Last night I hung out with Mrs. Mwinzi (Mwende Edozie's mom) and a few of her colleagues. She treated me to a night on the town in Nairobi - I guess a sort of farewell tour to Kenya, for now, since I'm flying out to Kigali this evening.
Evening getting to our first location was quite a endeavor. We left at 5pm on a Friday (which is when they all had arrived back from work).
The traffic in Nairobi is an unreal. And on Fridays?? Wow. Nuts. Mrs. Mwinzi had gotten tickets for us to go see a play at the Phoenix Playhouse that was opening last night called "6 Characters in Search of an Author" - by a noted Italian playwright whose name I can't recall right now. So, after navigating the hour and 40 minute, 5 km or so journey we arrived at the theater. It was a comedy that was satirizing a lot of the theory behind acting and the theater I suppose, as 6 "characters" show up to a theater while these "actors" are performing and challenge the director to create a production where the "characters" merely relive portions of their lives instead of actors pretending to be them.
It seemed like folks were still working out the lines and the show (I don't think folks do previews here) so there were a few kinks but I really enjoyed it nonetheless. There was this really cute baby sitting right in front of us, name Kenyatta no less, who seemed to captivate our whole side of the theater...I can imagine that little man has a big future.
In any case, after the theater we went to this restaurant called Open House where I had, hands-down, the best Indian food I have ever eaten. Wanna talk about talking in hyperboles?? I'm dead serious. And I spent a month IN India in 2001. This spot had the best Indian food I've ever had. I highly recommend it.
A few hours from now I'll be hopping on a RwandAir flight to Kigali. I feel like since arriving in Africa I write and talk differently. Do these journal entries seem like my vernacular is a bit different?? haha
Hope this finds whoever is reading this healthy and well. much love.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Twana Twitu (Migwani, Kenya)
Most of my time here in Nairobi has been connecting with and spending time with the incredible crew that works for Twana Twitu (www.twanatwitu.org) here in Nairobi - Wamaitha, John, and Raphael. A couple days back I got a tour of the town with Wamaitha via matatu (a.k.a. dalla-dalla in Tanzania a.k.a. mini bus) and saw a bunch of the sights around town.
Twana Twitu is an organization seeking to fight the HIV/AIDS pandemic by supporting and finding stable housing for children orphaned by the virus. Their belief is that these children will have a much healthier and stable development as they grow older if they are situated with relatives or other close family relations as opposed to being put in orphanages with other parentless children are housed. Their belief is that the orphanage system should be a means of last resort, as it often fragments the family structure and can have detrimental effects on the child's social development. The work they do is fantastic. And the non-profit was founded by Mwende Edozie, with who's mother I have been staying here in Kenya.
Yesterday Raphael (the program coordinator) and I drove out to Migwani district, where Ms. Edozie is originally from, to visit the Twana Twitu site out there and visit some of the families and kids. It was about a 3 hour or so drive each way but it's such a beautiful trip you kind of forget you're in a car as the time passes.
We stopped by a few different families and hung for a bit. We stopped by one house where the grandfather and uncle are caring for an 11 year-old girl whose parents both passed away as a result of AIDS. It was a crazy shift from my usual thinking of things. In the U.S. and most places there is so much made of single mothers and other extended family women rearing and caring for children that may or may not be their own. But here's this 84 year old grandpops talking about how much joy he has (but also how much work it is) to raise this granddaughter.
We met the uncle on our way out, who had just walked down to the girl's school to bring her her lunch. We mentioned to him how different it was to see two men raising a child who wasn't their own, to which he responded, "Of course I will care for her. It is our duty and I will do it to the max!" - with a big warm smile on my face, equal parts warm-hearted and mischievous. Awesome.
I spoke with a few different folks about the play I've been doing interviews for, "A World Without Fathers." Man, have I met some characters. I spoke with Mwende's, the founder of Twana Twitu's, grandfather who is 112. And this dude looks great! He was cleanly shaven, well-dressed, and joking non-stop. He had these bright blue eyes, I think since he is losing his sight - not because he is sick (as he told me) but because he so old. haha
On the way back it rained and this rainbow came out. We pulled over the car and just took it in for a few minutes.
It's been a lot of work and traveling and absorbing since I've arrived here and I'm pretty exhausted but I feel great.
Twana Twitu is an organization seeking to fight the HIV/AIDS pandemic by supporting and finding stable housing for children orphaned by the virus. Their belief is that these children will have a much healthier and stable development as they grow older if they are situated with relatives or other close family relations as opposed to being put in orphanages with other parentless children are housed. Their belief is that the orphanage system should be a means of last resort, as it often fragments the family structure and can have detrimental effects on the child's social development. The work they do is fantastic. And the non-profit was founded by Mwende Edozie, with who's mother I have been staying here in Kenya.
Yesterday Raphael (the program coordinator) and I drove out to Migwani district, where Ms. Edozie is originally from, to visit the Twana Twitu site out there and visit some of the families and kids. It was about a 3 hour or so drive each way but it's such a beautiful trip you kind of forget you're in a car as the time passes.
We stopped by a few different families and hung for a bit. We stopped by one house where the grandfather and uncle are caring for an 11 year-old girl whose parents both passed away as a result of AIDS. It was a crazy shift from my usual thinking of things. In the U.S. and most places there is so much made of single mothers and other extended family women rearing and caring for children that may or may not be their own. But here's this 84 year old grandpops talking about how much joy he has (but also how much work it is) to raise this granddaughter.
We met the uncle on our way out, who had just walked down to the girl's school to bring her her lunch. We mentioned to him how different it was to see two men raising a child who wasn't their own, to which he responded, "Of course I will care for her. It is our duty and I will do it to the max!" - with a big warm smile on my face, equal parts warm-hearted and mischievous. Awesome.
I spoke with a few different folks about the play I've been doing interviews for, "A World Without Fathers." Man, have I met some characters. I spoke with Mwende's, the founder of Twana Twitu's, grandfather who is 112. And this dude looks great! He was cleanly shaven, well-dressed, and joking non-stop. He had these bright blue eyes, I think since he is losing his sight - not because he is sick (as he told me) but because he so old. haha
On the way back it rained and this rainbow came out. We pulled over the car and just took it in for a few minutes.
It's been a lot of work and traveling and absorbing since I've arrived here and I'm pretty exhausted but I feel great.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (Arusha, Tanzania)
I guess the point of any journey, literal or figurative, is to disrupt or shatter or undo all previous preconceptions. To see the gap in what really exists out in the world and what we are told exists. This whole trip has been saturated with that realization.
Right now I'm back in Nairobi but still very much thinking about the day I spent yesterday in Arusha, while still in Tanzania. I went to the U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, where almost 60 people have been or are in the process of being tried for participating in the genocide in Rwanda that left close to 1,000,000 Tutsis and (moderate/sympathetic to Tutsi) Hutus dead in just over 3 months in 1994.
From previous experience, I know that court proceedings don't have the climactic arc or drama of Law and Order - often times, they're pretty boring to be honest. This was no different, except what distinguished this case was the seeming boredom of all involved in the process. That and them looking absolutely exhausted. Burnt out. Nothing left. It seemed like they'd all been in this room for the past decade or so having a cyclic discussion with no end.
The way the court room is set up is in a rectangular shape with a glass window making up one of the four walls - this is called the "public gallery" where anyone can come and watch the proceedings with a headset (that translates into about 5 or 6 different languages). Three cases are convened simulataneously, so one can travel between the three rooms and watch each for as long or little as you like.
If someone has been a victim of the genocide (or was there during the genocide) they are surrounded with a curtain, and their identities are kept anonymous for their protection. This was the case in the first court room I went into. A woman was behind the curtain being asked if she knew of, or was familiar with, any of a long list of names being read off to her.
The majority of my time though was spent in the 2nd court room. It was eery. As I walked into the gallery almost everyone in the court room glanced over at me. You'd think that with all the people moving in and out of the gallery that such an occurrence wouldn't really warrant much attention. I soon began to understand why.
An Italian priest, who was visible (not behind a curtain), was being questioned by the prosecutor about one of his parishioners (please excuse my ignorance on all the religious labeling with this...which I'm sure is quite inaccurate). In any event, one of his parishioners, who was a noted local politician, was being accused of coordinating the mass killing of Tutsis. One example I heard about, which included a number of local Hutu religious figures was the murdering of classrooms full of school children who were promised safe refuge in churches only to find armed infantries of Hutu soldiers who hacked them to death with machetes or locked them in the church and set them on fire.
The Italian priest being questioned was very stoic throughout. Never looked up. Thought before answering each question and hardly acknowledged anything or anyone. The only time I saw the priest show any emotion was the only time I saw anyone else show any reaction to much - when the translator stopped translating into English, when the priest was told he was speaking too fast and giving answers that were too long by the presiding judge, and when the lead defense lawyer objected to a certain line of questioning by the prosecutor. With the objection, the prosecutor slammed his mic off and seemed to curse profusely down at the floor and at his team, threw his hands on his head, breathing out deeply and staring at the ceiling. Neither the objection nor the prosecutor's response seemed to have much to do with the actual matter at hand, but rather ego. It seemed more like a pissing contest. Both sides of their exchange seemed equally absurd and misplaced. It was like anyone was looking for anything to diffuse the exhaustion, frustration, tedium, whatever.
After the priest was told that he was being too long-winded by the judge he pretty much answered mono-syllabically. At one point the prosecutor had asked the priest why his parishioner had said that he moved out of politics, to which the priest responded:
"The political atmosphere."
I was like...huh? So was everyone else. And the prosecutor responded,
"And to what kind of political atmosphere are you referring? Please be more specific in your answer."
And the priest answers, "Please be more specific in your question."
It was really intense to watch all these incredibly loaded and haunting layers unfold. Everyone had so much underneath everything they said or did, it was amazing to see how they each coped with it. Some of the lawyers, like that previous example, seemed to act out - almost like a bratty teen. Some chose to choke everything in and remain almost robotic - like the priest. Others seemed petty and easily distracted - like the presiding judge who constantly seemed to stop and intervene on silly small things that were happening.
Others just took a whole other approach - like most of the security that worked at the U.N. I.C.T.R. - who were some of the most casual and jovial, fun-loving folks I came across in my entire trip to Tanzania.
Walking through security initially, this dude with a huge smile says, almost playfully taunting,
"Do you have a camera?"
To which I replied, "No, do I need one?"
He giggled at my response and pulled out two sign in books.
"This one is where you sign in your camera. And this one is where you sign in your gun" - and he falls out laughing with his head back as if he said the funniest thing of all time.
I sort of looked quizically at him and laughed nervously.
"Just playing my brother!" he said as I passed through the metal detectors, "Have fun!" he said with a parting smile, as if I was about to get on a ride at Disney World.
Wow.
Anyway, I'm back in Nairobi. Recorded 2 more songs with Kamikazee and Mama C. on Sunday night and had a nice bus ride back yesterday. Have plans to visit the Twana Twitu AIDS orphanage tomorrow.
I'll write again soon. Much love.
Right now I'm back in Nairobi but still very much thinking about the day I spent yesterday in Arusha, while still in Tanzania. I went to the U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, where almost 60 people have been or are in the process of being tried for participating in the genocide in Rwanda that left close to 1,000,000 Tutsis and (moderate/sympathetic to Tutsi) Hutus dead in just over 3 months in 1994.
From previous experience, I know that court proceedings don't have the climactic arc or drama of Law and Order - often times, they're pretty boring to be honest. This was no different, except what distinguished this case was the seeming boredom of all involved in the process. That and them looking absolutely exhausted. Burnt out. Nothing left. It seemed like they'd all been in this room for the past decade or so having a cyclic discussion with no end.
The way the court room is set up is in a rectangular shape with a glass window making up one of the four walls - this is called the "public gallery" where anyone can come and watch the proceedings with a headset (that translates into about 5 or 6 different languages). Three cases are convened simulataneously, so one can travel between the three rooms and watch each for as long or little as you like.
If someone has been a victim of the genocide (or was there during the genocide) they are surrounded with a curtain, and their identities are kept anonymous for their protection. This was the case in the first court room I went into. A woman was behind the curtain being asked if she knew of, or was familiar with, any of a long list of names being read off to her.
The majority of my time though was spent in the 2nd court room. It was eery. As I walked into the gallery almost everyone in the court room glanced over at me. You'd think that with all the people moving in and out of the gallery that such an occurrence wouldn't really warrant much attention. I soon began to understand why.
An Italian priest, who was visible (not behind a curtain), was being questioned by the prosecutor about one of his parishioners (please excuse my ignorance on all the religious labeling with this...which I'm sure is quite inaccurate). In any event, one of his parishioners, who was a noted local politician, was being accused of coordinating the mass killing of Tutsis. One example I heard about, which included a number of local Hutu religious figures was the murdering of classrooms full of school children who were promised safe refuge in churches only to find armed infantries of Hutu soldiers who hacked them to death with machetes or locked them in the church and set them on fire.
The Italian priest being questioned was very stoic throughout. Never looked up. Thought before answering each question and hardly acknowledged anything or anyone. The only time I saw the priest show any emotion was the only time I saw anyone else show any reaction to much - when the translator stopped translating into English, when the priest was told he was speaking too fast and giving answers that were too long by the presiding judge, and when the lead defense lawyer objected to a certain line of questioning by the prosecutor. With the objection, the prosecutor slammed his mic off and seemed to curse profusely down at the floor and at his team, threw his hands on his head, breathing out deeply and staring at the ceiling. Neither the objection nor the prosecutor's response seemed to have much to do with the actual matter at hand, but rather ego. It seemed more like a pissing contest. Both sides of their exchange seemed equally absurd and misplaced. It was like anyone was looking for anything to diffuse the exhaustion, frustration, tedium, whatever.
After the priest was told that he was being too long-winded by the judge he pretty much answered mono-syllabically. At one point the prosecutor had asked the priest why his parishioner had said that he moved out of politics, to which the priest responded:
"The political atmosphere."
I was like...huh? So was everyone else. And the prosecutor responded,
"And to what kind of political atmosphere are you referring? Please be more specific in your answer."
And the priest answers, "Please be more specific in your question."
It was really intense to watch all these incredibly loaded and haunting layers unfold. Everyone had so much underneath everything they said or did, it was amazing to see how they each coped with it. Some of the lawyers, like that previous example, seemed to act out - almost like a bratty teen. Some chose to choke everything in and remain almost robotic - like the priest. Others seemed petty and easily distracted - like the presiding judge who constantly seemed to stop and intervene on silly small things that were happening.
Others just took a whole other approach - like most of the security that worked at the U.N. I.C.T.R. - who were some of the most casual and jovial, fun-loving folks I came across in my entire trip to Tanzania.
Walking through security initially, this dude with a huge smile says, almost playfully taunting,
"Do you have a camera?"
To which I replied, "No, do I need one?"
He giggled at my response and pulled out two sign in books.
"This one is where you sign in your camera. And this one is where you sign in your gun" - and he falls out laughing with his head back as if he said the funniest thing of all time.
I sort of looked quizically at him and laughed nervously.
"Just playing my brother!" he said as I passed through the metal detectors, "Have fun!" he said with a parting smile, as if I was about to get on a ride at Disney World.
Wow.
Anyway, I'm back in Nairobi. Recorded 2 more songs with Kamikazee and Mama C. on Sunday night and had a nice bus ride back yesterday. Have plans to visit the Twana Twitu AIDS orphanage tomorrow.
I'll write again soon. Much love.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Carlos in Tanzania
It's funny how life works out. I always make fun of the absurd fetishizing hyperbolosity of going abroad. Everyone always talks about the inspiring and life-changing moments that happen. It's inevitable. As if foreign countries were built to have these life altering exchanges and moments to be shared at dinner parties and look "cultured." And then I'll talk about the people I met - the guy who made me a mango smoothy on the sidewalk in Puerto Plata with the eyes of a voodoo Orisha sage who probably couldn't give a fuck about me. How a little girl pressed her delicate hand against the window of my cab in Calcutta and how it made me...blah blah blah blah
I hate that shit. All that said. I am all hyperboles right now. As I've come to realize though - every moment of life, wherever you are is full of the beauty, humanity, and inspiration that we often only allow ourselves to feel while we're abroad or on an "adventure" - we seem to put our kid glasses on then. Maybe we should do it more often.
In any event, right now I'm in Imbaseni, Tanzania, a village just outside of Arusha, staying with Mzee Pete and Mama Charlotte O'Neal. Two Black Panthers who have been living here for almost 40 years since Mzee Pete was forced into exile after a trumped gun possession charge. He was the founder and chairman of the Black Panther Party in Kansas City, Missouri.
This community center they've built is a dream. No other words to describe it. There are murals snaking their way around all of the seemingly endless walls, with drawings of Malcolm and Martin shaking hands smiling, east African emcees and Masai families, inspiring words, and a red, black, and green painted recording studio with egg crates sound-proofing it. When I got here from Nairobi on Friday, I went into the studio with Mama Charlotte and her producer, Kami, and we cut this crazy track with Mama C chanting, singing, me emceeing, and Kami laying down one of his ill beats. Today I hung out with Mzee Pete for a while in the afternoon and he told me all kinds of stories from his youth and childhood and what life was like growing up in KC. Tomorrow I'm planning to watch one of the trials of the U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda that is convened in Arusha to try accused war criminals of the Rwandan genocide.
Being here gives me some real hope after a summer filled with some sobering reminders of the less inspiring character or settled-for mediocrity that seems to plague adulthood. It's made me less enthusiastic about growing into this supposed "man" that I'm viewed as.
But then I meet Mzee Pete and Mama Charlotte on Friday.
And these two revolutionaries (and I really mean it when I use it for them) LIVE what they speak. And 40 years since almost having their lives taken away for what they believe they are enacting all the things they spoke about - workshops for the local community on everything from computer science to reading and language study to dance (and everything and anything in between), a water purification system they have set up that is accessible to everyone in the surrounding villages, and a space where creativity and well-informed ideas are not only nurtured but constantly demanded of those who stay here. You should see Pete's book collection - insane. Stuff out of print, stuff just printed - I have no idea where he gets all this stuff. And then the photos of Pete and Mama C in their hey day - with rifles in their hands and berets. Wow. I know how cute and fun it is for folks to romanticize all that shit and all the "crunchy grassroots activists" (like me) back home who put on a cool t-shirt and yell loud and think we're "revolutionary," but they lived in a time where it wasn't halloween or a costume ball party folks called a "protest."
To see the peace and careful listening of two people as imperfect and human as Mzee Pete and Mama C really teaches me something. I don't even know right now what the full scope of it is, but these last few days I've been feeling like someone reached into my ribcage and sort of washed off my dusty heart. The stars really sing here at night. I feel like I don't look up enough.
I hate that shit. All that said. I am all hyperboles right now. As I've come to realize though - every moment of life, wherever you are is full of the beauty, humanity, and inspiration that we often only allow ourselves to feel while we're abroad or on an "adventure" - we seem to put our kid glasses on then. Maybe we should do it more often.
In any event, right now I'm in Imbaseni, Tanzania, a village just outside of Arusha, staying with Mzee Pete and Mama Charlotte O'Neal. Two Black Panthers who have been living here for almost 40 years since Mzee Pete was forced into exile after a trumped gun possession charge. He was the founder and chairman of the Black Panther Party in Kansas City, Missouri.
This community center they've built is a dream. No other words to describe it. There are murals snaking their way around all of the seemingly endless walls, with drawings of Malcolm and Martin shaking hands smiling, east African emcees and Masai families, inspiring words, and a red, black, and green painted recording studio with egg crates sound-proofing it. When I got here from Nairobi on Friday, I went into the studio with Mama Charlotte and her producer, Kami, and we cut this crazy track with Mama C chanting, singing, me emceeing, and Kami laying down one of his ill beats. Today I hung out with Mzee Pete for a while in the afternoon and he told me all kinds of stories from his youth and childhood and what life was like growing up in KC. Tomorrow I'm planning to watch one of the trials of the U.N. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda that is convened in Arusha to try accused war criminals of the Rwandan genocide.
Being here gives me some real hope after a summer filled with some sobering reminders of the less inspiring character or settled-for mediocrity that seems to plague adulthood. It's made me less enthusiastic about growing into this supposed "man" that I'm viewed as.
But then I meet Mzee Pete and Mama Charlotte on Friday.
And these two revolutionaries (and I really mean it when I use it for them) LIVE what they speak. And 40 years since almost having their lives taken away for what they believe they are enacting all the things they spoke about - workshops for the local community on everything from computer science to reading and language study to dance (and everything and anything in between), a water purification system they have set up that is accessible to everyone in the surrounding villages, and a space where creativity and well-informed ideas are not only nurtured but constantly demanded of those who stay here. You should see Pete's book collection - insane. Stuff out of print, stuff just printed - I have no idea where he gets all this stuff. And then the photos of Pete and Mama C in their hey day - with rifles in their hands and berets. Wow. I know how cute and fun it is for folks to romanticize all that shit and all the "crunchy grassroots activists" (like me) back home who put on a cool t-shirt and yell loud and think we're "revolutionary," but they lived in a time where it wasn't halloween or a costume ball party folks called a "protest."
To see the peace and careful listening of two people as imperfect and human as Mzee Pete and Mama C really teaches me something. I don't even know right now what the full scope of it is, but these last few days I've been feeling like someone reached into my ribcage and sort of washed off my dusty heart. The stars really sing here at night. I feel like I don't look up enough.
Monday, August 18, 2008
On the horizon
We've been sitting still for a minute but that's only because we're getting ready for a few more big trips.
In September, Carlos Andres Gomez will be going to Rwanda and then will meet up with Tahani and Kesed in Durban for the 2008 Poetry Africa festival.
We're ready to start showing you what we've been up to. If you're around September 4th, we'll be showing some images, spitting a group piece and hearing some amazing African tunes from DJ Ital Stone from Botswana. Location TBA but it will be in Fort Greene, BK.
In September, Carlos Andres Gomez will be going to Rwanda and then will meet up with Tahani and Kesed in Durban for the 2008 Poetry Africa festival.
We're ready to start showing you what we've been up to. If you're around September 4th, we'll be showing some images, spitting a group piece and hearing some amazing African tunes from DJ Ital Stone from Botswana. Location TBA but it will be in Fort Greene, BK.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
What A Night (Frank López - Tanzania)
June 8th, 2008
Mambo mi gente? (“What’s up my peoples?” in Kiswahili and Spanish) ;)
Now let me begin by saying that I did not think that yesterday could be topped. The rush of hanging out with Mzee Pete, Mama Charlotte, and the crew was unreal, but wow… was I wrong.
Today we started off at the community center, eager to finish recording the track we had begun. I had yet to get in the booth and record my verse, one I felt confident they would enjoy. I was so inspired by their presence, their energy, and their message that the words flowed easily and straight from the heart. Our song was about the sounds of drums resembling heartbeats and bringing music back to the roots of upliftment and consciousness. Mama Charlotte sang about music that moved her in spirit and inspired action. Nakaaya, an amazing sister who is well known here in Tanzania, sang about the “fire of our fathers” and the legacy we are challenged to live up to. After her, I spit my verse.
When I came out of the booth, I was received with hugs and pounds all over. Mama Charlotte’s sweet smile filled my heart up. Love was alive and present. The day was followed by an evening of music and laughter. The Stonybrook students who had been having their study abroad at the United African Alliance Community Center were putting on a show for all the community to come out and see. Pete laid it out plain. He said that there needed to be a cultural exchange, not just some locals dancing and singing for the foreigners. So Stonybrook stepped up their game and delivered a really dope show, even learning and performing the Tanzanian national anthem as well as some of the cultural dances.
Next it was my turn to step up to the mic. Although Mama Charlotte had heard me spit in the booth earlier, Mzee Pete still hadn’t even heard of what I do. Earlier, when I had gone to Arusha market with him in the UAACC van, I had mentioned that I was eager to “spit”. About an hour later, he said:
“Brother, let me tell you how much of a square I am. You mentioned earlier that you really wanted to ‘spit’ and I thought to myself, ‘Well dam, why doesn’t he just crack open a window and do it already?’ I didn’t realize you were talking bout rappin’!”
Dude is hilarious. But still, I must admit that I was a bit nervous to perform in front of him and the entire community. Mama Charlotte kindly introduced me and I went up on stage. I was about to perform “So So Revolutionary” but something told me to do “Love Still Lives”. So I did…
Man, I can’t begin to tell you how happy I was to hear Pete and Charlotte ‘yessing’ and ‘hmming’ all throughout my poem! It felt great to be in a place where I truly know that love still lives and will continue living due to their work and devotion. It was an honor to have them hug me after the piece.
After that, we celebrated like no tomorrow, with dancing, singing, and just plain out enjoying one another’s company. I found a guitar in the recording studio and felt like I struck gold. Lisa laughed as I serenaded the Stonybrook students late into the night with revolutionary ballads and love songs. "What a scally...", she later said.
All I have left to say is…
What a night.
Mambo mi gente? (“What’s up my peoples?” in Kiswahili and Spanish) ;)
Now let me begin by saying that I did not think that yesterday could be topped. The rush of hanging out with Mzee Pete, Mama Charlotte, and the crew was unreal, but wow… was I wrong.
Today we started off at the community center, eager to finish recording the track we had begun. I had yet to get in the booth and record my verse, one I felt confident they would enjoy. I was so inspired by their presence, their energy, and their message that the words flowed easily and straight from the heart. Our song was about the sounds of drums resembling heartbeats and bringing music back to the roots of upliftment and consciousness. Mama Charlotte sang about music that moved her in spirit and inspired action. Nakaaya, an amazing sister who is well known here in Tanzania, sang about the “fire of our fathers” and the legacy we are challenged to live up to. After her, I spit my verse.
When I came out of the booth, I was received with hugs and pounds all over. Mama Charlotte’s sweet smile filled my heart up. Love was alive and present. The day was followed by an evening of music and laughter. The Stonybrook students who had been having their study abroad at the United African Alliance Community Center were putting on a show for all the community to come out and see. Pete laid it out plain. He said that there needed to be a cultural exchange, not just some locals dancing and singing for the foreigners. So Stonybrook stepped up their game and delivered a really dope show, even learning and performing the Tanzanian national anthem as well as some of the cultural dances.
Next it was my turn to step up to the mic. Although Mama Charlotte had heard me spit in the booth earlier, Mzee Pete still hadn’t even heard of what I do. Earlier, when I had gone to Arusha market with him in the UAACC van, I had mentioned that I was eager to “spit”. About an hour later, he said:
“Brother, let me tell you how much of a square I am. You mentioned earlier that you really wanted to ‘spit’ and I thought to myself, ‘Well dam, why doesn’t he just crack open a window and do it already?’ I didn’t realize you were talking bout rappin’!”
Dude is hilarious. But still, I must admit that I was a bit nervous to perform in front of him and the entire community. Mama Charlotte kindly introduced me and I went up on stage. I was about to perform “So So Revolutionary” but something told me to do “Love Still Lives”. So I did…
Man, I can’t begin to tell you how happy I was to hear Pete and Charlotte ‘yessing’ and ‘hmming’ all throughout my poem! It felt great to be in a place where I truly know that love still lives and will continue living due to their work and devotion. It was an honor to have them hug me after the piece.
After that, we celebrated like no tomorrow, with dancing, singing, and just plain out enjoying one another’s company. I found a guitar in the recording studio and felt like I struck gold. Lisa laughed as I serenaded the Stonybrook students late into the night with revolutionary ballads and love songs. "What a scally...", she later said.
All I have left to say is…
What a night.
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