and diverted pedestrians. At one point, I noticed my companion pointing to the side of the road. There was some subtle commotion going on in the car between my companion and my cab driver. I thought something was wrong with the car. Before I knew it, my cab driver is pulling over, grabbing his fire extinguisher, and runs out of the car. To my left, I see another cab on fire and several men with extinguishers attempting to put out the fire and other men trying to pop the hood of the car. Others threw dirt on the growing flames. I immediately pulled out my camera and began filming. The fire eventually consumed the car. My taxi driver came back to the car defeated with his hand on his head. He kissed his teethe several times and spoke to my companion. I couldn't make out what he was saying specifically, but I knew that his grunts and moans the rest of the ride were related to not being able to save a fellow taxi-driver. It was as if the other cab driver's loss was his loss since at any moment he could also have the same fate.

The rest of the day proved uneventful - I went to the mall, picked up my items at the market, and had a closing dinner with my friend before heading to the airport. So my first trip to Africa came to a close. I would love to go back again, but for now Croatia ended up on the travel agenda. Go figure...me in Croatia. Not sure if this is a proper ending, but I must end here. Blogging at 4:00am is not only bad for my posture and eyesight, but also bad for my health. Give... me...more...sleep...

Until next time

Dani!

Ghana: A 6 day retrospective - Day 5

2011-03-11T02:23:00.000-08:00

Day 5: The Day After the storm/Let There be Light

I woke up the next day to the aftermath of the storm. The water was out. I wasn't prepared for life without running water, but I overcame this minor obstacle. I headed off to a nice hair salon to get my hair done. After 2 and 1/2 short hours, my hair was done in Kinky Twists. I realized that I didn't quite describe how I wanted my hair done and so I didn't get exactly what I wanted (thus, I took them out the next week). Thankfully, the timing and the cost was minor so as I didn't feel I wasted my money.

After the salon, I headed to an African restaurant a short distance from the salon. We probably could have walked, but we hailed a cab. It is amazing how often we got into cabs with drivers who said they knew where a place was, but didn't. It then became a game of u-turns and reversals. I didn't stray too far from what I knew at the restaurant: kebabs, fried yams (french fries), and jollof rice. Beside each table was a wash bin since a lot of the food is eaten with the hands. I managed to order something that could be eaten with a knife and fork. I refuse to use chop sticks so the probability that I would eat food with my hand is slim to none. Fortunately, my friend gave me flatware at every meal.

Thereafter, we headed to find the Ghanian version of Oxford Street. Oxford Street is an extremely busy street in London. I avoid it as much as I can. It's just a sea of people and way too many retailers crammed on the street. We found the Ghanian version, without realizing we found it, and shortly left (again the negotiating was too much for me to handle).

We hopped in the 4th taxi cab of the day to the Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Museum. I knew a lot about Nkrumah since he was a graduate of Lincoln University where I did my undergraduate studies. The indoctrination freshman year was extremely programmatic; from singing the school and black national anthem at every function to regurgitating all of the famous almuni. I would highly recommend a trip to the museum for anyone visiting Accra. The outdoor part of the museum was actually the draw. The land had fountains, benches, nice foliage, outdoor posts with facts, pictures, and my most favorite - a circular installation of all the books he wrote. I was unaware of the great body of work he produced. After he led Ghana to independence from the British, he was overturn by a military coup some years later. The week I visited Ghana marked the 45th anniversary of the coup. So, a lot of the news media was focused on his legacy.

From the museum, we took a short walk to Independence Square which sits at the gate of the Atlantic Ocean. The area is host to festivals and celebrations in Ghana. I read online that the place is guarded by soldiers who prevent people from taking pictures. While there, I did notice several soldiers who were harrassing a young boy for walking around the beach in a bikini bottom and chasing girls. However, as I was taking pictures, a soldier called out to us. He said it was ok to take pictures and wished me well on my trip. However, I can't deny that I was slightly scared. The view of the ocean was magnificent. There were a few men playing soccer on the beach, there were no hotels or boardwalks obstructing the view.

My feet began hurting (flip flips are not walking shoes) and the heat unbearable. So, we took the long taxi ride home (the 5th of the day). Upon arriving home, we were greeted with no electricity. I thought it was because of the storm, but I was told that there are often rolling blackouts across Ghana. According to Wikipedia:

"Rolling blackouts are a common or even a normal daily event in many developing countries where electricity generation capacity is underfunded or infrastructure is poorly managed. Rolling blackouts in developed countries are rare because demand is accurately forecast, adequate infrastructure investment is scheduled and networks well managed; such events are considered an unacceptable failure to plan and can cause significant political damage to responsible governments. In well managed under-capacity systems blackouts are scheduled in advance and advertised to allow people to work around them but in most cases they happen without warning, typically whenever the transmission frequency falls below the 'safe' limit."

Can you say California?

Ghana - a 6 day retrospective - Day 4

2011-03-01T08:41:00.000-08:00

The Negotiator

Day 4, Tuesday, my friend thought it would be a good idea to check out one the largest and busiest markets. While I got a hint of how populated the capital city of Accra was the first three days of my trip, I really got a sense of how crowded the city was on the trip to the market. We sat in long lines of traffic to get to the market and were confronted once again with people selling anything you needed. The merchants were situated precariously in the middle of the busy traffic lanes. If you were in mid transaction and the traffic light changed and traffic nudged a bit, the merchant ran a long the car until it came to a stop once again. You could buy anything from windshield wipers, dog chains, sunglasses, toys, clothing, and food. The merchants were rather aggressive and at any moment I felt that they would stick their head through my window or open up our car door.

As we made our way through the market, the intensity grew. There were people everywhere you walked and merchants on every inch of the sidewalk. We went "inside" the famous Makola market which was a organized, informal economy of "tent" merchants. We stopped off at a store belonging to my friend's aunt. I commented on how much I liked her dress. I was then taken through the aisles filled with material. There was so much to choose from. I settled on two patterns - one filled with Pink and Green (of course) and another with an earth tone that had some dragon symbols on it. After choosing my material, I sat with the seamstress looking through the various pictures of dresses and skirts. She took my measurements - which she didn't write down - and I paid her for the work in advance with the hope of picking the items up in two days. It was one of those rash things I didn't think about and was worried I wouldn't like the outcome. But the cost was negligible and even if I didn't like it "I could make some pillows or something else out of the material", I thought.

After we left Makala, we headed to the Cultural Arts Center where I became deeply frustrated with the bargaining. Thankfully, I had someone who knew the language and could negotiate on my behalf - she was not to be reckoned with and she drove a hard bargain. I am indebted to her patience and skill that day! I walked away with many treasures from earrings, necklaces, a few masks, t-shirts, and a few other odds and ends.

We ended the day with a trip to the mall. Since living in London, I have only gone to one mall and it doesn't quite compare to the malls we have in America. There were many ways where I felt Ghana was more like the U.S. than England - one of which was the mall and the fact that shops stayed open late. The stores had imports such as TM Lewin, Puma, and Levi and the prices reflected that these were "premium imports". The food court offered a diverse range of food from Asian to French, American, and African cuisine. While I worried about the food on the trip, finding food I could eat was not a problem at all. In fact, breakfast was very similar to what I would eat at home: eggs, toast, fruit, and tea.

On the ride home, the sky grew dark and there was an extreme overcast. Rain appeared eminent.

Ghana: A 6 day retrospective - Day 3

2011-02-28T13:10:00.001-08:00

Overtaking, Castles, Pineapples, Canopy Walk, and Plantains

On Monday, February 21, we got up early once again. This time, we headed to the Cape Coast. The journey was long, but the trip was scenic. The roads were outlined by all the trimmings of a tropical climate including bamboo and palm trees. What was interesting to me, in addition to the actual views from the car, was the way in which people drove. The roads headed to the coast were 1-lane highways (1 lane for each direction of traffic). So overtaking (passing) was the name of the game. We swerved around potholes, neglected speed bumps, and overtook and were overtook any chance possible.

The journey was also marked with people selling their goods up and down the highway. The women were carrying goods on their head with incredible posture and poise. They carried everything from water to fruit and had their babies strapped to their back. The only thing I could say to myself was, "wow - the strength of a woman".

As we got closer to the coast, I could see the beach, the Atlantic in the distance, and the waves crashing on the beach. A few canoes showered the beach, but there were no swimmers. Our first stop was the Elimina slave castle once owned by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British at some point. It was used for many purposes, but the most significant was its use in the salve trade. The castle left much to be desired aesthetically and the rooms were bare with no staging of how it may have looked during the time. However, its massive structure and position is somewhat out of place. It sits overlooking the city of Elimina and in the near distance, another castle loomed on top of a hill. The cannons were directed facing the city. By the locations, the castles stood in locations of power and privilege with the small town at their feet.

As we left the castle, we were on a hunt for pineapples. My friend assured me that the pineapples in this region were of top quality. We tried unsuccessfully at a few places and finally got hold of some pineapples and someone who could cut it for us. Without wasting much time, we devoured our pineapple and headed towards Kakum State Park. My friend, having bought many of her friends and family here previously, opted not to go on the walk through the forest or the canopy walk. I didn't know what to expect other than a leisurely walk through the forest. She asked me if I was afraid of heights and I couldn't imagine how high up we would be going. Once we started ascending into the forest and reached the first canopy, I was frightened. I started becoming nauseous and dizzy. I managed to wak over all 7 rickety canopies at the encouragement of an 80 year old women. I was a bit disappointed that we didn't see any wild life. However, we did get to see some greenery (like the trees that palm wine is tapped from).

As we left Kakum, we stopped along the side the road to enjoy some grilled plantains from a stand. I believe I had plantains everyday while there - along with rice. By the time I got home, I felt completely stuffed and bloated and have been officially detoxing!

Ghana: a 6 day retrospective - Day 2

2011-02-26T02:04:00.000-08:00

Malaria Pills, Cruise on the Volta, and Palm Wine

On my 2^nd day in Ghana, we woke up really early to head to an all-day cruise on the Volta River in Akasombo. Even though we left at 5am in the morning, there was still a remarkable amount of people on the road jogging and preparing for work. We arrived much earlier than expected and stopped off at the Volta Hotel restaurant for breakfast. While there, we ran into a group of elderly African American women who broadcasted several times that they had to take their malaria pills. I’m not quite sure why this bothered me so much. I too was taking malaria pills, but I just took them privately as I would any other form of medication. My assumptions could be misguided, but the whole act of announcing seemed to be an attempt at attention seeking in addition to the affirmation of “I’m in Africa”. I thought the announcement of the malaria pills was an anomaly, but I found that whilst on the cruise ship, the announcements flowed just as the Volta River.

The view along the river was magnificent. We passed tilapia farms, dense tree-lined hills, and mini mountains. We were entertained by a live band playing everything from Nigerian and Ghanaian favorites to Reggae and some American classics like Madonna. Our cruise also included a meal. While I was trying to be adventurous, my adventure stops at eating fish with the head still attached. Instead, I opted for the chicken and jollof rice. It was a bit spicy, but good nonetheless! I also tried palm wine. My first knowledge of palm wine came from reading Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart as an undergraduate at Lincoln University. I enjoyed the first three sips. Thereafter, I couldn’t bare the aftertaste nor the smell.

We remained on the river for quite some time. After awhile, the scenery became much of the same. I was able to catch a few winks and read some of my book while talking to my friend in between. Midway through the cruise, we docked at Dodi Island. We were greeted by the residents of the island who were dancing, singing, and drumming. As we disembarked from the boat, the sun was shining bright and I really felt the heat. Children quickly approached us asking our name and taking our hand. I thought it was so nice for the children to welcome us into their Island. My friend let me know that they were doing it in hopes that I would give them money. Yes, I was a tad naive. There were so many “check points” around the island of residents that it was impossible to give money to all, but I did manage to leave some Cedis with a few children. The island was filled with cacti, rocky red/orange covered hills, and great views of the river. I took a few pictures. Normally, I’m snapping away – but for some reason I felt as if I was exploiting the residents. My friend relieved my confliction by indicating that the residents chose to be a part of the tour. I didn’t randomly intrude into their home. After a short walk around the island, we headed back to the ship and set sail once again on the Volta.

Ghana: a 6 day retrospective - Day 1

2011-02-25T10:36:00.000-08:00

The 3 P's

I was received at the airport in Ghana by a person who shall remain nameless. I felt like a VIP having someone waiting for me and hearing my name over the loudspeaker. As I met up with this person, he whisked me past some of the checkpoints reserved for most passengers flying in. Before leaving the airport, I learned the first “P” in Ghana – Power. Before the night was over, my friend I was staying with informed me of the second “P” – Payoff. Both payoffs and power get you far in Ghana (as well as in other places in the world). America is king of "pay to play". However, in Ghana and other places across the globe, power and payoffs manifest in different ways. After meeting up with my friend, I said goodbye to my chaperone and we headed to a bar close to the airport frequented by expatriates. While indulging in conversation, food, and drink, I witnessed the third “P”, prostitution – perhaps. My friend pointed out the rather odd couples that walked through the door, white males with scantily dressed black women. The pairing of the couples was extremely mismatched and my friend explained that this is common (white tourists experiencing all of the pleasures that Ghana has to offer). From a post-colonial framework (since I am studying post colonialism) this feeds into the concept of the fetish with the exotic “other”. Thailand comes to mind immediately when I think of men searching for this type of "adventure" in foreign countries.

While I have seen many images of Ghana from friends who have visited before me, the television, and the internet, nothing can replace the actual experience of encountering something with your own senses. No form of media could allude to the heat that greeted me at the airport and the days to come, the burning smell that lingered in the air, the sounds of the busy streets, roosters crowing, or the frogs croaking late into the night. As we left the restaurant, I couldn’t help noticing all the people. People were everywhere and this was just a taste of what was to come in the following days. Seeing all the people energized me. As we dashed in and out of traffic, I greatly feared for my life. The driving and traffic was worse than anything I have ever experienced. My friend indicated that almost anyone could get a license by paying off the agents that issue licenses. Although there were numerous police checkpoints inspecting vehicle registration, a lack of proper registration could be overlooked if the price is right.

So far, I thought Accra was similar to any other city I have visited; tall buildings, wide highways, horns honking, and city lights looming in the distance. But the closer we got to my friends house, there was a drastic change; the paved highways began to fade and the tall buildings were replaced with the provincial, residential homes. The roads went from smooth and paved to unpaved, uneven, and rocky. An all terrain vehicle would serve best in this environment and I was being transported in an SUV. But small cars edged their way through the streets dipping up and down causing the reddish/orange dirt to kick up in the air. We passed local shops, chop bars, and modest homes juxtaposed with gated fortresses. As I disembarked from my ride, I was overcome by a sense of euphoria; not so much because I finally got to visit the “motherland”, but because I was able to see another part of the world. As a little girl growing up in Coatesville, I never dreamt about traveling to far-off places. I was also elated to be able to stand in a friend’s living room and that we were able to share in each other’s company once again. With those thoughts, the long day of traveling behind me and the early day that awaited me the next day, I wrapped myself in my mosquito net and drifted into a deep slumber.

Winter of Discontent

2011-01-21T19:18:00.000-08:00

It’s been just a few days since I arrived back in London. When I left the U.S. (Pennsylvania to be specific), the headlines in the newspapers read, “The Winter of Discontent”. I was home for four weeks and it snowed three of the four weeks I was there. I laughed at the way the English handled the little bit of snow we got in London, but the joke was on me because I had never seen people in the U.S. react so crazy about snow before. I trekked to Brooklyn, NY during the first snowstorm where I was sure they would find my body buried in the mountains of snow. NY is the city that never sleeps, but it slept while I was there. Trains ceased to run, buses were stuck in the streets, no cabbies were in sight, sidewalks were not paved, and I was relegated to the indoors with my niece and nephew playing WII, working on my paper, taking part in Kwanzaa celebrations, and watching television (which was not a bad thing). I did get to see a few friends, Prince in concert, and shop! I can honestly say no time spent in NY is ever enough.

Back in Pa, I was sick and bound by the paper I had to write for my course, Postcolonial Theory. The paper was entitled: Islamic Banking and Finance, the Commodification of Religion and Performance of Identity (or something like that). I handed the paper in hours after getting off the plane and can say that it was one of the worse pieces of crap I have ever handed in for a school project. But alas, a new semester begins. I move away from Postcolonial theory (thank God) and move to Palestine and the Postcolonial, and Global Policy.

Although the news headlines have called this the “winter of discontent”, I came back to London with a new lease on life – sometimes you need your batteries recharged. For me, I find I need my batteries recharged several times a year. As I wrote on my Facebook page, I seem to exude a glow I cannot explain (and no there is no man worth mentioning in my life at the moment). I’m not making this up when I say my friends have literally stopped me, touched my face, and told me my skin is GLOWING. I attribute this glow to my new Carol’s Daughter and MAC products, which I paid a handsome price for AND being home. Whilst home, I was in the company of my family and close friends, caught up on my sleep, and enjoyed all the little things in life that make me happy (pancakes, Lucky Charms, Iced Tea). Reshaping my frame of mind has made me appreciate my most recent experiences despite my summer of discontent (previous blog) and my unhappiness with my London experience thus far. I’m constantly reminded that not everyone has the opportunity, courage, or discipline to pursue their dreams and goals. As I consider the above I guess I can say I’m lucky or blessed and can’t be anything but happy!

London - The First Leg

2010-12-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

Well - the first leg of my London "adventure" has come to a close. I'm back in the states until mid January. I've been asked numerous times what I miss about home the most AND what are my initial thoughts on London. What I miss most is the food or at least my favorite foods such as sugary cereal (Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch), fluffy American style pancakes with Aunt Jemima Syrup,and iced tea (preferably Turkey Hill or WAWA) that is not carbonated. These are three things that are difficult if not impossible to find (and if I do find them, I will pay an over-inflated price for it). So I will make it my mission to indulge myself in all that my heart desires food-wise (which isn't much since I'm a known non foodie).

So I'm back in the states and my parents greeted me with a Christmas tree in the living room. It has been over 20 years since we have had a Christmas tree in our home. It was nice, but strange to see since it wasn't something that we did. Yes I immediately ran to our over-sized refrigerator for some Turkey Hill iced tea and later in the evening, I ventured to Walmart. It felt good to be in a store where the employees smiled, greeted me as I walked up and down the aisles, and didn't seem bothered that people were asking them for help. It was refreshing indeed.

This brings me to the question that inquiring minds want to know: How do I feel about London? Hmmmnnnn...well let's start with the positives. I will say that London is an extremely diverse city with a lot to offer by way of culture, education, and fairly good public transport . I'm never wanting for something to do. It's just a matter of having the time to fit it all in. I would say my greatest experiences have been going to concerts (Tarrus Riley, Melanie Fiona, Kindred the Family Soul, and Anthony David/Avery Sunshine). In addition to the music, my other passion is meeting people. I will admit I have suffered from depression since arriving and I haven't been my usual self. There were days I couldn't peel myself out of bed, but when I did I have met some amazing people. When I've been at my lowest my new circle of friends have been very uplifting.

Since my arrival, I have had to battle with the current political climate which has made global news. I won't admit to understand it fully or explain all of what I know, but some of the situations the Brits find themselves in are similar to what we are faced with in the U.S.: budget cuts which affect, amongst other things, education and public services. Before coming London, I thought I was a fairly liberal person (although my ex used to say jokingly that I was a Republican). I've realized my political views are far more conservative than I thought. Actually, I'm just an overall conservative person in dress, talk, and for the most part alcohol consumption:) While I have tried to be social, I have had to decline many invitations to go to the pub after class or other school-related events. When I do go, I have a good time, but I just can't do the pub thing every week.

So back to the politics... I'm living in a historical moment where I have had a window seat to the student challenges to the increased tuitionfees . I say window seat because I chose to remain apolitical during this time for a variety of reasons. However, my desire to remain so have not always come to fruition because no matter if I wanted to stay away from the politics of it all, I found myself forced into it by way of class discussions, re-arranged classes in order to allow students to participate in planned demonstrations, and occupation of the library (which ultimately resulted in the library closing completely for 2 days because it was filthy and left in disarray).

In addition to the political climate, I have been discouraged by the lack of politeness that I have witnessed on a day-to-day basis from people no matter what part of town I visit. I'm not implying that everyone is rude or that all Americans are polite. However, I have found a greater consistency of people in the U.S. who hold doors when someone is behind them and people who say "Thank you" when someone holds a door for the next person. I don't think I've had so many doors slammed in my face. My last quarrel (for today) is the fact that people refuse to clean up after themselves. This concept includes people not curbing their dogs, sweeping their sidewalk when it snows, or putting their waste in the trash bins at McDonalds or any coffee shop that I have visited. I understand that it normally doesn't snow and many people don't have shovels or the salt to handle the snow. However, it really takes nothing more than a broom to sweep away a dusting of snow (I'm talking about an inch or two). Instead, the snow is left to remain and turns into icy patches as far as the eye can see. As I'm walking to the train/bus I see old people struggling to make it up and down the streets and I just can't understand how people can allow the sidewalks to remain snow and ice-covered.

Now that I have ranted, I will say that it has been a joy to discover all of the local coffee shops and eateries in my town. My town doesn't have one of the "better" high streets, but it's a quaint town about 10 minutes from my school by train and 20 minutes from London Bridge. It's situated in a perfect position - far enough from the hustle and bustle, inexpensive, but close enough to get to where I need to. I haven't journeyed anywhere that has taken me more than an hour by train to get to from my house (that is unless the trains are not working - which has been the trend as of late. If the air is too cold it seems the trains are canceled due to "inclement weather"). My favorite parts of town are Brixton (I've seen the finest men there to date), NottingHill (I don't know it's just quaint and there is a lot of shopping to be done),Bayswater (I haven't been there since May, but it's still on my mind - home to a lot of Middle Eastern restaurants), Shoreditch (home of one of the Amnesty International Office and other cultural spaces), and West Croydon (a lot of shops, movie theater, and Nando's).

Talk of Middle Eastern restaurants and Nando's has made me hungry. I'm off to make some pancakes! Until Next time.

Countdown

2010-12-02T14:51:00.001-08:00

Well - it's that time of year. You know the time - where everyone is counting down to Christmas or the start of the new year. This time of year usually starts after Thanksgiving for us Americans. This year, Thanksgiving was quite different. It's not celebrated in the UK, but my landlady was kind enough to host dinner for me. It was an awesome assortment of English delights like cottage pie and roasted potatoes as well as her own spin on some American classics like corn bread and corn pudding. Although the roots of Thanksgiving are inherently wicked, it has morphed into a celebration of family and a time of reflection. What I am thankful for most is my family back at home who has supported me in every endeavor and every move I have ever made in life. I was also thankful for the opportunity to meet new people and experience living in a different part of the world.

Since there is no official Thanksgiving celebration in the UK, there is no official Black Friday shopping. So, I didn't feel the pressure to go out and shop. I did go and see Kindred the Family Soul in Concert at the Jazz Cafe. They are an energetic duo and have matured over the years as music artists. (The picture for this post is Aja from Kindred). Seeing Kindred made me think about home (since they are from Philadelphia) and I began a little countdown of my own - the countdown until I come home.

I never thought I would be counting down to come home. I don't think that I have ever counted down to come home. I remember staying in St. Thomas when I was 16 and extending my stay because I didn't want to leave. Back then, the modes of communication were quite different. There was no e-mailing, Facebook, Skype, etc. I was less connected to my friends and family and yet I wanted nothing to do with them (I guess that's called the teenage years). Now, 16 years later, I find myself alone in this abyss. I will admit the school program wasn't what I expected and I found myself struggling. I wanted to quit on several occasions and go home. After talking to several people on different occasions, I felt renewed and am determined to stay the path, but I can say it hasn't been an easy few months. My new goal is not to focus on my school experience, but focus on the experiences of meeting people, seeing some new sites, and getting more stamps on my passport.

So what am I counting down to? The day I come home and can devour some Wawa hoagies, iced tea without carbonation, and people who say please and thank you on an almost regular basis!!

Paris: Part II

2010-11-14T16:45:00.000-08:00

Day 1:

This past weekend I traveled back to Paris – alone. The first time I went to Paris I went with my ex boyfriend. It was great to experience the city with someone as well as have someone who spoke French on my side. When we went, it was a holiday weekend so many things were closed. I really wanted to go back to not only see some of the things I didn’t get to see the first time around, but to have fresh memories of Paris that weren’t tainted by thoughts of my last relationship. So without a crutch (my French speaking companion), I headed back to Paris. Prior to leaving, people asked me if I practiced any French. My answer was no. I am very much aware of the French stereotypes and I refused to cater to them. I have started re-learning my Arabic and have been immersed in my postcolonial readings on the subaltern, double-consciousness, and structuralism. Thus, I really didn’t have time or the interest to learn any French phrases that I would no doubt butcher anyway.

I took the two plus hour train ride from London to Paris on the Euro star rail. If you book early enough you can get a fantastic price. Otherwise, you can end up paying hundreds of dollars/pounds. Upon arrival, I headed towards Montmartre: home of the Moulin Rouge, Dali Museum, and the Sacre de Couer. Rather than taking on the giant hill and risking my feet hurting early on in the trip, I took a cute train tour around Montmartre which passed by some great gardens, cabarets, shops, and stopped at the foot of the Sacre de Coeur.

The view from the top of the hill was one of the most marvelous views I have ever seen. The only views I have seen as spectacular are some of the views I have seen from St. Thomas, Virgin Islands. You could see the Paris cityscape for miles and the Eiffel tower loomed in the distance. Although it was a cloudy day, there was something about seeing the city in this way that just made me freeze and stare off into the distance. It was truly a reflective time. After walking through the mix of peddlers, armed guards, and tons of tourists, I headed to the Dali museum. Dali is one of my favorite artists. My most favorite piece by him is the Persistence of Memory. What I love about Dali the most, as well as Frida Kahlo is that they bent reality and used a lot of symbolism, but they didn’t bend reality to the point where it was unrecognizable. I tend to dream a lot and so I have become deeply attached to works by these two artists who use dream sequences a lot in their work. Many people prefer the large art houses, but I prefer the small galleries and although this museum didn’t contain the most famous Dali paintings, it was a wonderful space that I would visit again and suggest to friends. It contained some of his story-book sketches and many sculptures I had never seen before – many of which focused on the theme of time.

After the museum, I headed to a square for lunch. The square was filled with artisans either selling their work or offering to draw caricatures of tourists. I ate in an outdoor café under a heated lamp. It was a bit chilly and rainy, but there is nothing like eating outside in this manner. I will admit, I won’t do it at home, but in Paris it’s a must. I enjoyed my simple lunch of a monsieur croquette and a large glass of wine. When the waiter brought the glass of wine out, I didn’t know how I was going to finish it. It took me a while to finish it, but as I did, I just watched the pigeons, the tourists, I wrote, and I thought about the French movies I had seen – particularly the Eric Rohmer movies. While the movies were not based in Paris, they made me long for this city. I am growing to like London to a certain extent, but for the most part – the language and culture is a bit similar. Paris, on the other hand, is a completely different “other” to me and completely fascinating. I was completely paralyzed with sleep after the massive glass of wine and the early start to my day so I headed back to the hotel and took a nice long nap.

Once I woke from my slumber, I had intended to treat myself to dinner on the Champs de Elysee, but I decided to stay in my area. I was fortunate enough to have picked a hotel in a great part of town close to Opera that offered a lot of shopping and great nightlife. I walked for hours up and down the main street and dipping off onto side streets taking pictures at all the lights and historic buildings. As I passed through certain streets, I could see the Sacre de Coeur peering in the distance. I couldn’t stop staring at it. I had never seen anything quite like it. From the distance, it just looked as if this great building was floating from the heavens. After indecisively finding a place to eat, I headed back to the hotel and watched BBC until I fell asleep. BBC was the only channel in English other than MTV and MTV wasn’t always in English. At one point I got excited to see South Park on and Family Guy, but it was dubbed in French (and was really bad). They didn’t have the same voices and the whole appeal of South Park – other than the sick humor – is Cartman’s whinny voice.

Day II: Museums, the Fall, and Concert

I woke up early as intended, but the sun failed to appear and so I failed to get out of bed. “I’m on vacation”, I thought. “I don’t have to stick to the plans that I spent hours scrutinizing over.” Eventually I pealed myself out of bed and started on my journey. I found a restaurant to have a cup of tea and a croissant. The waiter asked me if I spoke English or American. It was a strange question, but I knew that he was trying to place me and couldn’t just from looking at me or hearing me speak. When I was posed with the question of where I am from, I had a tough time answering. I am from the U.S. technically, but my home is now London. I had to say that to myself over and over again. “My Home is Now London.”

After realizing how close everything was that I planned, I managed to get my AM plans done in my agenda book. I started at the Fragonard Perfume Museum. The guide wasn’t available and so I opted to take the tour myself. Almost all of the captions were in French so I really didn’t know what was going on. I really wanted to learn about the history of perfume and was really intrigued by perfume after seeing a bit of the movie Perfume several years ago. I browsed through the tiny museum in less than 20 minutes. The most interesting aspects were the ancient bottle designs and labels. There was definitely a lot of detail that went into the bottles and labels. This same detail can be seen in the architecture of the buildings. While we have emerged into the modern age and architecture has taken on new heights (glass buildings, man-made islands, etc), there is nothing like ancient structures. Today’s perfume bottles leave much to be desired. Although the museum was free, I did some monetary damage as I treated myself to some perfume and shower gel. Normally I buy gifts for others, but I insisted on treating myself this time. They say that London is expensive – well I can tell you that London has nothing on Paris with regards to being expensive. My money didn’t seem to go far. My breakfast (croissant and tea) was a whopping 6 Euros and change.

After the perfume museum, I headed to the Orange Museum not too far from the Louvre and the Place Vendome. I chose this museum because it was small and not the Louvre. As of now, I refuse to enter the Louvre. I know it’s the biggest in the world and supposedly the greatest, but I can’t handle the size for one and Mona Lisa just isn’t interesting to me in the least bit. As I wrote in a previous piece (about the Barnes Foundation), when art is akin to a shopping experience it is no longer enjoyable to me. I view art in order to be captivated and inspired. It’s hard to do that with hundreds of people bumping into you or you are seeing the same recycled pieces which had been shuffled from museum to museum. . I’m not an art expert nor did I study art, so all views are just opinions of what I find aesthetically pleasing or not. So anyway, the Orange Museum boasts of having some great impressionist and post-impressionist works by Cezanne, Rousseau, Picasso, and Modigliani to name a few. I left the museum feeling pretty much uninspired although most of the works were paintings I had not previously seen. There were no card players, nude bathers, or men with guitars – which I’m tired of seeing. However, very little created a lasting impression in my mind other than Henri Rousseau’s L’Enfant a la Poupee (A Child with a Doll.) I do enjoy a lot of Rousseau’s other works. This painting, which I don’t recall ever seeing before, was a bit comedic – although I’m not sure it is supposed to be. The child appears to be floating – a spatial characteristic that Rousseau often uses in his work (I read that on-line just now) and the child’s body is distorted. This child doesn’t look like a child at all. Also the child looks like a boy, but is dressed in girl’s clothing. I later learned on my bike tour that many families used to dress their boys in this manner. No doubt the main attraction to the museum was the Water Lilies by Claude Monet. The upstairs gallery had two rooms of Water Lilies sprawled across the four walls. As classical music was playing in the background, the guards urged the tourists to be quiet – which I thought was strange -and so I quietly and quickly took a stroll around the rooms. I felt as if I was in an aquarium. It was a lovely scene although I didn’t get inspired by the lilies. The size was massive and comparable to the La Dance murals by Matisse in the Barnes Foundation and in the City Museum of Modern Art.

After the museum, I took a short walk to the Place Vendome where I waited for my bike tour. The place Vendome held some of the most luxurious stores such as Dior, Mikimoto, and Chaumet Jewelers. I just peered into the windows. I was told that in order to enter many of the stores you had to be buzzed in by security and if you looked like you could afford the items you would be buzzed in. Otherwise, you will be left standing outside.

I hadn’t ridden a bike in ages. I was somewhat terrified of the massive bikes (they were electric – made it somewhat easier to pedal). I began my 4 hour journey through some hidden streets of Paris and landmarks that most people would not go to. I darted through traffic and felt a rush knowing that I could be splattered across the road by the busses or cars at any moment. I had to dodge some other tourists and pedestrians as they just didn’t seem to move out of the way for passing bikes. Although it was raining, the weather was mild and made for an extremely pleasant bike ride. I will be honest, although I learned a lot, I wish my guide would have spoke less and we could have just rode, looked in awe, and snapped pictures. The tour started in the daytime and broke at night and I must say – Paris and London at night are spectacular. About 3 hours and 50 minutes into the tour, the inevitable happened – I fell off the bike. I took a nasty spill and I busted my knee. I quickly got up and decided not to dwell on it. My strategy for healing was to keep moving as if nothing happened. I find that when you are still, your body stiffens up. Although I was in pain and no doubt bleeding, I ignored it. I had to finish my bike tour AND I had a concert to prepare for later that night. I had no choice but to keep it moving.

After the bike tour, I walked briskly to my hotel, showered, washed the blood away from my knee, and headed back down the street to see Ayo and Friends perform. My leg wasn’t bothering me too much, but my feet were aching. I found it almost impossible to stand, but I managed to get through a good portion of the concert. Ayo is absolutely amazing and her music is beautiful. She sounds great live and packed out the house. Most people didn’t seem to know a majority of her songs, but they seemed to groove to her. It was odd to be in a place where people weren’t singing a long – but the place was packed from wall-to-wall. I’m sure it was an amazing experience for her to look out in the crowd and see so many people calling her name and clapping to her music. Between the guitar changes, reggae sets, and her singing Put a Ring on it, she bought out Saul Williams who will be appearing on her next album. I’m not usually a fan of spoken word, but it was nice to see him on this international stage. The concert began to drag on a bit and my feet were hurting so I left before it ended, but felt like I got my money’s worth (oh that reminds me – she sang Shake Your Money Maker as well and it was so cute). So my second and last night in Paris had come to an end. On my final day in town I woke up in just enough time to check out and catch the train back home to London. I miss you already Paris, but my pockets have said that I must wait a while before I return!

London's got SOUL

2010-11-04T18:06:00.000-07:00

Finally, after spending over a month in London I found some Soul. By soul I don’t mean people of color, I mean being in an environment where my spirit was moved and I was surrounded by beautiful people and music. This night made me nostalgic of the Black Lilly at the 5 Spot in Philadelphia where local and national artists hit the stage on a weekly basis. By all accounts, it was a Neo Soul movement. There was never any pretense, just good old music for your soul and you never wanted the night to end.

Tonight I took my first visit to the Jazz Café in Camden. It was very convenient to get to from my place and I was rather happy with the time it took to get there. I was unhappy about the line I had to wait in because the ticketing process was highly inefficient; one person in the ticket office which meant only 1 person or 1 group of people could enter at a time. After getting my ticket I finally went in to wait for the concert to start. I heard about the concert on my new favorite radio station Colourful. My landlady keeps the radio on Colourful and one day I heard a song that just absolutely made me bounce for joy - Sunshine by Avery Sunshine.

Every so often a song touches my spirit and Sunshine was added to that list. When I heard she was coming to London, I knew I had to go.

The show finally started around 8:15 and Avery hit the stage with her smash hit Sunshine. Usually artists save the most popular song for last, but she flipped it up a bit. She wooed the crowd with her covers of D’Angelo, Maze, Jill Scott, and Anita Baker to name a few. She also sang some of her own tunes, but the highlight for me was the two gospel songs she sang in the middle of her set. I believe one was planned and the other just seemed to come as the spirit moved through the crowd. A few people looked at me surprised that I knew the words (I guess these songs haven’t hit the UK yet). All I can say is she was absolutely amazing and had an amazing spirit about her. The only negative aspect of her performance was the fact that she stayed behind her piano the entire time. I have watched some of her videos on YouTube and have seen her in front of her piano, but not sure why she choose to sit today. Considering my height, I could barely see although the venue was small and technically there was no bad seat in the house.

Following her performance Anthony David took the stage. Apparently Barack Obama listens to him (he played a clip of Obama saying he listens to Anthony David and was introduced to him because of Michele). I didn’t know who he was before, but I have quickly converted into a fan. Not bad on the eyes and he is also a great singer and musician. I will admit I am biased towards artists who write their own music, sing well live, and play an instrument. He started the show by singing an Estelle song which was great because he put a little twist on American Boy. He weaved his own songs in and out of some covers, one of which was I LIKE by Guy and I believe I was the only one in the audience singing along. A girl asked how I knew the song and I explained I was from the states and who the artist was. While the audience didn’t quite groove to Guy, they grooved to his Tribe Called Quest and India Arie cover as well as his song Cold Turkey which by far was my favorite song. He wasn’t the most energetic performer. In fact I don’t believe he broke a sweat at all. He was completely chill and almost mesmerizing. I would definitely pay to see him again.

">

As far as the Jazz café, I will definitely go again. In fact, Kindred is playing there in a few weeks. They have a few bars, it’s small enough to create a great intimate space for music. It reminds me of the Trocodero and the World Café in Philadelphia (although I believe this space is even smaller than the both of them). The concert was over by 10:45 and I managed to grab the tube to the train station (thank God the strike was over) and run on the train home as the door was closing. I made it home well before 12 and overall it was a chill night and I didn’t get lost.

Thank you Anthony David and Avery Sunshine for a beautiful evening!

The day after election ramblings

2010-11-03T16:23:00.000-07:00

I finally purchased a pair of jeans that fit relatively well. They are not skinny jeans, but straight legged. Certain body types are not meant for skinny jeans and I am throwing myself into that category. I also opened a bank account. This task was much harder than obtaining a visa to enter this country (as a U.S. Citizen). I guess they said, “We’ll let you in, but make it hard for you once you get here. And then maybe you will go home.” I guess that is a good anti-immigration tactic.

In between reading for classes, I’ve continued to meet some incredible people, watch an exorbitant amount of TV on my computer, and take in some events. If you have been following me on Facebook, I’ve talked about my love for the shows The Inbetweeners and Peep Show. I love British humor. It’s outrageous, creative, raunchy, jaw dropping and dark at times. In both shows there never seems to be a happy ending, but it’s funny nevertheless.

I also managed to attend the London Film Festival where I attended two screenings; a German film Blessed Events and a Norwegian film, Home for Christmas. Both films were excellent and I suggest looking out for them next year. Blessed Events was about a woman who unexpectedly turns up pregnant. It takes her the whole movie to come to grips with the fact that she is having this baby and to accept not only the child, but the man she is having the child with. Home for Christmas was based on the lives of various people and their preparations for the Christmas Holiday. It also had a political undertone to it. While I am not into Christmas heavily, it was a movie that could make any Scrooge’s heart soften. The movie ended with a couple staring into the Northern Lights. I don’t recall ever hearing anything about the Northern Lights. After doing some reading on-line and looking at pictures, I’ve realized that this is something I want to see before I die. I don’t have too many places I want to visit or see, but that is on my list.

The whole of October was Black History Month. In the States, Black History Month is in February. I’m not sure how October got to be nominated in the UK, but I do know that February was chosen because of Carter G. Woodson. Originally he created Black History Week and he chose February because it was the month Abraham Lincoln (the great liberator) was born. The week eventually morphed into a month. During Black History Month I attended several events including a debate on campus held by the Afro-Caribbean Society. In the debate, they talked about the necessity for Black History Month. Some suggested that it should be called something else, a few didn’t like the idea of it at all, and others thought it should be expanded. I believe that all the different months such as Black History Month, Women’s History Month, Hispanic Heritage Month, etc. are great times to spotlight the achievements of certain groups in our society. However, we should strive to learn about our history and others all year long. Black History Month can’t be inclusive of everything Black. We can however, try to broaden what is spread about our history. Growing up the only thing I really recall about Black History Month or any type of Black History in school was the Eyes on the Prize documentary, Martin Luther King, and the slave trade.

During the month of October, I also attended a lecture at the London School of Economics by Grada Kilomba, a Portuguese woman of African descent who now resides in Germany. She read from her book, Plantation Memories, and it was absolutely phenomenal. I honestly hate going to book readings and signings, but I felt that Ms. Kilomba had a lot to say that not only touched on the cords of what we were learning in class, but some of my own subjectivities. One thing that stood out most was her reading on the subject of “otherness”; a rampant theme in postcolonial discourse. The example that she gave was about an Afro-German woman who was always approached with the question “where are you from?" The answer was always, “I’m from here." But this answer never satisfied people because she was Black. Her Blackness made her un-German in the eyes of many Germans. Although Germany was the only home she had known.

This whole idea of otherness and belonging was further highlighted as I watched a documentary about a Black Londoner (Wilfred Emmanuel-Jones) who was selected to run for MP as a Tory. The town he was to represent was predominately white with very few minorities. As the camera’s followed Wilfred around town, there was footage of him being heckled by some of the residents. One man indicated that he should go back where he came from. Wilfred’s general response was. “I’m from here. Where should I go?"

The sentiment from this resident was shocking, but nonetheless common as of late. As we have seen the aggression of the Tea Party in America, the aggression from the Right in Europe is strong as well. Although I am very happy to be in the midst of some extremely liberal people, policy is not reflective of that. Islam-a-phobia is not just in the U.S. France has banned the Burka and immigration is a hot-button topic that has resulted in stringent immigration reforms. I met a woman on my first day at the University who had to register for the police within seven days of coming to the UK (as part of her VISA requirement) and she was from Romania. She assumed that everyone on a student VISA had to do so. I told her that I didn’t have to and I felt bad. Many students have set up demonstrations and talks about the immigration issues and I hope to really understand the arguments further.

In addition to the immigration topics, the students are very vocal and active on other topics such as the Israeli-Palestinian issues and the current struggle over budget cuts that will ultimately increase tuition fees. Today I semi-participated in a demonstration. Today’s demonstration put me back to 1996/1997 at Lincoln University. I recall gathering at the top of the Student Union Building, blocking the entrance of the school and protesting outside of the president’s house. We ousted the president from the school and it was a good feeling. It’s been a long time since I have had that spirit or seen that kind of spirit in people. I can’t say that I am passionate about demonstrations and marches. I do find them effective at times, but I also find other tactics more effective like lobbying, writing to officials, boycotting, and striking (speaking of which – they are always on strike here). However, I greatly admire the student’s tenacity and determination. With regards to the current state of politics in the U.S., we have to have the same tenacity and determination, but it can’t be politics as usual. We must be creative and do something different and GOD – please don’t let those tea-baggers hijack America! If so, I'm not coming back.

First Two Weeks in London

2010-10-12T08:50:00.000-07:00

The introduction/preface

I promise not to inundate people with daily blogs, but the reality is that if I did people would not read it – so why waste my time. Some writers may argue that they write for themselves. The reality is, we write for an audience whether perceived or not or as Jean-Paul Sartre said, “one writes for the universal reader… and the exigency of the writer is, as a rule, addressed to all men”. So rather than a daily regurgitation of my day (which can be found in brief on Facebook) I will update my blog when I feel I have something bursting from my gut or when I think a comfortable enough gap has elapsed since I last wrote.

Ontology of Language

It’s been two weeks since I have orientated myself into my new land and, with brute force, continued to disorient myself from Western ideologies of thinking about the world (playing on the word “Orient” here since our first reading in class was an excerpt from Edward Said’s classic text, Orientalism).

I have met some amazing people. Surprisingly, a large number of people in my course are not British and I live in a very diverse neighborhood. So not only am I getting a taste of British culture, I am also forced to reconcile with individuals from all across Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean. It’s an amazing experience to say the least. Other than trying to navigate with no car and counting money, language has been the hardest obstacle to overcome. I thought coming from an Anglophone country to another Anglophone country that the least of my worries would be language. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Too bad I’m not an anthropologist because I believe my observations and experiences with language would make for a great case study. Never before have I been thrust into hearing so many derivations of the English language. Beyond that are the meanings attached to objects in different cultures and how words are translated into English. If you take a mirror, as a basic example, and it will be called something different elsewhere (obviously), but more importantly the meaning attached to it is different. Perhaps we look at mirrors as a means to simply view ourselves, but elsewhere, that mirror could be associated with vanity.

Academic Stuff

Admittedly, I’m having a hard time with some of the readings we have been assigned. The difficulty is not in my inability to grasp the text (like my inability to get my mind around calculus). Instead, the problem is getting through the academic mumbo jumbo (read as Bull Shit – FYI – this and other expletives are perfectly permissible in class) in order to gain a clear sense of what the author is trying to convey. I mean how can I understand your point, when you have quoted a reference in French or Greek with no translation? I equate that to being in church when someone starts speaking tongues. If God has a message that he wants to convey, why would he make it in such a way that only a few can understand. Sorry to offend anyone, but this part of the church I simply can’t grasp my hands around and this is a part of academia that I struggle with as well. So sometimes I feel dejected, but then eventually I get over those feelings of dejection because I realize if it were easy, there would be no need for me to be in school. I’ve quickly come to another realization (one that has actually been able to help me get through my readings). That realization is that the best education comes outside of the classroom. Perhaps this is why I have heard over-and-over again since arriving that I don’t need to come to class!

Yesterday, I attended a screening as part of the Nollywood film festival. The film was called Arugba and the overarching theme (in a series of numerous themes) was tradition in the face of modernity. Often times, this clash can be problematic for communities. As I watched the film and listened to the conversations afterwards, I was able to relate it to Paul Gilroy’s discourse in black identity, The Black Atlantic (which was the reading for this week). In chapter 6 of his book he says that we must “rethink the concept of tradition so that it can no longer function as modernity’s polar opposite”. Another example of outside learning has been my visit to the Horniman Museum. I was amazed at not only the beauty of the grounds and the small collection, but the truthfulness that was revealed by the museum. The fact is, most of the major museums in the West are nothing more than the pillages of colonial empires (I’m borrowing that point from Albert Barnes). As such, the objects are often classified and ordered from a Western perspective whereby the works of the East or of Sub Sahara Africa, for example, may be represented in a way in which their significance is lessened or in some cases over romanticized. Many institutions today recognize this Oriental viewpoint and attempt to give balance with regards to representations. The Horniman Museum, on the other hand, has left its original gallery the way it was originally conceived. I thought this was an interesting lesson into history and a practical example of Orientalism. I will note the entire museum is not set up this way. I found the section on Africa and the photography exhibit on Yemen to be absolutely fascinating and well put together.

The practical stuff

So what’s next for me? Reading -since I am grossly behind. Short trips to neighboring countries. Attend more lectures, movies, and certainly more museums. Getting home by bus after 12. Other than a late night pub crawl in Camden and taking a long cab ride home, I’ve been in by 10 faithfully (most trains don’t run after 12:00am). Get used to life without a microwave and clothes dryer. Open a bank account. Find Amy Winehouse. Try to find the Snappy Snap that George Michael crashed into (I believe I found it, but I am not 100% sure). Figure out how to watch my Bridget Jones DVD on my computer, how to stream the Real Housewives of Atlanta and American sports. In shah Allah practice Arabic. Try not to use words in writing or in person that cannot be found in the dictionary (tacit snub at Gilroy). Use words like tacit, subversive, discourse, ontology, and polemic as many times as possible. Stop saying dollars and cents and converting everything to dollars in my head. Join a yoga class. Ponder a PHD program. Update my CV, figure out how to rule the world (ok not really - just find my place and my major contributions to it) AND continue to lose and alienate people/things in my life that just aren’t productive to my growth and development as a person. The reality is, people are toxic and I’m on a full-throttle detox. Until next time. Cheers!

2 Suitcases and a Carry On

2010-09-26T03:20:00.000-07:00

I’ve finally arrived in London and was greeted by grey skies and rain pouring out of the heavens. While everyone complained about the rather chilly and rainy weather, I rejoiced. I longed for this day for several months and I met London with the same determination I had when I studied abroad in the Virgin Islands at 16 and when I moved to Georgia from Pennsylvania in my Ford Tempo at 22. I was living out yet another dream in a series of dreams in my waking life.

I arrived in London with two suitcases and a carry-on bag. Deciding what to bring and what to leave was an eye-opening process. I realized how caught up we are in material things and how much we live in excess. I was never really into fashion and I never could justify spending hundreds of dollars on shoes or pocketbooks. However, I realized that what little I had, I could do without and I wouldn’t miss any of it for a moment. In fact, I preferred life this way. These material things become attachments and handcuffs which inhibit us at times. My willingness to detach myself from my home, car, furniture, and things I just didn’t need have allowed me to move through life on my own terms.

Prior to leaving the U.S. I was asked the same questions repeatedly, “Are you nervous? Excited? Where will you live? What will you be doing? What will you do with your house? When are you coming back? Will you come back?” I was honestly emotionless and while I am a highly organized and meticulous planner, I didn’t let planning take over my life nor did I allow myself to become stressed about the details of planning (which I have been accused of so many times before). Over the past few years I decided to live life similar to that of a choose-your-own adventure book. As Americans, we are engrained to believe that we should go to college, get a good job, have a family, buy a house, and retire. While that doesn’t seem like such a bad plan, some of those things have come slower to me than others. While I did go to college and had good jobs over the past 10 years, there is something missing in the aforementioned equation: happiness and fulfillment. I can no longer subscribe to the traditional life process. The only one thing for certain is that at some point I will die, but to the best of my ability, I want to live unconventionally in this conventional world.

In the meantime, I’m starring in my own version of Eat Pray Love. I call my version Learn, Live, and Love or Live, Learn, Love. Perhaps it will be called something different in the end, but for now these are the three things I hope to gain in this chapter.

Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

2010-09-14T21:25:00.000-07:00

The brief and wondrous life of Oscar Wao was neither brief nor wondrous. However, it won a Pulitzer price and was praised as an instant classic in diasporic text. During my “vacation”, it was on my list of books I intended to read. I should note that looking at the list of Pulitzer Prize fiction winners and runners up since 1948, I have only fully read one of the books, To Kill a Mocking Bird, and partially read two others (Beloved and the Poisonwood Bible) which I thought god awful to get through, but found the stories to be compelling nonetheless. I say that to say – maybe I don’t know books. But as always, I do have an opinion!

When I read, I’m not into the “story” per say. I’m more into how the story is told and the writing style. As I have hinted before, I have been most impressed with Baldwin’s writing style and only read a Baldwin book within the last year.

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao reminded me very closely of a Jasper Forde book I attempted to get through, Thursday After Next. After reading the back jacket, I thought that this Forde book was going to be a homerun in the field of books, but when I opened it, it was nothing but name dropping of every book that was ever made. The book referenced books I may have read and heard of, but often didn’t get the context in which the other book was referenced. Well, I had the same experience with Junot Diaz. Simply put, I just didn’t get it. I’m not as well read as you Mr. Diaz. Normally if I don’t know a word or name of a person, I look it up in Google or Wikipedia. But I felt lost in this book and everything just dangled. I saw no connection in the text and the only thing I wanted to do was get to the next page and the next until I was done with this book.

The book is over 300 pages and you can get through it quickly. However, beware of the footnotes on the bottom of every other page. Yes, a novel with an abundance of footnotes. So in the middle of the sentence, I’m forced to go to the bottom of the page to read a long dissertation explaining his text. While he kept the footnotes informal, often talking in urban vernacular, it just really took away from the flow of the book. I don’t believe good fiction writing needs footnotes.

This is in direct contrast to one of my favorite books of all time, The Prisoners Wife, by Asha Bandele. This book is a tale (non fiction) of a woman who is seeing a man in prison (duh). I clearly remember her referencing George Jackson and Frantz Fanon in her book and the way she alluded to their works made me run out and get their books almost immediately.

Another downfall to this novel is the writing style. While there was clear dialogue in the book, I had a hard time deciphering between who was talking, when someone was talking, and when someone was narrating. It also took me ¾ of the way through the book to understand who the narrator was.

Now that I’ve bashed the book, I can honestly say that the book has some good qualities. The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao told a vivid story of the life in the Dominican Republic and served as a history lesson. But there were times, when I was unable to tell fact from fiction and so my history lesson may be a bit muddled.

I did find the folklore of the Dominican Republic and the storylines about the female characters in the book compelling and page turners. What I found the most interesting was the dynamic between the light skinned Dominicans vs. the darker skinned Dominicans and the Haitians. We see this everywhere and I wonder how long color will continue to divide us.

Did anyone else out there read this book? What are your thoughts?

The Summer of Discontent? Part III

2010-09-14T20:43:00.000-07:00

It’s been almost 4 weeks since I’ve had my surgery. I promised to write a piece about fertility and I know that my friends have been on the edge of their seat. The main reason why I wanted to have this surgery was quality of life as indicated before hand. My stomach was growing enormously and my fibroids were the cause of many minor but nagging health issues.

But the other all important reason why I got the surgery was to increase my changes of fertility (not that I'm trying now). As I am pushing my way through my 30’s, fertility has been a huge topic of conversation with my friends and family and shall I add – the Media. As I have talked about my plight as of late, I have talked to friends who cannot have children, friends who have had difficulty trying to conceive, and then individuals like myself who would like to be a mother some day, but don’t have a suitable mate or find themselves in a place where it is simply not the right time to conceive.

But with advances in the medical field, the issue of infertility is decreasing. We can freeze eggs, have surrogate mothers and a host of over techniques at our disposal that I haven’t begun to uncover. Over the past few weeks, I have really been honest with myself about fertility. I have always felt that I would be heartbroken if I didn’t become a mother. **Feminists you can stop reading now** My philosophy on womanhood has been that a woman’s purpose was to conceive. Why else would we have a monthly menstrual cycle and uterus? While I know that women have elevated beyond staying at home and bearing kids, I have accepted that one aspect of my calling (in calling I mean that I was born a woman). And so I have accepted the duties that I believe the creator has bestowed upon me. I have had many conversations with friends who feel my philosophy is quite antiquated, but it is those differences of opinions that make the world go round right?

I can say the time leading up to and right after my surgery my feelings have changed a bit. I’ve had to face facts that I may not be able to have children no matter how much “pre-work” I’m doing now. With that being said, I’ve realized that being a mother doesn’t mean you have to physically bear the child or that your DNA has to be exhibited within a child to be his or her parent. My friend asked if I was going to freeze some of my eggs in the event that the surgery did not go as planned. I was set back by this question. I had never thought of something like that, although this practice is increasing. Personally I find saving my eggs a bit vain. I believe there are too many children in this world in need of homes to concern myself with if the child has my eyes or nose.

No real ending here, just my two cents.

I can also give an update - for anyone else going through this surgery and recovery. The first two weeks were extremely rough. After two weeks, I was able to drive and walk in limited amounts. I was extremely tired and worked hard to get my stamina up.

Now into week 4 - I'm not napping as much and I'm back to my normal, social routine. Bending is difficult and sleeping the way I want is still difficult. I have a cramp that won't go away and my mother thinks that it is the result of me doing too much and I have set myself back a bit. I hope it was just the result of not sleeping properly.

I realize that my speedy recovery has differed from many stories that I have heard. I also realized that those women who have had a c-section (very similar surgery) recovered quickly. Mainly, according to them, because they had a child to take care of and didn't have time to be in bed sick!

Although I didn't have a child, I knew that I was leaving for England in a few weeks and didn't have the full 6 weeks to recover! It was back to work for me so I had to keep it moving. My step mother said to me today "boy - nothing keeps you down". I can actually say I agree with her!

The Summer of Discontent? Part II: The Surgery

2010-08-27T18:40:00.000-07:00

The Surgery

Many women have experienced the wrath of fibroids which can result in miscarriages, premature deliveries, anemia, infertility, frequent urination, perpetual bloating, and pelvic and back pain to name a few. In the past, it seemed that hysterectomies were the solution for fibroids. Hysterectomies are money making procedures for doctors and the only "cure" for fibroids since the uterus (where the fibroids reside) is completely removed.

Research has shown that African American women are disproportionately affected by fibroids than other races. Over the years very few women have told me about their issues with fibroids, but as I began to share my experiences very candidly, more and more people have been opening up. I realized now why some of my family members have had hysterectomies. After sharing my experiences, I got to a point where several women in my circle told me they had undergone the same procedure I was about to get done. I was relieved to know that I didn’t have to go through this alone. Fortunately, with advances in the medical field, I had several options other than getting a hysterectomy. Due to the size, location, and my desire to have kids, my options were limited, but they extended beyond the dredful hysterectomy.

As I got closer and closer to the surgery I had so much to do I couldn’t be nervous about getting surgery nor could I get excited about the fact that I was only a few weeks away from moving to England. On August 19, 2010 I gave birth. Several fibroids were removed from my uterus by way of an abdominal incision similar to one made when a woman gives birth by Cesarean section. I had 4 known large fibroids. One measured 9cm (approximately the size of a 3-month old fetus). The procedure was routine, but with any surgery there is room for error or complications. My biggest fear was that I would lose my uterus or ovaries in the process. Thankfully, I woke up with everything in tact and working relatively well (the healing process is a long and painful one).

While I was in the hospital, I gained a greater appreciation for nurses. They worked relentlessly around the clock caring for strangers. For the first time in a long time, I felt a complete sense of helplessness. Although I was ambulatory after the first day, many of the things I took for granted on a daily basis were challenging. Activities such as going to the bathroom, putting on clothes, sitting up and down, etc. The hospital provided a much better haven to go through these struggles as they provided around the clock care. I could simply push a button and someone would come to my rescue. Coming home was a bit of a challenge. The bed didn't adjust to a comfortable level where I could get in and out of it without help. The bathroom didn't have handrails, and there were no nurses.

I do have the help of my parents and I am ever so grateful. I've been home only 4 days now and I've found myself crying on several occasions because I was unable to get comfortable, climb into bed, or perform my normal activities. In the middle of one of my crying fits, my mother reminded me that my temporary setback is a snippet of what she goes through on a regular basis battling Multiple Sclerosis. I began to think about those who can not walk at all or those individuals who don't have family and friends to take care of them and I immediately had to pour my self pity down the drain.

I have to remind people that my surgery was optional or elective. I choose to have this surgery on the eve of my leaving for England because I wanted a better quality of life. I equate it to a nagging toothache that if not worked on, just gets worse and worse and we are reminded of the pain every time we take a drink or bite of something.

But the major reason for the surgery was to increase my chances of fertility. Hold on tight...I have quite a few words about fertility in Part III.

The Summer of Discontent? Part I

2010-08-26T17:50:00.000-07:00

When I think of the summer of 2010, I think about the saying “Summer of Discontent” (which really derives from a Shakespeare saying “Winter of Discontent”). However, as I seriously reflect about the summer, it was one filled with simple indulgences, hard work, a few great weddings, and a hint of discontent.

On the eve of summer, I was delighted to learn that I was accepted into a one year Masters program in England. I celebrated the good news with my friends and family, but quickly thereafter my delight fizzled as I had to remove myself from a “relationship”. I recently watched one of my favorite movies, Love and Basketball. The lead character, played by Sanaa Lathan, lost her love of basketball because her love interest (who was also a basketball player) was no longer in her life. For a short spell I felt the same about losing this person. I stopped writing, I barely read, discovering new music became insignificant because the person I believed shared those same interests was no longer there.

Nevertheless, I moved on without hesitation or regrets. There comes a point in time when you must remove toxic people from your life, both men and women. I’m confident that I will find another person(s) or activity that will allow me to enjoy those things to the fullest again.

Just as I was preparing to pick myself up, I got sick. For weeks I suffered with severe abdominal pain. I will admit that I just let it go hoping that it would eventually go away. But the pain never subsided. The pain resulted in missing several weeks of work, visits to the hospital and various doctors. The diagnosis was nothing more than my fibroids and ruptured cysts. I’ve known I had fibroids since I was 24 or 25 years of age. My doctor at the time looked at me and asked me if I wanted to have kids. The answer was yes, of course. She told me I was not getting any younger, they would get bigger, and if I wanted to have kids I should try as soon as possible. For years I left her office with the same conversation and in tears. Eventually I went to a new doctor. Her bedside manner was horrible. She didn’t really offer too many solutions on how to deal with these things growing inside of me.

I didn’t quite understand what fibroids were and having talked to a few people I realized that they were not life threatening and for many people not so serious. My symptoms have included severe pain, which usually resulted in an ER visit, at least once every two years. That was not enough to make me get them surgically removed or to rush and have a child. After talking to several people I thought I would try to eliminate them naturally. I researched different foods, herbs and medicines that have been linked with shrinking fibroids with the least amount of side effects as well as attempted to eliminate things that would could trigger fibroid growth.

With any regiment, it requires discipline and I simply didn’t have it. For years my fibroids and I lived peacefully until January of 2009. At this point, my fibroids had not only multiplied but they had grown and continued to grow throughout the year. That brings us to 2010 where the fibroids literally invaded my uterus. While fibroids are not cancerous they negatively impact the body. They compete for the same blood cells as normal tissue so I was always tired, they crushed my bladder, my stomach was enlarged, and they contracted simulating labor pains. I finally made the decision that I needed to have them removed.

Today I resigned

2010-06-21T21:02:00.000-07:00

Today marks the day that I officially resigned from my company after eight years of service. My impending departure is going to be bittersweet. I have gained an invaluable skill set, met some great people that have I have ultimately become close friends with, and I have been afforded many things because of this job such as a house and a Master’s degree. However, I reached a turning point in my life about 2-3 years ago. At this point, I realized that I had to get back to the core of what it was that I really wanted out of life and how I wanted to direct my steps in the years to come.

I will admit, I had a hard time and I still have a hard time articulating what it is that I want to be when I grow up. At one point I wanted to be a scientist, artist, and waitress. My parents and family indulged the first two as I had science and art kits and one of my masterpieces is currently hanging in my parent’s foyer. Perhaps when I’m dead my art will be appreciated, but as of now I haven’t been able to live off my art.

So what is the career path for me?

I recently found two personal statements I wrote (one from high school and one from college). The personal statement from high school ended with my desire to make a “change in the minds of the oppressed and the oppressor”. From my college essay, I wrote about being inspired by Gwyneth Paltrow’s role in the movie “A Perfect Murder” where she was translator for the U.N. She spoke French, English of course, and ARABIC. Having studied Arabic in undergrad, this movie put into context what I wanted to do – work for a government agency “doing international law or finance”.
Some days, I feel like I took a huge detour from what I thought I wanted to do. But then I remind myself that we are never too old to ask ourselves that question we are asked over and over again as a child. No matter what point you are in life, if you have determination, patience, are willing to sacrifice and step out on faith, your dreams and passions will be closer than you ever imagined. As I reflect about my experiences to date and my upcoming adventures, I realize that my steps have been ordered for me and I’m just starting the next chapter in the book of my life.

What are the next steps?

In September, I will be leaving for London to study at the University of London (Goldsmiths College) for a 1 year program in Postcolonial Culture and Global Studies. From there, who knows? My goal remains as it has over 10 years ago: to work for either a government or non governmental agency combining my liberal arts/language background with my finance background to make a tangible impact on the world around me.

Frequently asked questions

1)What are you going to do with your house? I don’t know – but if you know anyone looking to rent in North East Philadelphia please e-mail me as soon as possible

2)Where are you going to live once you get over there? I don’t know, but I can tell you it won’t be a dorm and again if you know someone who is renting space let me know

3)Are you going to return to your job? No. Unless my current company unveils a microfinance arm or some philanthropic venture that includes working in developing countries, I probably will not return. Furthermore, I am not too keen on returning to Pennsylvania other than to visit.

4)Why London? London is truly a gateway to the rest of the world just as NY is a gateway in the Western Hemisphere. Within a few hours I can be in Africa, other parts of Europe, and Asia.

5)Why study out of the country? I truly believe that you really get a better sense of who you are once you have traveled and have seen how other people live. I took my first plane ride when I was 16 to St. Thomas and I stayed there for 2 months. This time was extremely profound because I really became self aware as I viewed myself through another culture’s eyes. I also believe it was through my interactions with people there that I truly began to love for the first time. Americans are often criticized as being self-absorbed and I agree at times. I think this experience will continue to humble me as I learn about a new culture.

6)Are you going for a guy? Ha. Lol. No. At one point a guy was in the equation and he would have been a quick train ride away considering he lived in Belgium. But he is no longer and I’m moving to London with a fresh slate open to any possibilities (Males only! So again if you know anyone let a sista know)

7)You already have a Masters don’t you and why not a PHD? Yes I do, but this is in something completely different. I didn’t think I would get accepted into a PHD program in a completely new field and I really wasn’t ready to commit to that level of study yet.

8)Will I come back with an accent? Probably. I lived in Georgia for six months and came back talking about I’m fixing and fitting to do XYZ, called everyone shorty, and I said mamma instead of Mom. When I stayed in St. Thomas for two months, I picked up the habit of kissing my teeth, saying ting instead of thing and tree instead of three every now and then. So rest assured, I will be saying lift instead of elevator, tube instead of train, and sign off with Cheers faithfully

Although 10 is a nice, round, and even number, I’m way too tired to continue. So until next time Cheers!

My Weekend: Friends, The World Cup, Parking Wars

2010-06-14T20:06:00.000-07:00

This weekend marked the opening of the World Cup. Unfortunately, the games are played during work hours. So, I’m unable to watch most of the games unless I catch the repeat. But once I learn who won, I can’t endure sitting through 90 minutes of a 0-0 game. This weekend also marked one of the best weekends I have had in a long time. Friday was uneventful. I worked both jobs and hit the sack early. I woke up early Saturday morning so I could clean, pack and get some things ready to sell in preparation of my upcoming move to London in September. After being satisfied with the level of productivity I put in Saturday morning, I met up with a friend for brunch who was in town from NY for the weekend. I took her to Platinum Grill in the Chestnut Hill/Mt. Airy section of Philadelphia.

Platinum Grill is a Black-Owned establishment and has gotten rave reviews about the food. I’ve gone there for drinks and if you live in the NE/NW section of the city it’s a nicer alternative than going downtown. I decided to indulge and had cheese grits, eggs, toast, and shrimp. It was delicious and I will be going back again. When I told people what I ate they were like “Grits. That’s different!” I grew up on grits and having lived in the south for a while, I’m used to eating grits with my breakfast and dinner and Fish and Grits is one of my favorite dishes. Come September, it will be fish and chips rather than fish and grits. After over indulging, we decide to take a walk through Chestnut Hill. This is a very beautiful part of the city no matter what time of the year. There are very few chains stores, a diverse range of people, and a quaintness that reminds me of Notting Hill in London.

Chestnut Hill was the highlight for Saturday because the rest of Saturday was spent at my part time job. Sunday, I hosted another friend from NY; Ghanaian women I used to work with. We ran an errand to, had breakfast at IHOP, and ran back to my house to watch GHANA play in the World Cup. My first game of the series was between Algeria and Slovenia (I believe) and it was quite boring. I must say, the Ghana game was not exciting the first half, but by the 2nd half the game became interesting and we were both screaming at the TV and jumping out of our seats. Ghana was the victor against Serbia. Although I’ve had many friends who played soccer and dated a few soccer players over the years, I’ve never gotten into soccer. I really don’t know the rules of the game, but it didn’t prevent me from noticing some obvious things about the game. One interesting fact that my friend and I talked about and the commentators made mention of was that most of the African countries do not have African coaches. My friend and I discussed it briefly and another friend just pointed to colonialism. I find the issues of post-colonialism to be interesting and far reaching not only with regards to politics, but literature, sports, business, etc. This interest will lead me to London in the fall where I will be studying Post Colonial Culture and Global Studies at Goldsmiths University. What I want to do with that will be explained further in another blog post!

My other observation was on the commentators and the remarks that they made about the countries. In America, the sports are very individualistic. This is shown best with the current NBA finals with so much of the focus on Kobe Bryant and his performance. The teams are often identified by the lead player’s performance but not so much on anything unique that characterizes the team as a homogenous group. The world cup, on the other hand, is all about countries and less on the individual team players. Therefore, a lot of the commentary points to the current political and social climate of the country, playing. While I did learn some interesting tidbits about certain countries, I felt the commentary towards the African nations was negatively skewed. For example, when Ghana won, the commentaries kept saying how good this was for such a poor country. While I understand that a lot of African countries are poor, I felt more emphasis could have been given on the richness of the country or how it is developing.

After watching the World Cup match, I napped and got ready for a coffee and tea mixer. I had no idea what to expect. I met a few friends at the mixer which was held at the Hyatt Regency on Penn’s Landing. The mixer was nice, I met a few people, and learned about a promising business idea; a direct marketing coffee/tea business. After the mixer we headed to Warm Daddy’s where we indulged in some Southern Cuisine and listened to some jazz. I didn’t want my Sunday to end and Monday was quickly approaching. That’s when I decided to meet up with another friend before I headed back to the boring North East.

After going to Moaz, a vegetarian chain, to get my friend some food, we decided to prolong the night with more conversation and drinks at Dirty Franks located in the gayborhood (where there is a pizza shop that says Homo Hut in the window instead of Pizza Hut). Anyway, parking was tight as usual AND it was Sunday. On Sundays a lot of parking restrictions are unofficially lifted. At this point, it was about 9/10ish. I drank, played some tunes on the Jute Box, talked shop with my friend, and thought about how much I’m going to miss certain aspects of Philadelphia when I move. While accompanying my friend on a smoke break, I looked up the street and then it dawned on me, “I drove here. Wait – the street is empty. Oh no – my car has been towed!” I have never gotten my car towed. My friend lost his composure. You would have thought he got his car towed. I understood that he felt bad and was upset, but I thought the situation was laughable. While my friend was having a temper tantrum about my car, we were kindly approached by a homeless man peddling weed. We or should I say I declined the offer and then we flagged down a PPA tow truck and I was told where my car way.

Since I no longer had to worry about drinking and driving, my one sensible drink turned into a few drinks. I played more tunes on the Jute Box, watched a few games of Jenga, got approached by weird drunk men, and entertained a man with 3 fingers and tattoos all over his arms and legs for a while. But alas, 2:00am came and I had to stay goodbye to Dirty Franks. I crashed at my friend’s house and in the morning I got up early to fetch my car.

My ride to the impound lot was hilarious. I hopped into a cab with an Asian cab driver who was surprisingly friendly and funny. My mood was definitely lightened by the time I got to the impound lot. It was empty as I was one of the first in line to claim my car. When I look up, I see a familiar face in the line, a former co worker. He didn’t have his license so I ended up driving his car off the lot while waiting for my insurance papers to get faxed over.

My experience with the PPA, prior to today, was limited to the few parking tickets I have gotten and begrudgingly paid over the years, and the new hit reality series Parking Wars. This show really highlighted the PPA for what they are – the MAFIA. Ok I know that I parked in the wrong spot, but if you have watched this show you know what I mean. Furthermore, on the way home, I rode past tons of cars illegally parked in South Philly (They park in the middle turning lane). This practice is somehow accepted, while the rest of us get towed, but at the end of the day, what I was really mad about was leaving my left overs from Warm Daddy’s in the car. I finally got my car in about an hour’s time. I ran some errands and went back to my friend’s house to have breakfast and watch more soccer! So who are you rooting for?

Last two days in London

2010-05-08T04:54:00.000-07:00

Sunday through Tuesday

So I have been told that my blogs are not as interesting as they used to be. And I agree. I’ve had little time to think about word choices, sentence structure, spelling correctly, or what may be of interest to readers. Instead, I was just documenting – almost in diary format my travels. So to appeal to those readers who have lost interest (well namely only one person), I will spice up my travel details. I am home now – so I have more time to relax and write.

So I headed back home from Paris on the Orient Express – I mean the Eurostar (too many Agatha Christie books). Before I got home, I realized how much I missed the rude Parisians and Welsh Rarebit aka cheesy bread, and sites of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. But no worries, within two hours I crossed the Channel into the land of tea into the Queens backyard or Victoria Station. My last few nights were spent in a crappy hotel within walking distance to Buckingham Palace. I never got to see the palace.

I thought Victoria station would be elegant and being so close to the palace I thought it would be a classy neighborhood. The neighborhood was actually very strange. It was mixed with locals, transients, and tourists but they all seemed segregated and easily differentiated. There were tons of boutique hotels/motels that really just resembled homeless shelters (including my hotel). Hungry on Sunday night, I ventured into the neighborhood looking for something to eat. There were a ton of restaurants, but the thought of sitting down and eating a lone became very daunting. So, I began looking for fast food. I immediately found a Kentucky Fried Chicken. I was craving biscuits, but instead of biscuits on the menu there were fries. Enough of the fries already. Fries seemed to be served with every meal in Europe like garnish on the plate. I left disappointed and bumped into a familiar place, Nando. I happily ate at Nando and returned to my room where I ended my Sunday night.

Monday afternoon I made an appointment to meet with some young ladies studying abroad from Boston. The young ladies were delightful to talk with and gave me some great pointers on getting around London, great insight into academic life in an English school, British culture, etc. After lunch we decided to take in a museum. The sun appeared, disappeared, and reappeared. It rained, it stopped raining – the wind blew….a lot. While we were enduring the tempest, we got to the Tate Modern Museum in a roundabout way. This was the oddest art museum I have been to. It was a huge warehouse. However, the few floors I did see were fairly good and there was a good mix of modern art. Better than the City Museum of Modern Art in Paris. I would definitely go back. I was able to see some Dali’s, Picasso’s, and 1 Rothko – and of course some art that was Modern Art gone awry.

After lunch I decided to say goodbye to my lovely hostesses for the day and head to Oxford Circus. Oxford Circus, I believe, is like Times Square. There are a ton of shops and more H&M’s in a square mile radius than is probably necessary. For any spender it’s a treasure trove and it was a circus in the metaphorical sense since it was a bank holiday. I did, however, get a chance to see a diverse range of people - more so than I had seen my entire trip to Europe, but it was way too busy. My only purchase from Oxford Circus was a hat to keep my hair from blowing in my face and making me look like a wild woman.

Feet hurting, I rushed back to my hotel room to get ready for the Beres Hammond concert later that night in Brixton. It was way too cold to wear my planned outfit and I had no time to do my hair. So I quickly freshened up and ran back out the door to meet a friend. I didn’t get a chance to explore Brixton, but I read and was told that it is a very ethnically diverse area with a high concentration of West Indian residents. It also is home to the first street in London to have electricity. After having a quick drink, we head to the o2 academy and waited in a long line. As concert goers show up, I feel considerably underdressed and very plane. This was a very typical reggae concert with everyone looking like they could be the next dancehall queen. We stood in line just after 7… Beres Hammond came on after 10. We were tortured by endless opening acts. The Heptones were ok (the Reggae version of the Funk Brothers), but I just really wanted to see Beres since Gregory Issacs cancelled. By the time Beres came out, my feet hurt and I felt like I could barely stand. Beres was smooth, silky, wonderous…hmmmn – any other adjective I can give. I was really close and quickly reminded why I love Reggae music.

Just after 12, the concert ended and I headed back to my side of town by way of Chelsea (a very nice area) where I was led home in a Mercedes Taxi or shall I say car service. The taxi driver was so nice (imagine that), he opened the door for me when I got in and got out and made sure I got into my hotel before he pulled out. We talked about Nat King Cole on the drive to my hotel. As we drove the 10 minutes or so to my hotel, I realized that my 2nd European vacation was coming to an end.

I woke up the next day feeling queasy and I quickly headed to the airport. I thought my queasiness was related to my normal nervousness about flying. However, as soon as the plane took off and the food was served, my stomach did back flips and what little I had in my stomach came to the surface. ‘oh no’ – I thought. I’m one of those people who gets sick on planes!!! I had hoped that relieving myself would make me feel better, but to no avail. The bathroom, plastic bags, and buckets were my best friends for the next two days. Thankfully this illness came at the end and not at the beginning of my trip.

But finally friends – I’m home and honestly glad to be back. BUT – I will be returning in September (wink wink)…

Tour De France - Kind of

2010-05-05T19:15:00.000-07:00

April 30

Friday morning I got up early and headed towards the School of Oriental and African Studies. This school has a tremendous reputation and is part of the University of London system – just like Goldsmiths. I pondered studying Islamic or Cultural Studies here in the future. My appointment at SOAS was finished earlier than expected so I walked a few blocks to the British Museum. Beforehand, I made a point that I would not visit any British Museums. From looking at the websites for the Tate and the British Museum, I didn’t see anything on-line that sparked my interest. However, the British Museum was full of interesting history and artifacts. In my short amount of time, I went to the Africa and Egyptian section. Although Egypt is a part of Africa, it is always placed in history as if it is a place all its own – any place other than Africa. With regards to the Africa exhibition, I thought the museum did a great job of describing the artifacts as more than “masks” or “pots” and provided a historical, social, and religious context in which these items were used. The prize of the visit was seeing the actual Rosetta stone.

After leaving the British Museum, I headed for St. Pancreas station where I would catch the Eurostar train to Paris. When I got off the train, a familiar face was waiting for me – Jef. It was good seeing him and I was looking forward to sharing the weekend in France. We checked into our hotel in the Latin Quarters. The Latin Quarters is home to the main Sorbonne, Luxembourg Gardens, the Pantheon and many other things I didn’t get a chance to see. We ate at a café just outside of the hotel and went for a long walk. We cancelled our plans for reggae and turned in early.

May 1 i.e. May Day

Unfortunately for tourists, May 1 is a holiday in Europe. Thus, most of the museums were closed. Since the weather was moderate, Jef and I walked around various part of the city talking, shopping, and taking in the sites. We walked to the recommended Arc De Triumph, took a short walk down Avenue Champs Elyse. The walk down this avenue was short because not only was it too crowded with tourists, it was expensive. We eventually made our way to the Louvre where we snapped a few pictures and walked along the river where there were tons of open-air bookshops. Our walk ended in the bustling street of St. Germaine where we grabbed at bite to eat.
After resting at the hotel a bit, we headed back out to a little place called Le’Entropot for dinner and a concert. The website for Le’Entropot was in French, but I was able to tell that there was a jazz concert that night and it “seemed” nice. After eating a delicious dinner, we were really in for a treat, Valery Boston. She sang everything in French. I have no idea what she was saying, but I promise you that this was one of the best entertainers I have seen and Jef agreed as well. For 5 Euros we were treated to a show with a great band and a great songstress. Le’Entropot was similar to the World Café in Philadelphia - small and intimate, but hosts a variety of shows, films, lectures, etc.

Our last day in France - May 2

By this time, I have accepted that laboring over plans perhaps was not the best thing to do because plans can change. We did visit the Muse Quai Branley which is in the shadows of the Eiffel Tower. The museum is filled with artifacts from Asia, Africa, Americas, and the Oceana region. The museum is viewed more as an anthropological museum rather than an art museum (so I thought it would be interesting). However, the museum was very dark and I can say fairly disappointing. We didn’t spend too much time there at all. Fortunately, the museum was free.
After the museum was headed to the Eiffel Tower. The rain and the line really de-motivated us from going to the top. I’m afraid of heights anyway – so just as well. I may have had a heart attack if I went to the top. Afterwards, we made our way across the river to the Palace de Tokyo. It was weird. It seemed like some place where artists hang out, eat, study, etc. Eventually we made our way next door to the City Museum of Modern Art. At first, the museum seemed promising. It was free for the permanent exhibits. We were immediately introduced to Matisse’s La’dance which he did for the Barnes Foundation. Thereafter, there really wasn’t much of interest in this museum. After the museum, we headed to the train station where I would head back to London and Jef headed back to Belgium.

The longest bus ride

2010-05-01T01:17:00.000-07:00

Day 2: The Long Bus Ride
I took my time getting up for my 2nd day in town. Eventually I made it 1 stop from where I was staying in Bayswater to Nottinghill Gate. Yes, I only wanted to go because I absolutely love the movie Nottinghill. I didn’t go to any of the places shown in the movie, but I managed to check out a museum, a little shopping, and lunch with a friend.

I started at the Museum of Brands. I read online that the museum was hard to find and the reviews didn’t disappoint. Even with my GPA in tow, I still walked around in circles before stopping Larry, a black man from St. Lucia. After I found the place, I took a tour of a very empty, dark, but interesting little museum. The museum was as the name suggests: a museum for brands, advertising, and marketing. The museum was divided by years such as the 1910’s, 1950’s, etc. However, there were some brands represented that have been around since the 1700’s like Guinness Stout. It was interesting to see how marketing and advertising through the years wasn’t limited to selling an item or promoting a brand, but it was also representative of the social and political climate of the time (although the museum was mainly from the British perspective). For those into marketing (which I’m not) it is interesting to see how advertising has progressed from drawings and sketches on boxes or posters to the digital age of today.

This museum also took advantage of the opportunity to talk about sustainability with the materials used in the products today, particularly the packaging. They also debunked the myth that aerosol cans are bad for the environment. According to the museum, aerosol cans no longer emit harmful fumes that are linked to leaving a hole in the ozone. Who knew?

After the museum, I walked to the famous Portobello market. Since it was a weekday the streets were not very crowded. I walked up and down the street trying to find something unique and that I would be glad I purchased. Portobello market reminds me of parts of the Village when the streets are crowded with vendors. Other than the knock-off LeSport bag I purchased, I didn’t find much that I wanted to spend my money on.

After shopping, I met a friend for lunch at a chain called Nandu. Nandu was an open and airy chicken restaurant – a chain, but not like Kentucky Fried Chicken. After catching up and having my answers questioned about British manners, being informed about the upcoming election of the prime minster, and talking about black culture, I headed towards Goldsmiths University where I have applied for Grad School. Yes. I already went to Graduate School – but I’m going again. And no – it’s not really about loving school as much as realizing what I need to do in order to be closer to doing something I’m passionate about. I will save my rants about finding and achieving passions for another blog, but back to London.

Before heading to Goldsmiths, my friend and I stop at a pub for a drink. Thereafter, I’m put off on the bus and it had to be the longest bus ride I’ve ever taken in my life. As a side bar, the buses are all double-decker buses and extremely nice. At this point, I realize that my shoes are in fact not sensible and my feet are killing me.

I got to Goldsmiths an hour later than expected and meet with the head of the department. We had a very interesting conversation which ranged from talking about the death of Socrates, healthcare in America, the program, and politics in the U.K. I will admit, I did most of the listening. The professor was undoubtedly brilliant.
I left Goldsmiths, which is located in New Cross (South East London) and headed towards Central London where I was late for happy hour. I met three young ladies who were part of the Goldman Sachs fellows program. I don’t recall the specifics nor do I know the exact name of the program, but the purpose of the program is to recruit and engage minorities in the investment world. Having worked in the investment/banking/finance field for 10 years, I can confirm that not only are African Americans underrepresented, but women are also underrepresented. After enjoying a glass a Champaign and great conversation, I headed back to my hotel in the rain where I ordered pizza from Pizza hut and crashed while watching Napoleon Dynamite on 1 of the 4 stations that my TV provided.

What can I say? My 2nd day was not “touristy”. Other than a picture of the outside of the museum, I didn’t take any other pictures. My 2nd day was really about business. I almost felt like a Londoner – ok not really. I still can’t figure out the currency here. The biggest coin is worth the least amount of money. How does that work really?

European Vacation - Day 1

2010-04-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

And so my 2nd European vacation begins as I step off the airplane at London Heathrow’s busy airport. I wait in line anxiously for border control rehearsing what I would stay and when it was my turn I fumbled my way through “what is the purpose of your visit”? What was the purpose of my visit? Visit friends, romance, visit schools, work, site seeing? I suppose all of those things are true, but how much weight do I give to any one thing to determine what the sole purpose of my trip was. After showing extra documentation and explaining how I would pay for school if accepted, I was let through the border patrol lines.

I stumbled clumsily with my bags out of the airport and into the express train towards center city London where I would be staying. The train system was not only easy to use, but clean, had streaming news media and free WIFI. By the time I managed to log on and update my Face Book status, the train had come to a halt at the Paddington Tube station.

After a little deliberation and consulting the station workers, I purchased my rail pass. It was $3 more than what I calculated on-line – already missing my budget! I planned meticulously for this trip; laboring for hours on a budget, what sites I would see, and how I would get around. While I was obsessed with it, I find having a plan makes being in a foreign place so much easier. It’s fairly obvious from the time I open my mouth that I am American, but I have so far avoided the “lost traveler” look. You know the one – where the traveler is standing in the way of everything with a map – looking left and then right like a deer caught in headlights. I avoided that to a certain extent, but my inner Bridgett Jones surfaced. Usually poised, confident, and in control, I found myself dropping my luggage, running into people, and becoming a clumsy version of myself. I was lost in a sea of people. My trip to the hotel reminded me of being in New York; everyone was a mission. I had to keep up or nearly get trampled on. It seemed a good amount of people were annoyed at people dragging their bags and taking up space in the walkway. I also felt a tad of confusion with regards to what side of the street to walk on. We drive on the right. Naturally, we are conditioned to walk on the right side of the sidewalk. Since the Brits drive on the left, I thought it was natural to walk on the left. I still haven’t figured that part out, but it seems no matter what side of the walk I found myself on, people were unrelenting about yielding to passerby’s.

I made it to my hotel with no problems; it was short walk from the Bayswater tube station. The hotel was nestled in an interesting neighborhood – residential, yet packed with small, boutique hotels. Even the Best Western looks like a bed and breakfast. The hotels are very unassuming and fairly unnoticeable unless you are looking for them. I walked right past it. My room was unavailable upon arrival and so I decided to find some British gastronomy. I finally settled on Café Mooca that had an advertisement outside of the door promoting a full British breakfast for 4.95.

After a few minutes, I’m greeted with a full British Breakfast: tea of course, sunny side up eggs, bacon, sausage, pork and beans, a million mushrooms, toast, and a small plum tomato. It was not a combination of food that I would have thought to put together or one that I have eaten in the past. I hardly ever eat mushrooms, but as the saying goes, “when in rome…” (You know the rest).

I settled in my room and slept off some of the jet lag and ventured out again for dinner. As I walked up and down the street, I fell in love with this neighborhood. It reminded me of Park Slope Brooklyn. It was very diverse and had a heavy Middle Eastern and Asian influence. While I normally don’t mind doing things a lone, I couldn’t help but wish I had someone to walk the streets with and debate over a restaurant of choice. The weather was, as I heard on the news, unseasonably warm, and the skies were clear. After much debate, I opted for a burger joint; the Gourmet Burger Kitchen. For the foodies, it was an opportunity to get burgers with interesting toppings and add-ons such as eggs. I opted for the most plane burger I could find without mayo or relish and a Becks beer. Don’t ask me why I ordered a German Beer or a beer that I hardly ever drink, but I felt compelled to order a beer with my burger and fries!

After my burger and fries, I went to bed!

Until tomorrow….

3 Sentence Commentary

2010-02-03T16:05:00.000-08:00

I decided to give commentary about a few things that have been on my mind since the last time I wrote a blog entry. Staying true to the name of my blog, these commentaries will be about any and everything, but the twist is they will be 3 sentences or less...

1) An Education - The movie
A movie about an affair between a con man/pedophile and a teenage, oxford bound girl. Set in London, this movie deals with decisions that are plagued by common sense and matters of the heart. What I love most about this movie is the main character is the perfect embodiment of me: reads existentialist books, is a dreamer, educated, and has an appreciation for arts and culture.

2) Obama
Since America is a Democracy Obama cannot just enforce his will, snap his fingers, and it will be done. Sorry to inform you, but he is human and he is not God. Also, you can't rate a person on what they have done or not done in only 1 year of office when he has years of history to try to reverse.

3) Why so many black women are single
I'm tired of all the statistics and polls. I think black women need to broaden their horizons and expand their dating pool in addition to getting rid of some of these silly requirements that really don't account to whether or not a man is a good man or not.

4) Advice
I wish people would stop giving unsolicited advice. If I ask for advice that is one thing, but don't give me advice on my career or relationship when I haven't asked. And no matter how much advice you give to someone, they are just going to do their own thing so you are really wasting your time giving advice.

5) A Serious Man - the Movie
A seriously weird movie from the Cohen Brothers. I can't even tell you what this movie is about other than tornado's, Jewish people, bribes, and affairs. Quite a few people walked out of the theatre before the midway point so keep an open mind.

6)The Millionaire Matchmaker - the show
I love this show. Not only do they give great dating advice, they also offer help by way of life coaches, counseling sessions, and makeovers to the men in the club. I also love the rules of the club like 2-drink limit and the man can't have sex with anyone in the club until they are in a monogamous relationship.

7) The Barnes Foundation
Great private collection of art (mostly impressionist art) just outside of Philadelphia. Deeply sad to see it leave its location to go to center city Philadelphia where I believe the charm will be completely lost. The collection is large and exhausting - plan to go on two different trips to see everything in its greatness.

8) Serial Taggers
Annoying - knock it off. Facebook is my personal web page. I choose what pictures I want to include and while I don't mind an occasional tag, some people are out of hand tagging every picture they can find of you.

9) Wine snob
Since my boyfriend is European I have become a wine snob and while I have snuffed at wine in a box, it is much cheaper and in some instances the taste is comparable to wine from a bottle. You don't have to pay much for a good bottle of wine anymore and even good wines are coming uncorked (i.e. screw topped). But please try to mind the temperatures of the wine - whites get put in the fridge and reds do not (as a general rule).

10) IFC - Independent Film Channel - when trying to be deep goes wrong
While being Indie is cool these days just like being green and sustainable, I think that certain flicks are trying to be too indie and are just complete garbage and a waste of time. Coincidentally, two of those films I watched recently were put out by the IFC. One of those films was My Effortless Brilliance (don't waste your time under any circumstances) and Melancholy for Medicine (only if you don't pay for it).

Cafe Soho

2009-12-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

Cafe Soho was So not

First of all, this review is biased. Let's get that out of the way upfront. I do not like Asian food. No matter how many times I try, I just can't seem to wrap my taste buds around the spices, sauces, or strange meat (even shrimp from Asian restaurants tastes utterly strange to me). There are exceptions to my rule i.e. Penang. Also, I will devour a good bowl of fried rice any day.I've passed by Cafe Soho every day to and from work. It's situated on 468 W Cheltenham Avenue in what may be called Olney or Melrose Park. I noticed it was always open late and always crowded. From the outside, it looked like a cozy, bubbling place. I searched online and was not able to find a website for this establishment, but was able to find numerous reviews on yelp and other websites. All the reviews were great with the main attraction being the wings. Many reviewers did indicate the wings were pricey, but well worth the price. The establishment was less than 10 minutes from my house and rather than going to McDonalds or Wendy's, I thought I would give it a try.

As I entered into Cafe Soho, I was really confused. It was nice, cozy, and dark. However, I wasn't sure what vibe the place was going for. The name "Soho" reminds me of the poshness that one can find in the Soho section of New York, but this was not posh. The seating was a mix of what looked like antique old benches/tables with modern cafe seating. I couldn't tell if the music was Asian Hip Hop or Spanish Hip Hop, but after a while it all sounded the same and was rather enjoyable. All the workers were young, Asian, hip and very stylish - except the cook appeared to be Hispanic. My partner was even more perplexed. As we received the menu my head spun. Gordon Ramsay would be astonished. The menu was written in Korean with an English subtitle. There were a few tiny pictures and there were no descriptions of the meal. Instead, it said something like, "Seafood fry". Well....what seafood is included, does it come with rice, etc. After debating over the menu longer than I had any menu, I opted for the fried wings with a sauce similar to bbq and my partner has the seafood fry. You can't go wrong with wings, I thought. The menu was utterly weird. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason. There were items from $10 to $149 or more, but we weren't able to understand what the $149 meal option was. Was this a meal for a family of 10? They also had bar food snacks with a price of $15. What exactly is that? If you didn't want the Asian fare, you could have opted for spaghetti or chicken fingers.

Finally our food came. The wings looked normal. I think most people would find the wings tasty. After eating 5 (out of the 10), the sauce got to be too much and made me sick to my stomach. However, I would certainly recommend them. They were big and a tad spicy. The meal also came with diced radishes which I mistook as mellons. I took a bite of one and spit it out. At no time did they mention what was in the bowl until I asked when paying for the bill. The seafood fry....well - that was interesting. His dish came out on a platter and resembled a frittata or pizza. It was a mix of vegetables of all sorts and seafood fried together with flour and water. There was octopus, shrimp, calamari, and something with legs. All he could say was "interesting". He ate more than 1/2 of it, which led me to believe that it wasn't that bad and if you are a seafood fan, than maybe this dish could provide more variety and flair than something like seafood fried rice.

The experience became even stranger when I asked for water. The waitress brought a Rubbermaid personal drinking bottle to the table. I don't know if this was bottled tap, bottled purified water or what, but I have never seen water in a restaurant served in plastic Rubbermaid drinking bottles.

Finally the bill came. I nearly fell out of my seat. $35!!!!! Okay let's rewind, two dishes, 1 beer, 1 coke, and a $1.00 side of rice. After leaving a tip, we spent $40 for the night. All of that was not worth $40. Perhaps $20. I only recommend this place if you are a die hard Asian food fan and if you are into Asian wings. Also, this place seems best for large groups. The portion sizes are huge. Will I go back again? Probably not.

Charcoal Grill and Coffee

2009-12-02T12:36:00.000-08:00

The Charcoal Grill and Coffee is a new Middle Eastern restaurant nestled in the unexpectedly diverse Lawncrest neighborhood (Nearer Northeast Philadelphia) on Rising Sun Avenue. Across the street from the cafe is a Filipino restaurant and on the next block headed north is a great West Indian restaurant called the Flavor Spot. Previous to the Charcoal Grill taking up shop on 6321 Rising Sun Ave, a Bubble Tea house resided and failed. Before that, another establishment. This location has changed guards no less than three times in the three plus years that I have lived in this neighborhood. In order to be successful, Charcoal Grill must overcome the geographic hardship that has plagued those in the past.

The restaurant has been open for three months according to one of the Yemeni workers. However, every time I pass by, it is completely empty. For some reason, I felt a sudden urge to help out the local business (although I am admittedly un-inclined to try cuisines outside of my routine of pancakes, tuna fish, and iced tea.). In college, I was the president of the Arabic Club and even participated in an international food night. So one would think this restaurant would be right up my alley. At the very least, I thought to myself, I would go in and show off what Arabic I remembered while browsing the menu.

I recently entertained some friends from Europe and pondered where I could take them to show them "Philly" and get a taste of Philadelphia fare. Cheesesteaks immediately came to mind, but I wanted to introduce them to the diversity that Philadelphia has to offer. Not wanting to fight traffic or an overpriced menu, I stayed local and thought about Charcoal Grill. I searched online to find a website for the restaurant, but I came up with nothing. Finally, I was able to come up with one review. To my surprise, I found out the restaurant has Hookah in the basement. I was sold!

The Charcoal Grill is spared a lot of frills. When you walk in, there are a few tables situated in front of the counter. For the most part, it looks like a take-out joint. I told the man behind the counter that we wanted to do the hookah and he led us downstairs. We sat at a table and waited for him to bring us out a "pipe". While we waited, we were able to enjoy some authentic Middle Eastern music. Shortly after we arrived, the same man changed the CD to a mixed CD with Celine Dion and Sara Mclachlan-ish type music. I can only guess that my arrival with two Caucasian males prompted this man to play this type of music. After a few songs elapsed, I kindly asked him to put the original music back on.

Midway through our smoking a group of men emerged from a side room. So... not only can you Hookah, but you can Hookah in private AND you can Hookah with a large group. This trek out to the Charcoal Grill was simply to case the joint out. We only ordered mint tea (which tasted like Lipton with an excessive amount of sugar). However, I promise to go back and get something from their very inexpensive menu like Kabab's for $8.00. They also offer free delivery, late night dining, and Arabic lessons (or at least the man offered those lessons to me).

A Gratuitous Affair

2009-11-01T20:01:00.000-08:00

A Gratuitous affair

If you want to know how to ruin an otherwise perfect night out with friends, just ask for the bill. No sooner does the check come to the table do people scramble like roaches when the lights come on. Nervous stares are exchanged across the table, people stare at the bill as if it’s written in Japanese, and all of a sudden everyone forgets what they ordered and just ate. Tired of getting stuck with a larger than anticipated bill on numerous occasions, I thought I would offer a few tips on eating out with groups.

1) If you know where you will be eating ahead of time, call the restaurant and ask if they will allow for separate checks. If not, arrive early and let the wait staff know that you may need to leave early and therefore you will need a separate tab.

2) Lie! Explain that you are traveling for business and need a separate, itemized receipt with only your purchases. If you do need to leave early, make sure you let someone know that you have cleared your portion of the bill and explain how much you are leaving and for what. I have found that people leave early and while they have graciously left money, they don’t leave enough.

3) Bring cash. I find that at the end of the night, deciding how much goes on what card is a hassle as well. Cash saves time and it also eliminates the need for people to say, “Just put it all on your card and take the cash”. If you do bring cash, don’t bring a $50. Making change when the bill arrives is a pain. I am guilty of NOT bringing cash and never having change – something I’m going to work on in 2010.

4) The cost of your meal is not just the salmon and the glass of wine! Make sure you have enough to cover your purchase, gratuity, AND taxes. While you may opt to not to pay a tip while dining alone, large groups often incur mandatory gratuity. Gratuity is normally around 15%-20%. Sales tax is the applicable tax rate in your city. If you are not able to leave enough for the tax and the tip, stay home. But if you just have to go out, order something less expensive. Many cell phones have gratuity calculators so you can determine how much you should leave. If not, any basic calculator will do: $10 meal + 1.06(10) (assuming a 6% sales tax) + 1.20(10) (assuming 20% gratuity). This means that you should leave at a minimum $12.60 or $13 if you round up to the nearest dollar.

5) Milestones – many of us enjoy taking our friends out for their birthday or other important milestones such as engagement or new job. Make sure everyone knows that they will be contributing money towards the dinner. Preferably, this should be agreed to before the outing. It’s not fair for 2 people to contribute and 10 other people are sitting at the table staring at their empty dinner plates. If you can’t afford to contribute, stay home. Regretfully decline the invitation and think of other ways to celebrate your friend like cooking a meal at home or taking them out when you do have enough money to treat.

6) Order everything you want because we will split the bill down the middle – NO. I don’t believe in ordering the whole menu and then splitting the bill in half. If you wish to partake in this, all dinner attendees should be made aware of this in advance. It’s not fair to have the person on the budget (which is usually me) ordering a small, modest meal that they can afford and then have to pay 2 or 3 times their meal price because everyone else ordered alcoholic beverages, every meat on the menu, every alcoholic beverage on the menu, and 2 deserts each. I had this painful experience once and had to borrow money from a friend to contribute to the bill. Never again! However, one polite dinner attendee asked the wait staff to provide him with a separate bill for his alcoholic drinks because he felt it wasn’t fair to make the whole table pay for his drinks. I will admit, splitting the bill down the middle is easy and if the bill is modest, I prefer this rather than sitting with the pen, paper, and calculator in hand trying to figure out how much each person spent.

These are just a few of the pains that I have experienced over the past few years. If anyone else has any other tips that they would want to share, please pass along.

Unresolved Love

2009-10-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

I wrote this about 10 years ago. I have written a lot of things about "Mark"who is a fictionalized character of someone I know. I can't quite describe our relationship over the years. I often refer to him as my "first love". Then because we kept meeting again and again at different times in history, I kept saying my "unresolved love". For now..."Unresolved Love" will have to stick until I come up with something better. The original story was much longer, but I cut it down so that I could submit it to an NPR contest. Tonight I found an old journal from 2006 which had some more stories about "Mark". So here is part I in the Unresolved Love series. Look for the rest in the days to follow.

The preacher said a prayer as the casket was lowered into the ground. As I paid my respects to the family, I recognized a familiar face in the crowd. Mark walked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He and Tommy were cousins, but close like brothers. We haven't seen each other in years, but ever so slowly, we gravitated towards each other. Just before I reached my car, we met face-to-face. He gave a slight smile and a strong embrace. At that moment, it felt like we had never been apart. At 25, standing in the wintery cold, I was brought back to the place I had been 10 years ago. Our love affair was no different than any other teenage relationship: we met at each other’s locker between classes, stole kisses in the stairwells, and naively thought we would be together the rest of our lives.

“Wow Bree! You all grown up”, he said. “My moms told me you were here. Today hit reeeeaaaal hard man. I’m not tryna end up like Tommy and I can’t imagine seeing my moms go through what Aunt T did today.” A few subtle exchanges turned into an hour conversation where we recounted the highlights of our lives over the past few years; he had two kids, spent a few years locked up, and recently moved back home. I finished college, was a first year MBA student, and worked for a local investment firm. We agreed an hour was not enough time and based on history, there was a chance we may not see each other for years. Thus, there was a sense of urgency in our interaction. Before we parted ways, Mark honestly explained, “Bree, I can’t offer you much. But if you want to go for walks in the park, come over my mom’s house and chill, go to the movies or whatever – we can. I just want to know you again.”Although we had chosen different paths, I felt we were at the same place emotionally and like a school girl I ran to him.

For two months our worlds collided and we breathed life into each other. Our interactions were simple and familiar. I was also convinced that I could make him fall in love with me and in doing so, save him from his past; a past that was filled with broken familial relationships, stints in prison, and addiction to drugs. But I couldn’t save him and the day I lost him is forever stained in my memory.

I dropped Mark home after a few games of pool in town. As I prepared to exit his mom’s development, I noticed a police car lurking in the dark like a predator scoping out its prey. An eerie feeling took over my body and I immediately reached to call Mark, but I smiled to myself and thought about what he always told me, “Baby, I’m not in the streets no more AND I’m clean. You ain't got to worry about nothing. I’m getting my life together for real this time.” Recalling those words provided comfort as I drove home.

The next morning, I was startled by the phone. In a daze I answered, “Hello?” After a short pause, a recording plays, “You have a collect call from Mark.”

Unmatched

2009-10-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

Just 2 days or less than 24 hours after being dumped, I thought I would grab myself up and get back into the dating pool. Approaching 32, I no longer look at the pursuit of dating, marriage, and kids as a marathon, but rather a middle distance race. Yeah, I know Halle and others are making middle-aged moms a fashionable thing to be as of late. However, it has never been my interest to traipse around town at 50 with a 2 year old in tow.

Seeing all the commercials about the success stories and the complexity in matching up people, I decided to try out E-Harmony. My friend told me to stay away because it was super religious and they didn’t accept gays. I’m neither – so I thought I would give it a shot anyway. After filling out a lengthy questionnaire with odd questions I was hit with the “unmatchable” at the end of my survey. I was already feeling down in the dumps after being in two unsuccessful relationships in 1 year and then I was told I was unmatchable. What a hit to my self esteem.

I shared this story with others and they thought it was funny. They made me feel better knowing that they too were unmatchable – whatever that means. So, I’m interested in knowing what dating sites have worked for other people, do you recommend dating sites at all, and what are some tips to help me get back on my feet? – and honestly please don’t tell me prayer. I’m not all that interested in prayer.

Invoice

2009-10-02T12:41:00.000-07:00

I met a guy in February – just a few short weeks after I broke up with my boyfriend. I didn’t mean to meet anyone so quickly and I don’t think that he meant to meet anyone either. We met through a mutual friend on Facebook. We had a lot in common and he completely took me by storm. The e-mails and text messages turned into phone calls and eventually real life visits. Today is the 2nd day of October. As I was gearing up to take my 2nd trip to Belgium to see him, he tells me I can’t come hours before my plane was expected to leave Philadelphia. At this point, I’m not hurt, just angry - ok maybe a tad hurt.

I’m trying to be as calm and cool about the situation as can be, but to a certain extent, I want to match his immaturity – if just for second. So, I managed to get out one dirty e-mail. And then when I got to work I fired off another and then I phoned. The phone message I left was, “I will be sending you my bill”. Yes, I said bill. As I spoke to a friend earlier, she had me laughing hysterically of all the lost costs associated with this relationship; monetarily and non-monetarily. And it’s not just this one, it’s all relationships. I was going to send him this bill in real life, but instead I thought I would use it as a catharsis to get me through a very hard situation and simply blog about it.

Invoice
Dated 10-2-2009
1) Cancelled Plane Ticket = $500-$600
2) Lost wages for 1 week from part time job = $150
3) Phone bill(s) = $500
4) Being a weak man = 8 months of my life I will never get back i.e. priceless
5) Dishonesty = lack of trust, bitter and hardened heart

One thing that I have learned is that you never really get anything back after a relationship. Sometimes you leave valuable things at a person’s house (as I did with my previous boyfriend) and sometimes you spend money on things to never see a return. Unfortunately, we all face that risk and have to chalk it up that our invoice, while valid, may never be honored.

Lessons Learned from September 11

2009-09-09T19:59:00.000-07:00

Originally written on September 8, 2008

Our generation’s “D-Day” or Pearl Harbor is September 11, 2001. This day will resonate in our minds just as that fateful day had a lasting imprint in the minds of generations past. September 11, 2008 marked the 7th year of my re-birth. While many details of that day have escaped me through the years, I carry the lessons I learned daily.

For the first time, I looked death in the eye. Over the years, I experienced the death of close loved ones both young and old. However, I never pictured a time when I would not be on this earth and I lived life like I had all the time in the world. However, September 11, 2001 was a wake-up call. I realized I was on borrowed time and began to walk with a greater sense of purpose. I thought about the legacy I wanted to leave, all the things not yet accomplished, and having deeper, more meaningful relationships with people.

On Purpose
I often struggle with existential questions like, “what’s the meaning of life”, “do I really exist”, or “what is truth”. At times, these questions consume me and spin me into a non productive tailspin. But after September 11, 2001 I stopped asking and started doing. Focusing on the here and now and walking with a greater sense of purpose, I created a mission statement for my life. My mission was to live life to the fullest and to enrich the lives of others in the process. While I countered some level of success before September 11, 2001, I was not able to embrace it or quantify it because I landed on success haphazardly. Now, I am able to match each milestone with the effort and passion that went into achieving that success. Most rewarding is finding an old notebook outlining ideas or goals I set several years before and knowing that I have either crossed those items off the list or am in route to finishing them.

Legacy
One of the hardest memories of September 11 was hearing my mother’s reaction when my boss called and told my family I was in the World Trade Center. My step father described her as so scared and nervous she was unable to hold a glass of water steady in her hand. That visual continues to invoke a stream of emotions within me. Losing a loved one or the thought of losing a loved one is difficult. However, a touch of comfort is added when the bereaved are able to look back and see the type of life one led.

In 2007, a colleague/sorority sister died suddenly in her early 40’s. As I sat at her funeral and read her obituary, I was amazed at how much this woman accomplished in her short life. While a sad and tragic event, I smiled on the inside and thanked God for the seeds he planted in her and in return, the seeds she was able to sow in various people. She had a solid purpose for her life, devoted her time and energy to various causes, and left a lasting impression in the hearts and minds of her peers, surrounding community, and family. To me, she is the epitome of what leaving a legacy means and I strive daily to walk in the footsteps of women like her.

Appreciation for life
After September 11, I began viewing people and life with a completely different lens. I transformed from having shallow, surface relationships with people to having deeper, more meaningful relationships. I let my guard down in order to let people in and cast some names into the sea of forgiveness. Over the years, massive weight has been lifted off of my shoulder. Not to say that new challenges have not risen, but I have carried those burdens differently and am still perfecting the "forgive and move on" aspect! There is just a tad more urgency in my interactions (some would say I can be a tad rash with regards to certain things) and I’ve become more deliberate in all that I do. I refuse to live with regrets anymore or to look back wishing I would have said, “I love you”, “I’m sorry”, or “I forgive you”.

I have witnessed that time is in fact precious. For me, it was only a matter of 30-45 minutes that saved my life. A few weeks ago, I saw a tag-line on my friends MySpace page and it read, “Making my wish lists into to do lists.” It was such a powerful statement and a wake-up call. I had been running in place for a while and needed to be re-energized. Often times, we become stagnant and complacent. While there will always be minor obstacles in the way (timing or lack of resources for example), we should never let those minor things get in the way of at least working towards our dreams and goals for we never know what tomorrow has promised.

Julie & Julia

2009-09-07T20:01:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to see Julie & Julia this past weekend. The movie was two-fold; a glimpse into famous chef Julia Child’s life and a woman who was on the search to complete a book of Julia’s recipes in one year. I totally related to Julie: government employee by day and an aspiring writer by night. She never finished anything and was growing increasingly numb by her day-to-day job. Encouraged by her husband, she began a blog combining her two passions: cooking and writing. In the end, the blog proved successful as it was turned into a book and ultimately a feature film.

The movie mostly spanned the time when Julia Child’s lived in France with her husband; detailing her struggles to enroll in male dominated schools, fitting into a new culture (not speaking the language), and her quest to get her book published. I only knew Julia Child’s from her TV show and spoofs on various television shows, but the movie shed a new light on an American icon. She lived an extraordinary life and is an inspiration to all women: following dreams, breaking boundaries, and determination.

It was because of this movie that I sat down and started my blog (which has been on the back burner of my "to do" list for a long time).

Please note, I did not read the book.

Paul Mitchell's "The Detangler"

2009-09-07T19:20:00.000-07:00

Thank you Paul Mitchell! Yesterday I purchased and used Paul Mitchell’s “The Detangler”. This product is a conditioner that promises to instantly detangle your hair. Ever since cutting off my relaxed hair, over a year ago, I have used many products geared for natural hair and most of them have failed miserably.

My roommate, who is also relaxer free, has a bottle of “Generic Detangler” in the shower (the generic brand can be found at Sallie’s Beauty Supply). After using both the generic and the real deal, the results were immediate and promising. My tight curls immediately became loose and I was able to pull a comb through my hair effortlessly and painlessly (with minimal hair loss in my comb). The best part was after the wash; blow drying my hair in a record time of 10 minutes.

As many women of color know the act of washing your own hair is a laborious task that can take 2 or more hours. Being able to part and blow dry my hair in 10 minutes eliminated 30-45 minutes from my hair regiment. For anyone in dire need of a hair care product, I strongly recommend Paul Mitchell.

Now, I’m on the hunt for a good moisturizer and shampoo. As of now, I use Olive Oil and Garnier Fructose.