I made it to Paris, safely...

The time right now is 2.38am in Paris, France.
I got here yesterday.



It was a journey.

From Brooklyn to Newark.
I trekked -
Duffle bag,
suit case,
laptop bag.

C train to Chambers Street.
Transfer -
Ground Zero makes me think...
takes me back...
I think about the place I was when I heard the news...
AP European History at Point Loma High School, 1st period.
I am headed to Europe and seeing history, making history, being history.
Europe bound - how ironic? Very.

I realize it's been Jersey since I was on the the Path train.
On my sidekick 2 I sent "au revoir" text messages, emails, AIM messages,
Stale memories of a love concluded.
I purchase my train ticket.
I wait for the Newark bound Path Train at the World Train Center stop.
Serenity.
A black woman with blonded and black hair and a gold tooth in the front of her mouth -
"Suga, where you going?"
"Paris."
"Really? For what?"
"Yes, studying black Americans in Paris."
"We in Paris?"
"You damn right."
"Well, I don't know you - and I am proud of you."
"Thank you"
"Now, don't you go over there and get in trouble or have no babies."
"*laugh*Those two definitely won't happen."
--If she only knew--
She smiles and walks away.
I rest my head against the metal pole and think.
It's getting real.
Train comes.
I board.

Duffle bag has rubbed my open arm from my tank top raw.
I need some A&D or something.
The excitiment made me not think.
Newark.
I text Janet.
I catch a cab.
I go inside.
She welcomes me with open arms.
I have no gifts to bear.
We chat.
We share.
He.
He.
Less than a day away of a lifetime change - 5 weeks studying in Paris.
A summer in Europe.
Visiting my Brazilian family in Italy.
Norway where the sun doesn't go down.
Red sungas in Nice.
Gay Pride in Gay Paree!
History unloaded and unlocked - overwhelming.
Black Paris.
Paris Noir.
The agency of black.
The fluidity of black.
A nap away.
Janet rests.
I sit.
I think.
I miss.
Ideas of home unclear.
A nomad in every sense of the word.
My connection lies in not connecting, or so it seems.
A survivor of many things.

3:00am my watch alarm goes off.
The little boy at the orphanage in Chennai set it.
Reminds me of him.

I awake and Janet is gone leaving me keys and free range to the fridge.
I walk around the house in my speedos.
Reminds me of Natalia's uncle when I met him for the 1st time in Bahia.
Freedom.

I call someone.
They call back.
I am happy.
I speak to my mother, next.
Blessings given.

Everything seems intact.
I confronted shade in my stay.
I used it as fuel and understand it.
It's not me.
I close that chapter.
Growth.

I fill my water bottle an trek.
Door locked.
Headed to Bloomfield Station.
HOT AS BALLS OUTSIDE!
Striped tee.
Rock and Republic jeans.
HOT!
I catch the train to City Hall.
However, not before I encounter the expected asshole.
Draped in a police uniform.
Hiding behind a badge.
"Ticket please."
I hand it over.
"Get off on the next stop, you don't have a stamp."
"Stamp? For What?"
"You know you need a stamp"
"I don't."
"You do. Just get off."
I think.
I sit.
Waiting.
Bags sitting in front of me - ALL 4!
His partner.
"Whose bags?"
"Mine."
"Going or coming?"
Does it matter? - I think.
"Going"
"Really? Where?"
None of your FUCKING business - I think.
"Paris."
*I left my sunglasses from my eyes to my bald head which is more dry than hot and sweaty.*
"Hmm...Really? For what?"
Interrogation? - I think.
"To study."
"That's cool."
His morale shifts.
I look out the window.
"Ok, get off."
His partner.
"Why does he have to get off?"
I continue to look out of the window.
"Because he doesn't have a stamp."
"He's fine."
"He needs a stamp."
"Well, hold the train and we'll get it."
He smiles and tells me to get my ticket.
He holds the train and inquires about my tattoos.
5 sparrows on my left wrist.
Every 5,000 nautical miles traveled is one sparrow - Semester at Sea did 26,000.
My rites of passage.
Sparrows signify so much - close to home.
I made it home - whatever this means.
I saw a lot, ate a lot, experienced a lot.
Not just for me.
To bring with me.
My dialogue.
My smile.
My tears.
My sense.
My questions.
My love.
My passions.
My me.
All parts of me.
He is blown away.
"That's awesome. You have safe time in France. I look foreward to reading about you."
"I'm flattered. One day."
I give him an article.
The one I wrote.
The diaspora.
It impacts us all.
Not just displaced people of African descent sprinkled around the world.
Cell phone officially disconnected.
I am happy.
Never thought I'd see the day.

Newark Penn Station.
5 blocks N. and 3 blocks W.
One tank top, Calvin Klein underwear, and R&R jeans drenched in sweat.
Monsoon style.
I look a sweaty mess walking in City Hall.
I see her.
Janet and Torres take me to the airport.
Laughs, jokes, double checks of what's needed.
Funny photos and plentiful kisses.
We part ways.
It gets real.
I check in - Lufthansa Airlines.
Plane ticket a week before.
It's reality.
Boarding pass and a smile.
Metal detectors.

Money exchange.
My roommate.
Happenstance?
Same flight.
We sit.
We talk.
We are on the same flight.
We journey together.
Only 2 guys in the program of 14.

Boarding
Dumb tired.
Actually, stupid doo doo dumb tired.
I crash upon seating.
Aisle seat.
In the stuart's way.
I awake.
My neighbor is nice.
We introduce ourselves.
She shares her Riesen chocolate.
She's headed home to Germany for the Eurocup.
Happy.
I see it.
I feel it.
I bask in it.
We talk and open up.
Life.
Travel.
Identity.
Sex.
No sex.
We drink wine.
We get lit.
Things are funnier.
Words are more intense.
I can see the words.
I can feel the words.
We open up.
We fall asleep.
We eat.
We talk more.
We photograph together.
We will be in touch upon my return and hers.
September is when I set foot on US soil, again.

We land in Dusseldorf (total sp?)
We part.
A kiss on each cheek.

Transfer.
Re-connect with Calvin.
We talk about our connections with our neighbors.
Trying to figure out the European adaptors to charge our computers.
Fuck it.
Wait til we get to Paris.
Get to Paris?
Wow.
Insanity, still.

A shuttle takes us to the smaller plane.
I am still taking it in.
But now, I am tired.
Time zones got me.

We board.
I sit by the window.
I nap.

We arrive to Paris.
It's a BEAUTIFUL airport.
I am like a kid in a candy store.
The escalators.

The Amazing Race.
Bags and suitcases in toe.
I have his stuff and he has mine.
We've known each other forever - or so it seems.
We see words in French.
I can cuss here?
Gee Whiz!
Because "excuse my french."
No need to be excused here.
"Damn, Spanish has come in handy and so has Portuguese...but I know absolutely no french accept shit like..well, my name and petit fomage. Yes, Little Cheese! I say "Child Cheese" and "Niño Quesito."
lol.
I digress.
Our goal is to get from the airport to Place d'Italie.
It almost felt like America's Next Top Model.
Be there at a certain time, check in, and meet everybody.
It was fun.
A really nice and cute guy - Eram - showed us how to get our tickets for the Metro.
yeah, simple like MTA (NYC's transit) but this is all in French.
Sweet guy.
We start our journey.
Standing at the base of the platform waiting for the train.
We look at maps and then look at each other.
Laugther.
We made it.
An older light skinned woman who kind of looked like the women in my family.
I hold up the map and ask her and she unloads a mouthful of French.
And automatically I respond in Spanish - don't know why.
And we laugh.
Thank God for maps.
She is going that way.
She holds onto the map.
We use our hands and body language to communicate.
She is from Martinique.
She is in town for a 6 day vacation.
She inquires about us.
Calvin has a French phrase book.
We remember on the train.
Train arrives.
She grabs my bag and motions for us to hurry up.
We get on.
I look around...
comparing and contrasting NYC's train system to Japan's to DC's/
I realize I am a traveller.
I realize I have always yearned to be.
Though it's been a fight.
It's me.
I love it.
A lot cleaner.
She sits and smiles.
She tells me that we have "Sept" stops before we get to our destination where we change trains.
Calvin pulls out his phrasebook.
We scan the pages.
I point to phrases and she responds.
She gives me her mailing address.
I pocket it.
An incentive to now speak French.
Homage.
African Diaspora.
A distant relative.
Our stop -
We transfer.
She guides us.
Holding my globe printed knock off Le Sportsac bag - Pro Sport Sac purchased at Hong Kong night marker 2 months ago.
WILD!
She makes us take out our train tickets to transfer.
Calvin searches.
We are tired, anxious.
He finds it.
She squares us away.
Placing my bag on my shoulder - it's now sturdy.
She positions me in front of the aisle so I can get through easily.
She puts my ticket in and pushes me through and hands me my ticket.
Next, Calvin.
Round II.
She makes sure we have everything.
Kisses blown.
Nothing lost in translation.
Love.

Surreality.

We wait for the train to Place d'Italie.

We sit.

We take it in.

We get on the train with lots of luggage.

We get to Place d'Italie and look at our route.

STAIRS FOR DAYS!

We pump in with bags that carry our lives for at least 5 weeks in Paris.

Going up and not looking back.

We hit the streets.

We are in Paris!

2 black men from the Midwest.
Kansas City, MO
Chicago

My life with me.
We find our apartment for the summer - Cite d'Italie.

No longer an email away.
A phone call away.
A statement away.
Now, a reality.


More to come...



Ms. Acomat of Martinique. An angel.

Time for bed.


au revoir,
ADS