Zulu, Xhosa, English, American, Capetonian, black, African, Table Mountain, townships, music, dance, Robben Island, Waterfront, Green Point, Green Market Flea Market, Enslavement, Europe, disconnection, apartheid, gay, shade, cool, wind, love, blank, beads, bush, manhood, womanhood, tradition, struggle, sunset, Exclusive Bookstore, Bahamadia, New York City, Midwest, San Diego, California, disbelief, belief, Africana, ignorance, Malawi, ocean, Coloureds, accent(s), exoticism, oppression, scenery, wine, class, negotiation, yearning, truth, validation, coarse, thick, identical, World Cup, 2010, colonization, repetition, amnesty, Castle, Appletizer, Toyi Toyi, fuck it, thoughtful, COMPLEX, identity, co-exist, co-habit, rand, dollar, patience, self-fulfilling prophet(s), braids, influence, Wood fire, import, circumnavigate, smile, hurt, repression, global, spiritual, sexual, financial, sensual, siblings, peace, disdain, antipathy, question, worry, passport, unknown, familiar, food, HIV/AIDS, health, strategic, divide, dependence, rejection, re-build, oblivious, ignored, confused, speechless, frustrated, speechless, awe, spell bound, brilliant, royal, scents, feelings, numb, alone, lonely, free, liberated, restricted, perform, relationship, interaction, gray = black and white, murky, seals, elant, experience, Bronx, Beulah, Pride, (mis)educate, rage, beauty, fierce, future, past, present, liaison, currency…
These are the words that I wrote while free writing immediately after leaving Cape Town. Right now, it is 3/6/08 and the time is 2:07am. I am sitting and thinking – as I listen to the Mauritian National Anthem plays in my ipod. We left Mauritius, now, 2 days ago. I really enjoyed Mauritius.
Cape Town…1st I must mention the young lady that really made my trip special – Ms. Lerato. I met Lerato at her place of work while asking how to get to a bar/club to meet up with friends. She was so got damn funny and we immediately said we’d have to hangout. After using 4 pages of my planner to describe how to get to Bronx nightclub she gave me her cell and told me that she wanted me to go to a concert with her.
- Rewind –
The first day off of the ship I went to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were incarcerated under seriously harsh conditions. I initially didn’t know how to feel. I am an emotionally honest person, often I feel to a fault, so I wanted to make sure that I brought myself completely. Compliments of educators like Tchaiko Kwayana and Maryemma Graham I have been aware of the Apartheid Act - google it, and the impact of Nelson Mandela.
After the 15-20 minute boat ride from the mainland to Robben Island I stood in silence. I couldn’t speak. I first of all was still trying to take in the fact that I was in Africa, period. The fact that the stress and strain of making this happen this past semester showed me that each day of sea sickness, each tinge of loneliness, every annoyed thought of having to write a paper, every moment of being frustrated by financial circumstances all made sense as I stood on the small boat that seated about 15 people, tops. I remember vividly wondering how it must have felt to be Steve Biko or Mandela to unwillingly have to take the same ride to this island that treated them less than human. The entire voyage on Semester at Sea, especially through the Middle Passage, makes me think of how I travel willingly where my ancestors didn’t even know where they were going. But before I go on a tangent I must finish. So as the boat actually pulls into Robben Island which is now a full out tourist affair I just try and brace myself. We all (students and faculty) board buses that have big glass windows and no air conditioning. Right above the top of the bus is the entrance of Robben Island and though it looks like it has been touched up it still gives me the feeling of uneasiness. Not even 200 meters into the prison area, which is actually a small town, we have to pump our breaks to let a small black penguin cross. It was adorable. It was bizarre to see this penguin crossing the street in Africa. It almost sounds like a bad joke…”what did the bus driver that saw the black penguin crossing the street in Africa…?” –drum roll- Exactly, I digress. But after that we begin to get the spiel about the island and its history. Initially, Robben Island is where the folks that suffered from Leprosy would be hauled off. We were shown the quarters in which the inmates had to work mining limestone for 8-12 hours a day (hours aren’t exact). It was so intense to see. Then we finally made it to the quarters in which the inmates and Mandela occupied. First, I must share that there was a moment in which I was fuckin scared as hell. So those who know me know that I am not a scary person but I can be frightened fairly easily. So the acoustics in the prison were fierce. Our guide was incarcerated during the same time as Mandela and as we were leaving one of the rooms, not cell, he slams the door and it rips through the hallways. I am so glad that I didn’t have diarrhea from the food in S. Africa because I wouldn’t have had it just oozing down my leg. Talking about scaring the shit out of someone. But in all honesty, it really startled me. But he didn’t use a lot of force, it was just the way it was built. And he mentioned that he’d hear that all the time – morning, noon, night, ALL THE TIME! Mentally, that will get to someone. And fortunately for me my mind seems to operate in some type of matrix or matrices format so I feel like Raven Simone on the show “That’s so Raven” when she just zones out and envisions things. So in that moment I imagined these prisoners being frustrated, and just living in hurt on so many levels. The guide also mentioned that when letter were written to them that they would get letter, but not the body of it. Yes! The actually body of the letter would be cut out. So it will read like “ Dear Johnny, … Love, Moma.” Where the “…’s” are will cut out. Can you imagine? And when writing letters they’d have to write how “well” they are being treated or the letter wouldn’t make it out. And the main part that really got to me is the fact that this wasn’t LONG AGO! The Apartheid ended like yesterday. I really can’t even form my thoughts on Cape Town and my feelings, yet. I am still in disbelief at things. Shortly after he shared his story with us we had chance to see Manela’s cell. We looked at his garden. I didn’t look; I re-lived. I thought about the fact that he had a red bucket for his using the bathroom. His bed? There wasn’t one. He slept on a mat. I am still going through it as I write, now. I had previously read that the black prisoners had to wear shorts (short pants) and at one point Mandela had the opportunity to wear them but he refused until the rest of the black prisoners did, as well.
FUCK! I can’t even gather my thoughts and it’s frustrating. My friend Jazmine gave me the sweetest S. African house music that gets me on some real chill and reflective type of ish. But as I sit here I can feel the frustration of systematic inequalities, fuckin ignorance, vintage/retro ignorance and racism, sexism, homophobia, fulfilled self-hating prophecies, generational underdevelopments of peoples globally, health taken for granted, unseen and unrecognized beauty. I lie to you not – I can feel my stomach tense. It hurts on so many levels. The song that I am listening to right now is named “Spinnin (Life Keeps On)” by Blackwhole and Mimi. The lyrics…
“Life keeps on turning turning turning, life keeps on pushing pushing pushing pushing…
Life keeps on turning turning turning, life keeps on pushing pushing pushing pushing…
(repeat over and over and over and over)
Just to make things right,
Ohhhhhhhh hhhhooooooooo…
All that I am hoping for is to make things right,
oOOOOOoooooo hhheeeeYYYYYYY”
Simple but powerful. The beat is EVERYTHING! She is just singing. I am not even going to apologize for my thought being everywhere…tis what it is. Ya smell me? But it is really blowing my mind how every country the people speak to me in whatever language is the language spoken. That…is phenomenal. As a kid I didn’t know this type of shit would happen. No one talks about how people of African descent/black people/Afro, etc. were in all of these places. I have been Puerto Rican, Brasilero, Black, Coloured, Bahemian, S. African, Mauritian, and even English and Jamaican. The visibility is showing. The agency is eye opening. It’s amazingly complex. The fact that I grew up in Kansas City, Missouri, and San Diego, CA and when I travel people have no idea they just hit me with an “Oi, tudo bem,” or “Como estas?” just shows me that our ancestors were more than slaves. I can attest to the fact that the extent of African American/Diasporic history was reduced to the Mayflower and Stepin Fetchit. Colonization has done a fuckin number on black people around the world. I will never forget when a white guy came up to me at a bar on the Waterfront by Victoria Wharf Mall and says “OH MY GOODNESS, MAN! You look like a Zulu Man but speak English so well.” What in the hell? Now, some would definitely argue that he just got excited to see someone that “looks African” speak English with an American accent. I felt so carnavalized. It was a disappointing moment. This dude was so excited. And I asked him to excuse himself, which he did. Again, another moment of sheer blankness. I just sat out and a lot of thoughts negotiated moments to entertain me about this entire voyage. And as beautiful as Cape Town I have to admit that it may be a minute before I return. Though, I must admit Lerato, Rhea, Lia, Sophia, Alex, Sele, Nick, Victor, Victoria, Mike, and so many other folks showed me such an amazing time, there were just moments my spirit just didn’t feel it. I felt an array of feelings. There was just such a major disconnect. And I will just get some discourse going on that in the near future. I am at a standstill. I was so sad to part with Lerato and the girls because on the last night we went and partied at Moma Zula’s on Long St. Since it was Gay Pride we were going to go to the Red Party but vetoed it when they wanted 80+ rands. We had a blast though, dancing and just building and deconstructing my experiences in Cape Town, my perception and knowledge, sexuality, blackness, feminism, misogyny, she-ness, beauty, Western World, co-existence, fusion, repression, ignorance, boys, hot sex, education, love and love lost, reality, masculinity, traveling, African Diaspora, prospective great friendships, universal conspiracies, pain, progression, cancer, naivety, and the list goes on. After dropping Rhea off we went to Camps Bay Beach to watch the sunrise. Though the sun rose behind our heads over Table Mountain we watched the sky turn cotton candy blue and pink and listen to the tides crash into the sand. I took a power nap right before…because a brotha get sleep-ay! But in those last minutes before deciding to get in the car and drop me off to get ready for disembarkation Lerato walked off wearing my brown pashmina scarf that perfectly blended with with her denim skirt, Rhea and I sat in silence…I listened to my thoughts. I instantly thought about John Mayer’s song “3x5” that a friend introduced me to nearly 2 years ago who I recently spoke to after a disagreement months ago. The song talks about not taking pictures of travels, but about his appreciation for him being in the moment and when time permits he will write about it – if he feels like it. And I echoed his sentiments. I just took it in. Riding back to the ship we couldn’t get radio well, all static, so we sat in silence before Lerato started talking, again. It was great.
Goodness, I will have to write about S. Africa again, later.
Mauritius was great. I had such a great time. Keep in mind, I had NEVER heard of this place prior to looking into Semester at Sea – 7 months ago. We arrived at the time of the pilgrimage for the Hindu God Shiva. People were walking all over the island to Grand Bason to pay homage to the God. On the first day of embarkation I went to Grand Baie beach and was fortunate to meet a couple that owned a shop with an assortment of things from postcards to wraps. My goal is to always get to a spot that sells postcards so I can send them to my great grandma and school Union. So in the process of doing this I wanted to also eat some good ol Mauritian food which I heard was SUPER good. I learned previously that it’s a fusion of Afro/Indo/Chinese food. In the process, a young guy at the store started speaking to me in English after attempting creole and next thing you know a huge discussion was launched about my travels and what it’s like and so much more. I mentioned that I was interested in seeing Shiva at Grand Bason (there is a larger than life Shiva in the South of the island) and before you know it the couple invites me to go with them later that evening. Though I wasn’t scared, I questioned if I should be. I mean wouldn’t you? I sometimes wonder why I am so friendly. But it’s just me. But let me tell you – I am not a push over or fool. So don’t get it twisted. I believe the universe guides me. This is how I got to and around NYC, as well. So I take the Lena and Pietro Monaco upon their offer and agree to meet them at 11pm at the Waterfront near wear the ship is docked. I invited a friend, Liane, who I knew would love to go. But traveling for women can be tougher because things can happen. So I invited her around 10.30pm and she is super excited. She put her white on and look all Indian and stuff like that and stuff, m-hmm. And we wait and I call her from the water taxi phone and Lena is apologizing for running late, I guess CP time is CP around the world, OKAY? lol. Soon enough we see a van pull up across the street but we don’t go to it. Beneath our breath without looking at each other we are like “Don’t go because we don’t know if that’s her, let’s wait til someone gets out and flags us down or something. Hell, they know my name – it’s French. Andre is easy to remember. Shoot.” So after a standing and looking for all of 4 minutes she gets out and I swear you can see her pretty smile from across the street. The only problem is that there was a median and Liane would have to jump it – with a white skirt on – and she’s such a lady that it was not a good idea. But in the same breath she was with me and she knew I didn’t care, and she from DC, DC IN THE HOUSE!!! lol. So she jumps and we get the party started. We get in the van and see that this is a definitely a family affair. I mean we got a 4 row joint and every row is occupied with enough space for Liane and my cakes to sit. I didn’t realize that it was a little girl sitting next to me leaning on her mother asleep so I was all rough sitting down til I realized that was a butt bone. So I was like damn, this is gon be a long awkward ride. But I paid it and got over it, quickly.
The time was about 1am as we drove about an hour south. The car has Lena’s sister, cousins, son, husband, and friends in the car. The 2 younger ladies looked like they were about 15 and 16 years old. And man were they cool? We get in the car and say hi to everyone and they are just in their own worlds and hit me with a head nod indicating a “what’s up.” I thought it was so endearing. Which by the way, Mauritius is an island which is majority Indian (from India – a brotha gotta be clear) who were brought over and enslaved, as well as Africans. The French colonized, so did the Dutch, and the English, I believe (I would google it but internet cost and this is being typed in Microsoft Word…just open another window and google it). All I know is that it was so interesting, at first, to see Indians speaking French and Creole in a tropical setting. I said to myself “God, I have to commit my life to traveling and learning!” To see the many people trekking from all over the island – North, West, and East – to the South was amazing. They wore white. The people were of all ages. They carried gifts for Shiva and they were different sizes and beautiful. After being knocked in the car Liane and Lena tap me and tell me that we are almost there and I as I stuck my head lower so I could actually see through the front window I was in awe. Shiva was HUGE! It made me think of Statue of Liberty and Christ the Redeemer (Rio, Brazil). Incredible. But the “gotcha hon” is the fact that it was this kind of metallic gold or bronze, thus it really drew you in. It was gi-normous! And water spouted from the top of its head that was imported from The Ganges in India. I don’t practice Hinduism but I was so humbled and I looked around and took it all in. Lena and the fam allowed us to bear witness to their celebration and praises. I learned a lot. Thank you so much Lena and Pietro. All the way towards Shiva, on the path of the pilgrimage, there were rest stops for those participating. And before leaving we had a chance to go to a rest stop for some Chai Tea and Roti with Curry. IT WAS SO GOOD! While headed back to the ship to turn in for the night I didn’t go to sleep this time. I just looked at the miles and miles of green land being blown by the wind. The streets were empty and everyone else was sleep. I thought to myself “I am fuckin traveling the world…this is just the beginning – a snapshot.” No, a tear didn’t roll down my eye or anything – this isn’t a novel. But it hit me hard. I thought about how I am a survivor and how almost 3 years ago I didn’t think I would make it and this time in 2005 I was soooo sick. More to come.
There will be more to come, later. I am not done.
I just have to get to bed. I am not sleepy but I must rest.
Next, we are voyaging to India.
India is a huge country with a LOT of people.
Oh yeah…just had a thought. There will definitely be more about Mauritius to come. I had a great time. I didn’t do anything major. I just had a beautiful time. Mauritius is beautiful. I will never forget how many people, especially these young guys, didn’t believe that I wasn’t Mauritius because my name is Andre. Who’d of thunk it??? Lol. From what I know my father was named Andre after his sister’s boyfriend at the time. Thank you Aunt Elberia! Random as hell.
OH YEAH! Last thing, I promise. There are some songs that I swear are following me as I make footprints across the world and one in particular is “Love Is Gone” by David Guetta - Fred Rister and Joachim Garraud radio edit mix. I heard it first in Salvador at Carnaval and fell in love. I literally feel like I am dancing like a madd man behind the Fatboy Slim or (Fah-chehh Boy Slim-ay – Portuguese accent) everytime the beat dropped. I LIVE FOR THIS TRACK! It’s ssssooo good. I am getting into the fact that other places outside of the States appreciate an amazing and pulsating house and techno track. WORK!! I am listening to it now. This is aiding in my lack of sleepiness. Just get into it for me and let it take you over. *shaking head and singing “Noooooowwwww, that the lovvveee is goonneee” and anticipating the beat dropping…YYYYYYYEEESSSSSS* All I need is a Skol and Natalia and the fam! Live, Love, Laugh
A is for Always Andre
