Saturday, August 21, 2010
One minute to laugh, and hour to weep. See you later ZIm
My last day in the city of Kings, Bulawayo, was interesting to say the least. There were new Americans in the city to promote a film workshop. I met the guy hosting the events and his name was M.K. Ashante or something like that. I met him and he reminded me of my first roomate at RISD Dustin Boltin in terms of looks. From the minute I met him I admit I had an uneasy feeling and truth be told we had a respectful but aggravated debate about Art and the positions of Blacks in the Arts. At this point in the journey I am too tired to really go into funny detail of what transpired during our talk. I admire his accomplishments and understand the importance to pat the black man on back, given the current status in the US, when they accomplish great things, but I really couldn't stand the guy's views. As a person he seemed cool, just misinformed on so many levels I had to contain myself at times. I also met one of his subjects from one of his films. Her name was Rocky. She was cool, and I like her alot, despite the obnoxiousness that is a rowdy American girl seeping through her skin. After people in the Gallery observed them two they came back to me and asked me why was it I am so not-American? I guess there is a stereotype and the two new guys fit it, but I feel as though I am just as American as they are. Americans aren't all loud, obnoxious, and demanding of respect. I spent the day removing my artwork from the gallery and wrapping it up getting ready for my trip back home. As I was removing the works, the gallery guys started hanging up new work. Just like that I became a memory, and wasn't the hot topic. There are new Americans to replace me, and the attention I had been getting, and now new Art. Talk about low! Later that evening the Artists held a BBQ for me and it was amazing. Good times indeed while danced, and yeah the boy was asked to rap so he had to give the people of Zim a little swagg. We then took it further to the club, and I have to say i got my revenge on the dance floor. I actually decided to bring in some old school Miami dance moves and started bopping and Jooking. The crowd went crazy!!!! One girl walked over to me to dance with me and her and her girlfriends kepting telling me "Wow you're good". We rolled 10 deep and took over the dance floor. The artist took over Savanahs in Bulawayo, and it will be remembered forever. My studio mate Taffe(Sp_ gave me his dread wrap and told me to keep it. the night was just about partying but I slowly started realizing the end is near. The night ended with me hanging out with an artist. Her name was Musa. We had a long conversation about religion, relationships, and life in general and I ended up walking her home at 5am in the morning because I did not want her to sleep over. While walking back (25 minutes each way) the sun came up, and I realized it was finally over. I packed my things and Clifford and I rode out to Chipangali national orphanage for wild animals. I finally saw the Lions. It was the icing on the cake as I have hunting for one. Some were very sick and small looking, but at some point we got a pen where there were lions who were so big and just muscular it blew me away. Even caged they demanded respect. I was not even inches away from them and they were freakishly intimidating. We saw leopards as well and what scared Cliff and I the most was the fact that they blended in so well with the habitat. It always took us a couple seconds to a minute to find one that was literally 2 steps away from us. There were snakes as well. I saw the kobe the black mamba and those things are fucking scary. I love snakes and the black mamba is fucking scary. That is all you need to know. We raced out of Chipangali, and headed for the Lodge to say goodbye, and pick up things then to the gallery to patch somethings up. On the drive to the airport Clifford and I barely spoke. Somehow I had so many things on my mind I could barely speak. My emotions started to clamp my heart and squeeze tightly. it was not a figment of my imagination I am leaving Africa. Why does it feel so wrong? We arrived at the Airport and I Clifford and I exchanged goodbye hugs. As I saw him walk away I my mind went crazy and the reality came to me. I'm leaving Africa. In the less than a blink of a memory I am sitting in the Virgin Atlantic lounge again in Johannesburg being catered to and it doesn't matter to me. I'm finally going back home and yet I feel like crying like a baby. Why does it feel like I'm leaving home and not going back home? I can barely eat. My mood and emotions are just mixed and right now I have never felt so lost. For the past three weeks I have spent the whole day with one guide. He was my eyes so to speak. I have met women and seen women that change the way I think about women. I have had a woman do my laundry, and feed me for past three weeks. Her name was Grace. Why is my heart pregnant with this feeling of sadness? I feel like something has been ripped from me. I have learned a lot from my experience, and can tell life isn't going to be easy to adjust to in the states after this. I am drinking a drink and it reminds me of Kayla for some reason. I don't know why but it does. I got little gifts for the people back in the states, and hopefully they will like them. I am going to digitally retreat for now, and deal with these feelings as they come. People who are reading this blog are to be thanked. You guys are my half therapists. You read but don't talk back. Just the way I like it.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
it's almost over
It’s Wednesday and the show was a success. We had just over 50 guests who came to show support for the work being shown at the Gallery. I spent 4 grueling hours answering questions, taking pictures, and explaining my art over and over and over and over and over……………..one more over again. This whole experience hasn’t hit me yet and it’s seems like it isn’t even happening. I felt like a rock star for once. A Haitian one with swagger like Mc Jagger. The press were very stern and very exact with their questions and it gave me the whole “everything you say will be held against you” feeling so I chose my words especially carefully. The ethics in the country is highly questionable as well so my trepidation was high. I definitely learned in order to be a successful artist one must know how to talk about their work and explain it so people can easily understand what it is you’re trying to say. There were three white women who came up to me, who were born in the country and laughed at how much my paintings reminded them of things they did when they were young. Mission accomplished.
The whole faculty and senior critics from NYAA I was able to interact with helped me come to this point in many ways. Peter Cox was the instructor that became one of the pivotal people to stop me from leaving the academy when I felt as though I was wasting my time by leaving the gaming industry. The academy has it’s quality issues indeed, but in terms of my personal experience I grew as an artist because the time I spent at the academy. What killed the moment at some point was I started looking around and for the first time during my whole trip I felt alone. I did not have a single familiar face to hug and enjoy having my first solo with. No Craig, Gamal, Lucie, Nadia, Lucion, Cousins, Mom Dad, Andrae, Philip, Dave, Panni, Maggaret, Amber, Taehun (sp), Mark, Mike, Peter, Ian, Elvin, Andrew, Tim, John J, Peter Cox, Steven Assael, Catherine, Harvey C, John (sculptor), Ted, Will Cotton, Jason, Jacquelyn, Brian, Kayla, Maya, Lenny, Elizabeth, Yancy (Mi Hermano), Elaine, Tiya, Charlene, Vincent, Courtney (my love) or Mr. Budzyn to enjoy this special moment with. My mood suddenly changed and I took a couple of seconds to gather myself before going downstairs where the visitors were. I felt a cold coming along and sure enough by the time I got home my body was not feeling right. I woke up in the middle of the night and I have a terrible sore throat. This suckitty sucks, because I really want to leave Bulawayo drunk and partied out of my ashy ass and this is preventing me. Maybe this is a sign for me to make sure I’m prepared to leave with nothing left behind. I wish the boy David was here too. So many Dave Chapelle moments man seriously. The days are going by fast and I am trying to finish on a positive note. I spoke to some of the more successful international artists from the city and visited their studios. I met a guy named Charles Bebe who painted figures in an abstract way but they were realistic. The paintings look like weaving patterns. You would have to see it to believe it. Finally someone who could properly paint the figure. Him and I had a long conversation about art in Africa and art in the National Gallery, and this guy definitely has the chops. I showed him the artists that influenced my work and the website to NYAA, and he was quite impressed. He had no idea schools like this exist at all. The information is so limited here that it’s really inspiring to see someone like Bebe actually learn how to paint proper well proportioned figures without much past instruction. I spoke to another artist who was female and Russian. Her name was Ulia. She was cute in nature and very warm spirited not to mention nice on the eyes. She expressed the same concern Bebe had about the Gallery in which my program took place. Artist at the Gallery aren’t creating personal work anymore like the class that graduated with them. Somehow both believe the artist started creating abstract work to avoid having to learn to draw the figure. I am teaching a drawing and painting workshop at the moment and it is grueling having to make so many corrections to people’s drawings. At first I was nice and gave compliments, but later in the day I started letting the cat out of the bag giving the real to people. I’ve been jotting down ideas for the next couple of works I’ll be creating once I get back. Some real cool things cooking in old head. Sci-fi is coming back indeed.
So one of the women at the Gallery just barged into room and started asking me personal questions out of not where. “Are you married? How old are you? You have kids? You have a girlfriend? What do you think about the women who work here?” I answered them all and just like the spit that escapes a screaming mouth she disappeared. The other artists came over last night and asked me to go out drinking with them and I had to decline. I am really not feeling well, and my throat feels like it has chicken bones lodged in. I spoke to the new guests at the lodge, and we had good times talking about America. A married woman started telling me about her experience here and word on the street is African men are the worst to marry. I’ve spoken to three women now who are in horrible marriages and talk about how the culture supports a misogynistic way of having a family. Many of the men apparently have wives, and it is normal to have women on the side to fill up the value meal order. It is also common for men to leave the house and spend a few days out without ever having to answer to the wife or kids, if they have any. Divorce is nigh impossible with the courts and cultural law siding with the male as well, which is totally opposite from the States where men go down son during a divorce. It was hard to hear what many women experience in this country. I’m getting sleepy. I have to save energy for part two of the workshop. Will blog later. Peaces. Oh tomorrow I get to see Lions. Finally!
The whole faculty and senior critics from NYAA I was able to interact with helped me come to this point in many ways. Peter Cox was the instructor that became one of the pivotal people to stop me from leaving the academy when I felt as though I was wasting my time by leaving the gaming industry. The academy has it’s quality issues indeed, but in terms of my personal experience I grew as an artist because the time I spent at the academy. What killed the moment at some point was I started looking around and for the first time during my whole trip I felt alone. I did not have a single familiar face to hug and enjoy having my first solo with. No Craig, Gamal, Lucie, Nadia, Lucion, Cousins, Mom Dad, Andrae, Philip, Dave, Panni, Maggaret, Amber, Taehun (sp), Mark, Mike, Peter, Ian, Elvin, Andrew, Tim, John J, Peter Cox, Steven Assael, Catherine, Harvey C, John (sculptor), Ted, Will Cotton, Jason, Jacquelyn, Brian, Kayla, Maya, Lenny, Elizabeth, Yancy (Mi Hermano), Elaine, Tiya, Charlene, Vincent, Courtney (my love) or Mr. Budzyn to enjoy this special moment with. My mood suddenly changed and I took a couple of seconds to gather myself before going downstairs where the visitors were. I felt a cold coming along and sure enough by the time I got home my body was not feeling right. I woke up in the middle of the night and I have a terrible sore throat. This suckitty sucks, because I really want to leave Bulawayo drunk and partied out of my ashy ass and this is preventing me. Maybe this is a sign for me to make sure I’m prepared to leave with nothing left behind. I wish the boy David was here too. So many Dave Chapelle moments man seriously. The days are going by fast and I am trying to finish on a positive note. I spoke to some of the more successful international artists from the city and visited their studios. I met a guy named Charles Bebe who painted figures in an abstract way but they were realistic. The paintings look like weaving patterns. You would have to see it to believe it. Finally someone who could properly paint the figure. Him and I had a long conversation about art in Africa and art in the National Gallery, and this guy definitely has the chops. I showed him the artists that influenced my work and the website to NYAA, and he was quite impressed. He had no idea schools like this exist at all. The information is so limited here that it’s really inspiring to see someone like Bebe actually learn how to paint proper well proportioned figures without much past instruction. I spoke to another artist who was female and Russian. Her name was Ulia. She was cute in nature and very warm spirited not to mention nice on the eyes. She expressed the same concern Bebe had about the Gallery in which my program took place. Artist at the Gallery aren’t creating personal work anymore like the class that graduated with them. Somehow both believe the artist started creating abstract work to avoid having to learn to draw the figure. I am teaching a drawing and painting workshop at the moment and it is grueling having to make so many corrections to people’s drawings. At first I was nice and gave compliments, but later in the day I started letting the cat out of the bag giving the real to people. I’ve been jotting down ideas for the next couple of works I’ll be creating once I get back. Some real cool things cooking in old head. Sci-fi is coming back indeed.
So one of the women at the Gallery just barged into room and started asking me personal questions out of not where. “Are you married? How old are you? You have kids? You have a girlfriend? What do you think about the women who work here?” I answered them all and just like the spit that escapes a screaming mouth she disappeared. The other artists came over last night and asked me to go out drinking with them and I had to decline. I am really not feeling well, and my throat feels like it has chicken bones lodged in. I spoke to the new guests at the lodge, and we had good times talking about America. A married woman started telling me about her experience here and word on the street is African men are the worst to marry. I’ve spoken to three women now who are in horrible marriages and talk about how the culture supports a misogynistic way of having a family. Many of the men apparently have wives, and it is normal to have women on the side to fill up the value meal order. It is also common for men to leave the house and spend a few days out without ever having to answer to the wife or kids, if they have any. Divorce is nigh impossible with the courts and cultural law siding with the male as well, which is totally opposite from the States where men go down son during a divorce. It was hard to hear what many women experience in this country. I’m getting sleepy. I have to save energy for part two of the workshop. Will blog later. Peaces. Oh tomorrow I get to see Lions. Finally!
Monday, August 16, 2010
My second baptism,
Where do I begin? Friday evening I prepare for my journey to “The Bush” to meet the Lion. I mean for one I am a Leo and as the one turning 27 (yep getting old) it is my right to come face to face with the animal that signifies my spirit. You like that last sentence huh? Don’t worry you can go back and re-read it……………I’ll wait……….Moving right along……I took a nap downstairs in the lodge for a couple a hours and the antiquated door bell woke me up. No dreams this time so I must have had a lot on my mind. It’s my guide and for the moment best friend Clifford. I am surprised at how much him and I connect on a mental level. I have a feeling we’ll be friends for a long time. Upon leaving my room with my packed items I encounter an African Business man who pulls up to the lodge in a 2010 landrover. Out he comes with two video vixen-esque women into the house for some 2am fun. What got me was he had a wedding ring on, and I later found out he was a politician from the capital just taking a weekend vacation to have plumbing work done if you know what I mean. For shame to use tax payers money and the wealth of the country on no fashion sense having money grubbing bitches while there are people subjected to mashed corn some three blocks away. I have to say in guilt the women were supple as they were Oh My God (the usher version) fine! After a brief second guessing of the trip and opting to have fun with the girls and dirty politician Clifford and I mounted up and set away for Victoria Falls. The trip was long as hell and dark too. The fascinating thing was the stars. I had never witnessed the stars and space this way before. I saw color and weird shapes this time, not your average 6 bright white circles in the air. We chatted here and there about life, women of course, and art. It felt good to talk about art again from a basic formal perspective that wasn’t clouded with empty rhetoric created by critiques and inept artists who do more talking than producing quality work. On the way to Vic. Falls there were a few moments that made the trip interesting. We both had to let the week out and were looking for a rest stop to do so. We arrived at one and the bowl itself looked like an entry way to hell via aged fecal deposits so we declined and continued to drive. While driving it got so bad we started to scout bushes where anonymity would be guaranteed. We found a remote spot and became one with nature. I let the week out near a dug out whole and thought nothing of it and later to my luck found out from Clifford it was indeed a snakes hole. I hope the snake didn’t mind me depositing my dookie in his home I thought. It was great being one with the bush and boy what a sigh of relief that ensued afterwards. I mean it was wonderful how the conversations really opened up. I smiled a couple times along the way. Yeah it was that good. We arrived at Victoria Falls around 8am and the town was desolate. There were only a handful of people and many baboons and warthogs walking about the city as if it were Animal Farm, the African sequel. The weather went from frigid in Bulawayo to unnervingly hot and dry. We had tea and planned the day accordingly and set off to the adventure that was Victoria Falls. Before we even got to the falls we found a game park near by and circled around a bit but didn’t really see much. The Zambezi river was nice, but we were here to see the falls, and that is where we traveled next. I grabbed a poncho on the way for safes sake and to protect my photo-copied passport and camera…………Didn’t do much. Even before getting to the falls it seems as though it’s raining but it’s not. You would have to be there to know what I’m talking about. In any event we continue walking and it continues to get for rainy. I’m wondering to myself where is all the rain coming from and then I see the falls…………………I believe in God and I am always remind of God and his power, and I have to say Victoria Falls gave me this sense of knowing this was the work of God. It was something that defied everything I’d ever seen in my life. Before that it was Krispie Kreme Doughnuts. The falls were unabashed and out of control, and just a sight to behold. It was dangerous and beautiful at the same time. There were rainbows everywhere, and water spray just drenching the other people there and myself. I stood there and my future flashed before my eyes. It was spiritual. I wanted to take time to mention my dear friend Willer who passed away 8 years ago. He was a Leo as well and our birthdays are near each other. Rest in Peace man and Happy Birthday. We left the falls, and devoured 9 pieces of fried chicken and chips (fries), and were on our way to Hwange National Park where my mission was to witness the Lion in the bush. We arrived at the park around 3pm and started to drive about. Hwange’s roads were non existent and were better suited for a 4x4. Clifford and I drove in a station wagon. The park was dry and hot. Clifford and I barley had liquids. We mistakenly took a turn off the beaten path and found ourselves lost within the park. At first I was bored out of my mind looking at impala after impala, and then it started getting dark. It was around 6pm and darkness was starting to cover the sky. We are lost with no sense of direction in a national park with wild animals. There are Lions, cheetahs, hippos, buffalo, and crocs in this park and we wasted almost a quarter tank of gas. With my crazy imagination I start to ponder the most outlandish of thoughts. Will I see 27? This is going to be one of those tv news incidents where two travelers are found dead after being mauled. Life really flashes. I’m thinking of all the bad things I’ve done. I start to think about my playstation 3 and who is going inherit it should I meet a horde of elephants. Maybe my anxiousness to see a lion caused this to happen? I couldn’t think straight. My palms were sweaty and I really wanted out. An hour and half later we arrive at a camp site. We attempt to strike a deal with the campers asking them to allow us to park the car and let us sleep until morning where we can figure out how to get the hell out of here and a Bitch Ass Patrol guard tells us we can’t because the people will not be comfortable with us parking our car and sleeping in our car for the night. There are wild animals in a park and we are sent off into the night to figure our own way out. Clifford and I continue to drive into the night and in that time came across hippos, giraffes, elephants, and those damn impalas. I was growing tired, and it was getting unwearyingly cold. We finally made it back to where we started and found a guard who was generous enough to let us camp for the night for $10. we settled next to a couple of nice people gave us tea the next morning. I woke up on my birthday to the sound of a Lion who just killed a buffalo and was calling out to me. His roar was unbelievably loud! I thought it was close. We used binoculars to see if we could spot it but the pride was lost in wilderness. We continued in the morning, this time following the main road, and saw quite a bit of wildlife. By that time I had been so over the whole “national park I want to see animals in natural habitat” mode that they didn’t seem interesting any more. We accidentally ran over a dying snake and witnessed a jackal become the victim of an eagle and several vultures. We saw crocodiles swimming in a pond, and came face to face with an elephant who was missing a tusk. Clifford explained a poacher must have tranquilized one at night and stole the tusk somehow. After 6 hours and traversing Elephant dung and passing by millions of impalas we escaped the park! We both didn’t say a word for from the time we left the park. Once the signs ended and we knew we were a certain distance from the park we both just let out a sigh of relief and starting talking again. I learned a lot at the park. I learned that I get most upset and on edge when I am hungry, or tired. I learned the power of negotiation in times of uncertainty. I never got to see the Lion, but I saw light and life heading back to Bulawayo. I survived the Bush. Happy Birthday to Eric (no middle name) Telfort. I entered 27 humble again.
Ebony Patterson and the 2pm beer
Thursday was quite the tearful one I must say. I opened my long lost luggage only to find things missing! What the friggity fudge?!!!!! I find staples I was suppose to use to reassemble my work missing. I find my nails missing? I find the kneaded erasers I purchased to conduct the workshops missing………….I even find my needle nose pliers missing………..Something in my internal conscious was wondering if the people of Africa are trying to build a house with staples, nails, kneaded easers, and needle nose pliers? After a day of sorrow and frustration I was able to pull resources together to put my paintings together. They look rather nice against each other. It’s a shame and a blessing that Zimbabwe is my first of so many sorts. It’s the first country to de-virginize my international traveling experience. It’s the first non-US place I spend my birthday, and it’s the first place I have my first solo art show!!!!! Later that evening I had lunch with one of the embassy employees Michelle. She was born here in the city of Bulawayo, and does not speak the language at all. She’s one of the better off people who were schooled in the best schools and attended school in the states, Mt Holy Oak to be exact……..I hope I spelled that right. In any event it was funny hanging out with her as people thought she was way more American than I was. She was a no nonsense, no patience having, shopping shopping shopping, in your face,…………..and did I mention shopping kind of girl who totally showed me a different side of the people here. We had heated discussions comparing our personal upbringing and impression on the city and Africa in general. Her views are completely opposite to the more prideful opinions and views of my guide Clifford. We were eating and I mentioned to her she should finish her plate because people are starving about three blocks away………and she replied “Well doesn’t matter if I finish or not they’re still not going to enjoy any of it…………People enjoy their simple mashed corn they don’t like healthy foods or fine dining, they’re happy the way they are.” I was furious. It’s one thing to enjoy what you’ve enjoyed all your life but that doesn’t make it right. There is a system to feed people simple slave food and say they are content, but I’m pretty sure many of them were never introduced to healthier and different options because they were always poor in the first place and mashed corn was their only option. If you grow up eating healthy you will want to continue eating healthy. Many people here have to eat simple mashed corn. They never had a choice because they were poor. And thinking that “oh it’s ok” they will survive on corn, sucks for the future generation as well. When will wealth be properly distributed so that kids are introduced to healthier options? She assured me that once I visit other countries and witness more poverty I’ll be desensitized and I’ll carry on living it up……….The thing that pissed me off even more was these were her own people she was talking about. I thought about my own people; Haitian people, and in more intimate terms my own family. There are times that I’ve been too selfish to send my mother money or sister and ran out and bought a video game thinking the same thing “They’ll be ok, they’re used to being poor”. I went to sleep so frustrated because I don’t know what to make of my experience here. I’m getting over the white vs. black thing, and now it’s me against history. I hate this Shit!!!!!!!! I fell asleep thinking about the weekend.
Friday August 13, 2010
I have been having the craziest dreams as of late. Last night I dreamt of girl who attended my high school back in the day. Her name was Ebony Patterson. What the hell am I dreaming about Ebony (mocha) Patterson in Africa for? I must have missed the subconscious memo that said I was suppose to subconsciously thinking of my classmate from 10 years ago. I had a dream she was asking me to ask her questions. I remember asking her would she rather marry a blind man or a deaf man? She answered she rather marry a deaf man because she would always want him to see her face. Even if she couldn’t hear him say I love you, he would see it in their interaction. Swear to my Playstation 3 and Call of Duty Modern Warfare that was the truth. I had another dream of Tiffany, Maya’s friend who posed for me for a series of drawings I’m currently working on. We were on our way to a school and she was explaining to me her reason for going to this particular school. We arrive at the school and she disappears and all of a sudden children are thanking me for teaching them. My last dream was me sitting in Africa talking to Kayla and her mom under a tree. I kept looking around my shoulder in fear a lizard would fall on me. She laughed at everything I said, and I was paranoid for some reason just getting up and walking around. I also had a dream I was fighting my old friend Slyvester. He had two irons in his hands and was attempting to box me with them. I grabbed a samurai sword and tried to stab him and just before the blade entered his Ashy St. Croix treated skin I wake up to roosters and the sounds of my body passing gas. This is Eric at his humble truth people. I have to share these experiences to keep me from going crazy in this “one minute you’re happy, one minute you’re depressed place”. Dreams I tell ya. Today was cool as hell in some ways and depressing in others. I visited an art center where I gave an art demo and taught technical vocational art students how to draw using the methods Peter Cox, an academy professor, taught me. It went well and I got great response. I felt like a rock star for once. Afterwards we visited a woman owned, woman ran art center where I purchased items for the most important women in my life; my mother, sister Lucie, and sister Nadia. After that we traveled through the poorest area in the city………………….Shit…………………I have never witnessed such shockingly fucked up shit! There were children playing near and on raw sewage. The smell alone could kill you. There were houses no bigger than a small bathroom housing 10 people. I was shaking. Literally shaking. My eyes started to water and my guide Clifford calmed me by letting me know it’s ok to feel upset. Things happen. Upon leaving the little town I counted my blessings and thanked the lord for showing me this. I thanked him for allowing me to be birthed in place where I did not have to experience things this rough. Life in Little Haiti was rough, but not this damn rough. We had interviews scheduled and the first was at a radio station. It was live and modern and once inside I forgot I was in Africa. It was independently run and the whole staff was black. The people running it were women. I’m a man and I have to admit I love it when women run it!!!.........! The radio interview was hot as in good times. I was actually on the radio answering questions. I took pictures in the booth and was given a tour of the place. The woman showing us around was a sexy heavy set woman. She defied popular culture coke bottle bodies that magazines crave. We had another interview with some snooty “I think I’m hot because I got a $2 wig on” woman and went to go visit the popular artist that is on trial for showing his political work. This guy Owen Maseko blew me away. He was quite impressive in his savvy and the way he talked about his art. He would definitely succeed in the States if he wanted to. We had a 2pm beer, and just talked about art, and shot the crap a bit. I met his wife and son, and returned to the gallery to continue mounting my fucked up work. The name of my exhibition is called “When I was 6”. Simple and I love it. I am finding myself as an artist here, and really enjoying it. I’m also finding myself which is even more rewarding. This weekend I’m camping at Victoria Falls for my birthday, and visiting Hwange national park to chill with the Lions in open habitat. Turning 27 is going to be the shit………….Whattup Cool guy Craig…………….Free Weezy!
Friday August 13, 2010
I have been having the craziest dreams as of late. Last night I dreamt of girl who attended my high school back in the day. Her name was Ebony Patterson. What the hell am I dreaming about Ebony (mocha) Patterson in Africa for? I must have missed the subconscious memo that said I was suppose to subconsciously thinking of my classmate from 10 years ago. I had a dream she was asking me to ask her questions. I remember asking her would she rather marry a blind man or a deaf man? She answered she rather marry a deaf man because she would always want him to see her face. Even if she couldn’t hear him say I love you, he would see it in their interaction. Swear to my Playstation 3 and Call of Duty Modern Warfare that was the truth. I had another dream of Tiffany, Maya’s friend who posed for me for a series of drawings I’m currently working on. We were on our way to a school and she was explaining to me her reason for going to this particular school. We arrive at the school and she disappears and all of a sudden children are thanking me for teaching them. My last dream was me sitting in Africa talking to Kayla and her mom under a tree. I kept looking around my shoulder in fear a lizard would fall on me. She laughed at everything I said, and I was paranoid for some reason just getting up and walking around. I also had a dream I was fighting my old friend Slyvester. He had two irons in his hands and was attempting to box me with them. I grabbed a samurai sword and tried to stab him and just before the blade entered his Ashy St. Croix treated skin I wake up to roosters and the sounds of my body passing gas. This is Eric at his humble truth people. I have to share these experiences to keep me from going crazy in this “one minute you’re happy, one minute you’re depressed place”. Dreams I tell ya. Today was cool as hell in some ways and depressing in others. I visited an art center where I gave an art demo and taught technical vocational art students how to draw using the methods Peter Cox, an academy professor, taught me. It went well and I got great response. I felt like a rock star for once. Afterwards we visited a woman owned, woman ran art center where I purchased items for the most important women in my life; my mother, sister Lucie, and sister Nadia. After that we traveled through the poorest area in the city………………….Shit…………………I have never witnessed such shockingly fucked up shit! There were children playing near and on raw sewage. The smell alone could kill you. There were houses no bigger than a small bathroom housing 10 people. I was shaking. Literally shaking. My eyes started to water and my guide Clifford calmed me by letting me know it’s ok to feel upset. Things happen. Upon leaving the little town I counted my blessings and thanked the lord for showing me this. I thanked him for allowing me to be birthed in place where I did not have to experience things this rough. Life in Little Haiti was rough, but not this damn rough. We had interviews scheduled and the first was at a radio station. It was live and modern and once inside I forgot I was in Africa. It was independently run and the whole staff was black. The people running it were women. I’m a man and I have to admit I love it when women run it!!!.........! The radio interview was hot as in good times. I was actually on the radio answering questions. I took pictures in the booth and was given a tour of the place. The woman showing us around was a sexy heavy set woman. She defied popular culture coke bottle bodies that magazines crave. We had another interview with some snooty “I think I’m hot because I got a $2 wig on” woman and went to go visit the popular artist that is on trial for showing his political work. This guy Owen Maseko blew me away. He was quite impressive in his savvy and the way he talked about his art. He would definitely succeed in the States if he wanted to. We had a 2pm beer, and just talked about art, and shot the crap a bit. I met his wife and son, and returned to the gallery to continue mounting my fucked up work. The name of my exhibition is called “When I was 6”. Simple and I love it. I am finding myself as an artist here, and really enjoying it. I’m also finding myself which is even more rewarding. This weekend I’m camping at Victoria Falls for my birthday, and visiting Hwange national park to chill with the Lions in open habitat. Turning 27 is going to be the shit………….Whattup Cool guy Craig…………….Free Weezy!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
SMH
Today was frustrating. I miss lucie, Lucion, Nadia, my mom, Dad, and my Playstation 3. People here preach family so much and I’m beginning to feel as though I’ve forgotten how important family really is to me. The difficult thing is after seeing children here I’ve come to realize I have developed a family In Providence RI as well, and I depend on them for strength as well. I miss Kayla, Maya, Yancy, Elizabeth, The boy Gamal, and all the families of Mt. Hope I serve. I somehow wish they could all take a field trip and witness what I’m witnessing. The good and bad that is curled into the bagel twist that is Bulawayo. I miss Dunkin Doughnuts, and I never thought that would happen. Today I visited a shanty town, and my heart must have stopped about 8 times along the drive. I won’t go into detail because I think my words aren’t powerful enough to describe it. What’s worse is my guide Clifford, who is becoming like a big brother to me, explained to me it gets worse. I am defeated after the first week. From lost luggage to sickness (yeah I have the flu), to meeting some of the most amazing people I’ve ever met in my life, to seeing things you would be criminally insane to not have tears leave your eyes………….gotta go critique……………… to be continued
……
So where did I leave off? Oh yes so on Friday night the bed and I had intimate relations and I was stuck on pills to help me get past this fever I acquired after my first week in the city of kings. I gave a lecture prior to this to the artists who occupy the city. It was real. It’s fascinating to see how much the artists here are like those I met in grad school. There is true brother and sisterhood among them. They hang out together on weekends, they support each other, console each other in times of need, and are invested in each others personal lives in terms of helping family. Saturday I took a trip back to the airport where again I was not able to pick up my luggage because of technicalities that were not sorted out before I arrived. At his point I’m convinced I will never see my artwork ever again. No worries shit happens right? After a morning of disappointment Clifford, my guide, and I find ourselves having tea at the Gallery where we run into the Gallery director Voti Thebe. We make a couple of phone calls and I end up speaking to the first American I’ve spoken to since arriving. I must say hearing an American voice was something to behold. Somehow subconsciously I do miss America and have made it a point not to acknowledge it. She assured me I would have my work by Wednesday………….we’ll see I thought. While at the Gallery Clifford and I had a conversation about marriage, and relationships. He broke it down for me in a way that made me realize that he and I were the same people in different parts of the world. I think fate brought him and I together. Not only do we think alike, but we act a like in so many ways it’s eerie at times. Some of the bombs he dropped about his own marriage and African traditions and customs in marriage made so much sense and really struck accord with the issues I’ve had in past relationships. The conversations lasted 6 exciting hours and I will spare the blog readers the details and sum it up in these words: in the African way of thinking marriage is two things and two things only; trust and sex. Without those two you will not have a happy marriage. He explained to me how in his marriage they go days without eating yet his wife trusts in her decision to choose him as a partner even though there are other men out there who would gladly support her and take care of her and are more attractive than he is. He says the worst feeling in the world is having a wife and child you can’t provide for, but the best thing is when she looks at you and says it’s ok and still sex’s your brains out like you just got married. It was touching the way he described his marriage. Today was suppose to be a a work day, but since we were not able to retrieve my work we decided to go out dancing……………moment of silence as I prepare to explain the madness that went down…………………one more moment…………….ok just two more seconds……………….Ok I’m ready. Clifford took me back to the lodge and we agreed on an hour to get ready. I changed my shirt and went downstairs for some chips (French fries-I know the English in me), and met a well seasoned med school student from Singapore. I forget her name at the moment because the chips were too serious and the seasoning on them sent me places. Future wife please take notice and understand herbs and spices can make fried potatoes a beautiful experience. Clifford came right on time and made stops to all of the clubs before making a decisions. They ranged from American music playing clubs strangely to African music playing clubs…………..Moment of silence again while I prepare to explain the amazingness that is the African club scene……………..I am from Miam, Fl home of the best dances and a culture that is dripped in dancing and vibin on a whole other level, but Africa is the matrix if Florida is the real world. The people here KNOW HOW TO GT DOWN! My jaw dropped at how FUCKING FUN it was to be in the African music playing clubs. The music was a mix of rave and drum music but very much unlike the states. Women are dancing and men, but there’s a catch. Men aren’t standing around looking at chicks at all. They are doing most of the dancing and in groups or solo. On tables just raving and drinking wine coolers which seems to be the drink of choice here. No hard stuff. Unlike America it isn’t bad to be a male dancing by yourself or with a guy friend next to you. It was pure unadulterated dancing and what they refer to rhythm dancing where you just let the music move your body and not think. It was like a trance almost. At first I felt self conscious thinking people were watching, but they encouraged me to move. Clifford pulled me aside and said “just let the music move you”. Before I knew it I was dancing my ass off, and got some love from the local ladies. They called me “Hollywood” because of the way I walked apparently and talked. In Florida guys actually dance and up north they just stand like around like flaccid penis’s waiting to be stimulated. My native Miamians I have to speak the truth and that is we have nothing on Zimbabwe when it comes to vibin and getting live as they say. We left around 4am and I slept like a baby. This was a good night.
Sunday August 8, 2010
Today Clifford and I drove to the Matopos National Park. We set out early and after two nervous check points we arrive at Matopos national park. Driving through the mountains and pure wilderness was therapeutic. Somehow I feel this trip was a gift from god for me to put my life in perspective. Everything I’ve seen and experienced has changed everything for me. Just listening to nature without cars or planes or people is so tantric it’s not even funny. We made a stop at one point and Clifford asked me if I had had ever gone hiking before I looked up at what seemed to be the equivalent of 7 stories and kindly said “nah bruh”. He told he wanted to show me cave paintings and I was down of course. He hiked for about 20 minutes or so climbing rock and avoiding tall 7 foot shrubs and finally made it to the top. The scene from the tall rocks caused by erosion was unbelievable. It was explained to me that people lived on top of the mountains to have an advantage of knowing where the enemy or wanderers were coming from. We turned and saw paintings on the rocks that were inscribed some thousands of years ago. The accuracy to which they represented animals and people is something to be seen in person and not in books or pictures. Stories were etched along the rocks for people to know of the way of life explained Clifford. It was a moment of disbelief. There were people who lived on rocks thousands of years ago……and they were in Africa. We headed down, avoiding the flying squirrels that were jumping from tree to tree, and finally made it back to the car where we enjoyed more park driving. Along one of the damns in the park were parked suvs, and people camping. My time in Zimbabwe has been like this…………..for every good I see there is something equally disturbing to accompany it. I see children playing and people socializing in the city, but they are poor, hungry, and use rotten dirty cast off American dollars to buy food that wouldn’t last a day in a typical American home for a weeks worth of shopping. The artists are like a family and love art, but they are also hungry and literally live and die on money they make from selling art. The club scene is happening but the reality of HIV is blatantly present when the first question someone is asked is are you infected instead of “hey wanna dance? What’s your name?” The people don’t mind walking, but that’s because they can not afford transportation or can’t fit in the trunks of those who can afford it. The kids are happy, but are cautious to stay healthy because there is no such thing as a drug store in Bulawayo to buy simple medicine like Tylenol. And here were are at a national park that is sacred land to the indigenous people of the land and who is barbequing on the holiday weekend of the heroes who fought for this land? White Europeans! It baffles me how I have yet to come across one middle class or lower classes no Black person in Zimbabwe. In some ways I understand America where the majorities are white and they rule, but this land is the complete opposite. The minority rule with money! It bothers me that I am in Africa and I see the native people of the land suffering and treating the visiting minority, that is responsible for much of their suffering, having a GREAT time on the majority’s national holiday. I have begun to incubate a hatred for those who refuse to acknowledge the residual effects of colonialism and slavery upon blacks. It seems that no matter where I go in life I see the same shit…..White people having a great time while the black people work their asses off. And I mean hey it wouldn’t be so bad if the whites didn’t treat the blacks like they are inferior. The people saw Clifford and I driving through and quickly called out to their son who was more than 20 feet away to come back to the camp site. They quickly locked their car doors. What the fuck? They smile and start laughing when we drive by. Later that night because there is a family of white guests staying at the lodge, I am fed dinner in the kitchen while they eat in the dining room I had become accustomed to eating in. Suddenly reality hit me…….I am black and my American accent doesn’t mean shit when a family arrives because I am subjected to the same treatment, even as a paying customer, as most blacks in the world; hidden from the “superior whites”. My soul burned with evil intentions as I watched them cook in the evening. I later watched tv in the pool room at the lodge and started flipping channels. I watched music videos in the row that seemed to come at the nick of time to help me get through my day. Seriously it freaked me out. On Vh1 I watched these videos in a row: TLC-unpretty, private dancer by Tina Turner, Desiree “Gotta be”, and that lady whose music they use for ipod videos. I then watched an interesting story about the war in Georgia in the Europe. I saw stories on Korea, China and Pakistan as well. My perspective changed big time after watching those two segments. The poor suffer, and I was born poor. It’s the only life I’ve ever known living from dollar to dollar. My hair is grey at 26 as a testament. I will become a household name one day and when I do I will never forget the poor and suffering. Ever. I hope the people who read this blog understand I am typing without correction and these are thoughts as I experience this opportunity that was handed to me. I love all people. I love life. I love those who I strongly disagree with even if they are killers and exploiters. I just needed to vent.
Monday August 9, 2010
Today I woke up for breakfast at 7:30 am, and got prepared like I usually do. I ate rather plentiful bacon and toast breakfast and then took to the sun for a warm hello…….or so I thought. I sat outside in the yard from 7:30am to 5:00pm. How do you ask? There is something to be said for peace and tranquility, and boy did I get it. I have never in my entire 26 year life been so at peace with the world. Al I could do was think and plan out my life going forward from the laconic grass. The birds, butterflies, and frequent lizards seem to occupy the space as well, but we were hardly interrupting each others peace. That’s right I said lizards! Anyone who knows me knows of my dreadful fear for anything scaly with legs minus crocodiles and alligators, and man this place is crawling with them. The cool thing is they are so beautiful even if scary to the tongue. Reds, blues, yellows, and so on and so on. There are two in particular I love watching. They are very intelligent creatures to say the least. One watches out for the other and they function as one unit. If one runs along the other follows. Yesterday the smaller of the two got locked outside by the gardener and sure enough the next morning as I was eating breakfast the bigger lizard ran out in the same direction to catch up. While I sat outside I saw both of them along the roof of the lodge basking in sun together. So many things ran through my mind during my 9 hour mental session. I’m worried of my return to the states. Last night I tried watching cable tv, and felt sick to my stomach. I thought about college football season coming up and my heart sank thinking of all the wasted beer, food and money that will consumed while people are here starving. I thought about my trip to the Matopos Mountains and seeing the cave paintings that were made thousands of years ago. It was magical in a non corny kind of way. The sun started to come down and I retreated into my room. After a tell nap I went down for dinner. The women in Zimbabwe know a thing or two about presentation. I took a picture of my food before I took to it like a starving lion. Afterwards I heard children! My spider senses went off and I gravitated to the sound of innocence. I met the grandchildren of one of the housemaids Grace. She cooks most of my food and her name explains her well. She takes great care of me, and I have made it a point to get to know her. The days of working at the Marriott helped me understand that cleaning up after people is the most thankless job in the world, and people expect you to take crap because it’s part of the job. I met her grand children Christolph and Cynthia. Both are in the 1st grade and were on vacation. Their hair were barely groomed, and clothes were typical of most children I’ve encountered in Bulawayo: non matching, barely fitting hand me downs. They were pleasant and shyly smiled incessantly at me when I spoke. It took a little comical bribing to get them to open up, but I managed to have a conversation with them. Christolph wants to be a pilot when he grows up and Cynthia wants to be a teacher. I held back tears listening to them speak. Since they are grandchildren of the maids they weren’t allowed in the main house. They sat in the kitchen. Yep typical colonial/slave children shit going on. Inquisitive people you look it up and find out what I’m talking about. I got up and ran to my room and met them downstairs with my laptop. I began to show them jpegs of my paintings and digital drawings. Their eyes lit up. Even Grace sat down in amazement. They reached out and got me a chair to sit, but I refused. The kids both sat on Grace’s lap as I gave them a slide show of my work. They began saying “yes” and “no” to the pictures they liked and didn’t like. It was cute hearing the yes’s and no’s I have to admit. After our moment the other people staying at the lodge came back from dinner and it was time to call it a day. I felt good about myself for a change, and happy for them. It was a good day.
……
So where did I leave off? Oh yes so on Friday night the bed and I had intimate relations and I was stuck on pills to help me get past this fever I acquired after my first week in the city of kings. I gave a lecture prior to this to the artists who occupy the city. It was real. It’s fascinating to see how much the artists here are like those I met in grad school. There is true brother and sisterhood among them. They hang out together on weekends, they support each other, console each other in times of need, and are invested in each others personal lives in terms of helping family. Saturday I took a trip back to the airport where again I was not able to pick up my luggage because of technicalities that were not sorted out before I arrived. At his point I’m convinced I will never see my artwork ever again. No worries shit happens right? After a morning of disappointment Clifford, my guide, and I find ourselves having tea at the Gallery where we run into the Gallery director Voti Thebe. We make a couple of phone calls and I end up speaking to the first American I’ve spoken to since arriving. I must say hearing an American voice was something to behold. Somehow subconsciously I do miss America and have made it a point not to acknowledge it. She assured me I would have my work by Wednesday………….we’ll see I thought. While at the Gallery Clifford and I had a conversation about marriage, and relationships. He broke it down for me in a way that made me realize that he and I were the same people in different parts of the world. I think fate brought him and I together. Not only do we think alike, but we act a like in so many ways it’s eerie at times. Some of the bombs he dropped about his own marriage and African traditions and customs in marriage made so much sense and really struck accord with the issues I’ve had in past relationships. The conversations lasted 6 exciting hours and I will spare the blog readers the details and sum it up in these words: in the African way of thinking marriage is two things and two things only; trust and sex. Without those two you will not have a happy marriage. He explained to me how in his marriage they go days without eating yet his wife trusts in her decision to choose him as a partner even though there are other men out there who would gladly support her and take care of her and are more attractive than he is. He says the worst feeling in the world is having a wife and child you can’t provide for, but the best thing is when she looks at you and says it’s ok and still sex’s your brains out like you just got married. It was touching the way he described his marriage. Today was suppose to be a a work day, but since we were not able to retrieve my work we decided to go out dancing……………moment of silence as I prepare to explain the madness that went down…………………one more moment…………….ok just two more seconds……………….Ok I’m ready. Clifford took me back to the lodge and we agreed on an hour to get ready. I changed my shirt and went downstairs for some chips (French fries-I know the English in me), and met a well seasoned med school student from Singapore. I forget her name at the moment because the chips were too serious and the seasoning on them sent me places. Future wife please take notice and understand herbs and spices can make fried potatoes a beautiful experience. Clifford came right on time and made stops to all of the clubs before making a decisions. They ranged from American music playing clubs strangely to African music playing clubs…………..Moment of silence again while I prepare to explain the amazingness that is the African club scene……………..I am from Miam, Fl home of the best dances and a culture that is dripped in dancing and vibin on a whole other level, but Africa is the matrix if Florida is the real world. The people here KNOW HOW TO GT DOWN! My jaw dropped at how FUCKING FUN it was to be in the African music playing clubs. The music was a mix of rave and drum music but very much unlike the states. Women are dancing and men, but there’s a catch. Men aren’t standing around looking at chicks at all. They are doing most of the dancing and in groups or solo. On tables just raving and drinking wine coolers which seems to be the drink of choice here. No hard stuff. Unlike America it isn’t bad to be a male dancing by yourself or with a guy friend next to you. It was pure unadulterated dancing and what they refer to rhythm dancing where you just let the music move your body and not think. It was like a trance almost. At first I felt self conscious thinking people were watching, but they encouraged me to move. Clifford pulled me aside and said “just let the music move you”. Before I knew it I was dancing my ass off, and got some love from the local ladies. They called me “Hollywood” because of the way I walked apparently and talked. In Florida guys actually dance and up north they just stand like around like flaccid penis’s waiting to be stimulated. My native Miamians I have to speak the truth and that is we have nothing on Zimbabwe when it comes to vibin and getting live as they say. We left around 4am and I slept like a baby. This was a good night.
Sunday August 8, 2010
Today Clifford and I drove to the Matopos National Park. We set out early and after two nervous check points we arrive at Matopos national park. Driving through the mountains and pure wilderness was therapeutic. Somehow I feel this trip was a gift from god for me to put my life in perspective. Everything I’ve seen and experienced has changed everything for me. Just listening to nature without cars or planes or people is so tantric it’s not even funny. We made a stop at one point and Clifford asked me if I had had ever gone hiking before I looked up at what seemed to be the equivalent of 7 stories and kindly said “nah bruh”. He told he wanted to show me cave paintings and I was down of course. He hiked for about 20 minutes or so climbing rock and avoiding tall 7 foot shrubs and finally made it to the top. The scene from the tall rocks caused by erosion was unbelievable. It was explained to me that people lived on top of the mountains to have an advantage of knowing where the enemy or wanderers were coming from. We turned and saw paintings on the rocks that were inscribed some thousands of years ago. The accuracy to which they represented animals and people is something to be seen in person and not in books or pictures. Stories were etched along the rocks for people to know of the way of life explained Clifford. It was a moment of disbelief. There were people who lived on rocks thousands of years ago……and they were in Africa. We headed down, avoiding the flying squirrels that were jumping from tree to tree, and finally made it back to the car where we enjoyed more park driving. Along one of the damns in the park were parked suvs, and people camping. My time in Zimbabwe has been like this…………..for every good I see there is something equally disturbing to accompany it. I see children playing and people socializing in the city, but they are poor, hungry, and use rotten dirty cast off American dollars to buy food that wouldn’t last a day in a typical American home for a weeks worth of shopping. The artists are like a family and love art, but they are also hungry and literally live and die on money they make from selling art. The club scene is happening but the reality of HIV is blatantly present when the first question someone is asked is are you infected instead of “hey wanna dance? What’s your name?” The people don’t mind walking, but that’s because they can not afford transportation or can’t fit in the trunks of those who can afford it. The kids are happy, but are cautious to stay healthy because there is no such thing as a drug store in Bulawayo to buy simple medicine like Tylenol. And here were are at a national park that is sacred land to the indigenous people of the land and who is barbequing on the holiday weekend of the heroes who fought for this land? White Europeans! It baffles me how I have yet to come across one middle class or lower classes no Black person in Zimbabwe. In some ways I understand America where the majorities are white and they rule, but this land is the complete opposite. The minority rule with money! It bothers me that I am in Africa and I see the native people of the land suffering and treating the visiting minority, that is responsible for much of their suffering, having a GREAT time on the majority’s national holiday. I have begun to incubate a hatred for those who refuse to acknowledge the residual effects of colonialism and slavery upon blacks. It seems that no matter where I go in life I see the same shit…..White people having a great time while the black people work their asses off. And I mean hey it wouldn’t be so bad if the whites didn’t treat the blacks like they are inferior. The people saw Clifford and I driving through and quickly called out to their son who was more than 20 feet away to come back to the camp site. They quickly locked their car doors. What the fuck? They smile and start laughing when we drive by. Later that night because there is a family of white guests staying at the lodge, I am fed dinner in the kitchen while they eat in the dining room I had become accustomed to eating in. Suddenly reality hit me…….I am black and my American accent doesn’t mean shit when a family arrives because I am subjected to the same treatment, even as a paying customer, as most blacks in the world; hidden from the “superior whites”. My soul burned with evil intentions as I watched them cook in the evening. I later watched tv in the pool room at the lodge and started flipping channels. I watched music videos in the row that seemed to come at the nick of time to help me get through my day. Seriously it freaked me out. On Vh1 I watched these videos in a row: TLC-unpretty, private dancer by Tina Turner, Desiree “Gotta be”, and that lady whose music they use for ipod videos. I then watched an interesting story about the war in Georgia in the Europe. I saw stories on Korea, China and Pakistan as well. My perspective changed big time after watching those two segments. The poor suffer, and I was born poor. It’s the only life I’ve ever known living from dollar to dollar. My hair is grey at 26 as a testament. I will become a household name one day and when I do I will never forget the poor and suffering. Ever. I hope the people who read this blog understand I am typing without correction and these are thoughts as I experience this opportunity that was handed to me. I love all people. I love life. I love those who I strongly disagree with even if they are killers and exploiters. I just needed to vent.
Monday August 9, 2010
Today I woke up for breakfast at 7:30 am, and got prepared like I usually do. I ate rather plentiful bacon and toast breakfast and then took to the sun for a warm hello…….or so I thought. I sat outside in the yard from 7:30am to 5:00pm. How do you ask? There is something to be said for peace and tranquility, and boy did I get it. I have never in my entire 26 year life been so at peace with the world. Al I could do was think and plan out my life going forward from the laconic grass. The birds, butterflies, and frequent lizards seem to occupy the space as well, but we were hardly interrupting each others peace. That’s right I said lizards! Anyone who knows me knows of my dreadful fear for anything scaly with legs minus crocodiles and alligators, and man this place is crawling with them. The cool thing is they are so beautiful even if scary to the tongue. Reds, blues, yellows, and so on and so on. There are two in particular I love watching. They are very intelligent creatures to say the least. One watches out for the other and they function as one unit. If one runs along the other follows. Yesterday the smaller of the two got locked outside by the gardener and sure enough the next morning as I was eating breakfast the bigger lizard ran out in the same direction to catch up. While I sat outside I saw both of them along the roof of the lodge basking in sun together. So many things ran through my mind during my 9 hour mental session. I’m worried of my return to the states. Last night I tried watching cable tv, and felt sick to my stomach. I thought about college football season coming up and my heart sank thinking of all the wasted beer, food and money that will consumed while people are here starving. I thought about my trip to the Matopos Mountains and seeing the cave paintings that were made thousands of years ago. It was magical in a non corny kind of way. The sun started to come down and I retreated into my room. After a tell nap I went down for dinner. The women in Zimbabwe know a thing or two about presentation. I took a picture of my food before I took to it like a starving lion. Afterwards I heard children! My spider senses went off and I gravitated to the sound of innocence. I met the grandchildren of one of the housemaids Grace. She cooks most of my food and her name explains her well. She takes great care of me, and I have made it a point to get to know her. The days of working at the Marriott helped me understand that cleaning up after people is the most thankless job in the world, and people expect you to take crap because it’s part of the job. I met her grand children Christolph and Cynthia. Both are in the 1st grade and were on vacation. Their hair were barely groomed, and clothes were typical of most children I’ve encountered in Bulawayo: non matching, barely fitting hand me downs. They were pleasant and shyly smiled incessantly at me when I spoke. It took a little comical bribing to get them to open up, but I managed to have a conversation with them. Christolph wants to be a pilot when he grows up and Cynthia wants to be a teacher. I held back tears listening to them speak. Since they are grandchildren of the maids they weren’t allowed in the main house. They sat in the kitchen. Yep typical colonial/slave children shit going on. Inquisitive people you look it up and find out what I’m talking about. I got up and ran to my room and met them downstairs with my laptop. I began to show them jpegs of my paintings and digital drawings. Their eyes lit up. Even Grace sat down in amazement. They reached out and got me a chair to sit, but I refused. The kids both sat on Grace’s lap as I gave them a slide show of my work. They began saying “yes” and “no” to the pictures they liked and didn’t like. It was cute hearing the yes’s and no’s I have to admit. After our moment the other people staying at the lodge came back from dinner and it was time to call it a day. I felt good about myself for a change, and happy for them. It was a good day.
Friday, August 6, 2010
I'm being followed
Oh Bulawayo why do you do this to me. Somehow I’ve fallen in love with the city for particular reasons. Everyone in the city is hustling to survive, and in many ways enjoying life. I was visited by an immigration officer today who wanted to make sure he knew where I was at all times………………That is when my guide Clifford explained to me he believes Central intelligence is following me, and watching me! At first I became somewhat paranoid being that the city is filled with people, but quickly something seemed to calm me down. I figured if an official was on my tail then I feel safe because should something happen to me he’s got my back right?. I never get his name but he has a warm smile, and he asks me whether or not I’m enjoying myself. It’s all love in Bulawayo. After the James Bond moment I entered the public library and had a chit chat with the Library director. He and his staff were extremely gentle and nice. We ended up speaking for an hour about life in the states vs. life in the main land. I swear to my goodness if America were to find its mate it would be Zimbabwe. Much of what America does wrong they do right and vice versa. It’s such a shame that the people are deprived from each other. I think Americans would love Zimbabweans and the other way around………..well at least I think so. I walked around by myself for a bit and after the first five minutes of trepidation being lonely my swag came back and I was doing my thang! There was a formal lunch and we were able to introduce ourselves to one another and I finally got into my studio and worked a bit on the computer still awaiting my lost pieces from the airport. Still no luck and it’s going on day 3. I am finding out a lot about the city’s history via the locals. What I find is race isn’t as hard to deal with or talk about as it is in the states, but man is it ever a topic and after speaking with so many people you come to have feelings of resentment towards those who colonized other people. It makes me sick to see native people watching foreigners drive these fancy cars past them………………WTF…………did I miss something? I saw a little girl reading in the library today and I really wanted to read to her or draw a picture for her but I wasn’t able to due to the pow wow the grown ups and I were having. Whomp whomp! The blacks are always moving toward the sun………..So I will explain. In the days of colonial power the colonialists planned the city out in a way that at dusk they were driving away from the sun to work, and at dawn the same thing would happen where they were driving away from the sun to go home. Because it was more convenient for them to be facing away from the blinding sun, away from the heat. It’s funny how I didn’t notice until Clifford brought it up to me. The car ride back to my lodge after dropping people off was blinding to say the least, and this notion of blacks migrating toward the sun was unreal around 5pm when the city literally shuts down and thousands of people are walking along the dusty unpaved road towards the blinding sun. When I say thousands I am not even joking. It is something you have to see to understand. It truly amazes me to see the eco system that is intrinsic of the culture here in Bulawayo. The one thing that was explained to me that blew my mind is there are no homeless people in Bulawayo. There are sometimes 10 people to a house because of the extended family system. So if your cousin or aunt from an extended line is without shelter your home is their home. The meaning of family is strictly different from that of the states where once you leave you are on your own. This weekend I plan to have beer with my studio mates. I already feel close to those guys.
Honorable mentions of the day:
Going to the supermarket and watching people purchase food was quite the experience. The building was akin to a huge supermarket with aisles big enough to fit two cars in between.
Watching a what seems to be four year old girl braid an adult woman’s hair and join in on what seemed to be an adult conversation.
A man yoked a toddler from getting hit by a car and continued on his way leaving the toddler to walk about in the congested street.
Listening to the locals talk about family, marriage, and rearing children in a passionate way was good times.
That was Thursday, Friday was really hard…………..really hard. Next time…………
Honorable mentions of the day:
Going to the supermarket and watching people purchase food was quite the experience. The building was akin to a huge supermarket with aisles big enough to fit two cars in between.
Watching a what seems to be four year old girl braid an adult woman’s hair and join in on what seemed to be an adult conversation.
A man yoked a toddler from getting hit by a car and continued on his way leaving the toddler to walk about in the congested street.
Listening to the locals talk about family, marriage, and rearing children in a passionate way was good times.
That was Thursday, Friday was really hard…………..really hard. Next time…………
Thursday, August 5, 2010
day1 and day2
Still Dreaming
I wake up and I see a cup of water next to my bed. One of the house maids in the lodge I’m staying must have snuck into my room while I was asleep and placed on the dresser for me incase I got thirsty in the morning. Good thing they did. I woke up in nervous shock realizing I wasn’t home anymore. This wasn’t Kansas………..or er a Florida, Rhode island, Oh I don’t know! This isn’t America! I reached into my bag for the closest thing that could bring me back to normalcy and I found it: chocolate! I ripped open a bar of milk chocolate and ate like the last ration on earth, swallowed, and then gave head to the pillow. Ecstasy found me in a bar of chocolate. I begin my day by showering, but this time it’s fast and sad. I imagine the people I’ve seen on my first day without showers or running water. The rule is your power and water are rationed. You have no clue of when your power or water will be given to you so it’s best you stay up and hope it doesn’t turn off when you need it most. Imagine having to get ready for work and in that morning both your water and electricity is turned off, and you have 4 children to get going including yourself and working wife? Now imagine your power and electricity going on after everyone is out about their daily business? This life is far too common with the people I’ve encountered. I shower with sadness because I’m thinking of the little boys and girls I see walking to school early in the morning to their 3 hour destination and wondering if they got to take a clean shower or had electricity. I grew up poor. Dirt poor by American standards, and somehow I’ve come to see poverty on a whole other level. What scares me is my guide has alluded many times to this isn’t as bad as you will later see. I’m terrified but at this point I have to see all that I can. The one thing that makes me feel a great deal of sorrow for Americans is they too are suffering in a different way. The people in Bulawayo have a spirit about them that is far more valuable to me than any luxurious lifestyle could ever buy. THEY TALK TO EACH OTHER. They socialize and debate. They give each other compliments along the way. The women are not so interested in a mans capital as they are interested in his manhood he wears on his face. So it’s a toss up. I would rather live poor and maintain basic and amazing human interaction than to have money and walk past people, or only give the time of day to someone cute with coach smeared across her body. While walking down the many streets I encountered a dusty bus filled with children getting ready for military training. As a past Americorp worker their faces were quickly visually replaced with the students I serve in the Mt. Hope area in providence. This is day two and so much has been thrown in my direction I can barely think straight. The one lesson I did learn today was although the people might seem like they are struggling to the outside world……………they are just fine, and need no help. Somehow I feel we as Aemricans need more help than they do. The blacks are always heading toward the sun…………………………next time.
I wake up and I see a cup of water next to my bed. One of the house maids in the lodge I’m staying must have snuck into my room while I was asleep and placed on the dresser for me incase I got thirsty in the morning. Good thing they did. I woke up in nervous shock realizing I wasn’t home anymore. This wasn’t Kansas………..or er a Florida, Rhode island, Oh I don’t know! This isn’t America! I reached into my bag for the closest thing that could bring me back to normalcy and I found it: chocolate! I ripped open a bar of milk chocolate and ate like the last ration on earth, swallowed, and then gave head to the pillow. Ecstasy found me in a bar of chocolate. I begin my day by showering, but this time it’s fast and sad. I imagine the people I’ve seen on my first day without showers or running water. The rule is your power and water are rationed. You have no clue of when your power or water will be given to you so it’s best you stay up and hope it doesn’t turn off when you need it most. Imagine having to get ready for work and in that morning both your water and electricity is turned off, and you have 4 children to get going including yourself and working wife? Now imagine your power and electricity going on after everyone is out about their daily business? This life is far too common with the people I’ve encountered. I shower with sadness because I’m thinking of the little boys and girls I see walking to school early in the morning to their 3 hour destination and wondering if they got to take a clean shower or had electricity. I grew up poor. Dirt poor by American standards, and somehow I’ve come to see poverty on a whole other level. What scares me is my guide has alluded many times to this isn’t as bad as you will later see. I’m terrified but at this point I have to see all that I can. The one thing that makes me feel a great deal of sorrow for Americans is they too are suffering in a different way. The people in Bulawayo have a spirit about them that is far more valuable to me than any luxurious lifestyle could ever buy. THEY TALK TO EACH OTHER. They socialize and debate. They give each other compliments along the way. The women are not so interested in a mans capital as they are interested in his manhood he wears on his face. So it’s a toss up. I would rather live poor and maintain basic and amazing human interaction than to have money and walk past people, or only give the time of day to someone cute with coach smeared across her body. While walking down the many streets I encountered a dusty bus filled with children getting ready for military training. As a past Americorp worker their faces were quickly visually replaced with the students I serve in the Mt. Hope area in providence. This is day two and so much has been thrown in my direction I can barely think straight. The one lesson I did learn today was although the people might seem like they are struggling to the outside world……………they are just fine, and need no help. Somehow I feel we as Aemricans need more help than they do. The blacks are always heading toward the sun…………………………next time.
Day 1 and 2
So how do I begin? I guess from the beginning. I arrive Johannesburg airport at 8:30 am. Upon peering out of the business class window I see what appears to be a barren area unlike that of London the day before flooded with lights and cars moving about: I am not in Kansas anymore. I am in Africa. I get off the plane and follow a series of hallways in a very empty airport. I arrive to a check point, have my passport stamped, and reach the transfer window where the adventure begins. I am greeted by two of the most beautiful Black women I have seen in the month of August. They kindly tell me my e-ticket is invalid due to the earlier missed flight and in order for me to reach my destination I would have to kindly fork over $2,000 American dollars……………….hmmmmmmmmm, how about hell niggity NO! In a moment of mental suspense I tell myself this can’t be. Much like the scene in the matrix where Neo realizes he has to save Morpheous, I too realize I will catch this plane. Determined I walk back through the check point and follow a ten minute path to a Virgin Atlantic woman who is getting off her duty. I explain to her my situation and she assures me I will be able to catch my flight……………..It’s just going to take ten more minutes on a walk that has me climbing 3 flights of stairs………Ok so maybe I opted for the escalator, but hey it’s all to the good. After an hour of back and forth with the very shrewd and merciless people of South African Airways I am taken on a bus that transport me to a remote place in the airport where I board a 52 passenger plane that takes me to Bulawayo. The plane ride had me clinging onto dear life with every little bump and turbulent jump. In an hours time I arrive to what seems like more of an oasis than when entering Johanessburg. This is definitely not Kansas. After a meticulous hour of explaining my reason for being in Bulawayo, I meet the program director at the National Gallery of Zimbabwe: Voti Thebe. I also meet the US embassy correspondent Gladys. I walk out of the airport which was essentially a small one story three room building out into what seemed like a movie. There is a group of children sitting out on the dirt ground listening to women speak to them. I ask Mr. Thebe what are they doing. With a smile he replies: A field trip to the Airport. Along the 20 minute drive into the city I see children dressed in uniforms walking along the dirt unpaved road. People appearing from tall grass fields and vanishing. It’s unreal. I ask Mr Thebe where are the children walking. He replies with a calm smile “Oh they are walking from the airport where school is to the city.” Shocked I ask how long does this take? He replies “maybe 2 or three hours, give or take”. I realize I am not in Kansas anymore. I enter the city and it is literally as if I went back 50 years. The architecture, the cars, the structure of the city is unlike anything I have ever witnessed in my life. Everything seems like a layer of dust has been applied. The people however are smiling and enjoying what would certainly be doom for most average Americans. My guide Clifford takes me on a tour of the city, and the gallery where I meet other artists. Some are fitted to stereotypical appear as what artists are believed to look like. Somehow it was translated to the people that in order to look like an artist you need to grow dreads. I was clean cut which put wrinkles on the foreheads of the people.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Damn! Damn! Damn!
If there is one thing I realize in the air that surrounds me is there is a God. The all mighty has humbled me in ways that keep me faithful to his power.
I missed my Flight.
The tour at the moment is on hold until I find a way out of North America. I planned, and packed as efficiently as I humanly could while trying to wrap up my Americorps service, and upcoming position as Americorps Manager. I left Providence, RI at 5:30pm only to encounter the most stress inducing traffic only ten minutes away from making it to my parking destination to arrive on time. What was usually ten minutes became 45 minutes and not a taxi in site once I arrived. As a 26 year old man going on 27 I broke down and cried. Not only was this the biggest "what the friggity fuck" moment in my life, but it was the moment I was reminded there is a God and he wanted to teach me a lesson: Humility. Days prior to 8:50pm July 31st, 2010 I was going around parading and telling the world and it's baby cousins out the womb that I was going to Africa! I was going to be flying business class, staying at a lodge, having a show, and being that dude away America ready to spread the Telfort love to the people of Bulawayo..........................and in that I forgot to humble myself. I have always been one to mentally move ahead of myself and for everytime right before my ego orgasms something happens to me that brings me back down to earth. Some people were born to live lives where they can get excited and ride the cloud 9 train. I however was born to live a life of checks and balances. I guess it's a way of keeping me honest, and working hard.
So after arriving at my parking destination to catch a cab I am told there is no cab service........WTF............I take a deep breath and drive to the airport............I mean what's $480 worth of parking at the airport right? I can afford that right?.....................yeah...................righttttttt. I remove my belongings and struggle to carry a 6 foot concrete roll filled with heavy stretcher bars and art materials to the airtran station where I have to lug it on the elevator and then drag the rest of my luggage to terminal 4. Freaking terminal 4 takes 25 minutes to reach including waiting time. I have two muscular clean cut overtly homosexual men assist me the rest of the way to the terminal where I see every airline in the world operating, live and kicking but Virgin Airlines............it is then I was reminded again..................there is a God. If someone were to tell me every airline but the one I was traveling with was going to be open when I arrived 45 minutes before take off I would've slapped em with my soggy calussed good hand. I spend 3.5 hours on the phone between Virgin and Cheapity cheap tickets to have rudeness shoved into my rectum. I could not believe the electronic/verbal rape I encountered while dealing with British people and what appeared to sound like Indian people. I hung up and stored my paintings away in storage and too tired to even emote I stumbled to the parking lot, slowly climbed into my cold Mazda6 leather drivers seat, and calmly reclined into the early 1:30am morning of Sunday. I am thoroughly dissapointed in myself for not being on time, and humbled at the fact that no matter how emotionally compromising this situation was there is a God, and as I become the next big thing in the Art World he is going to keep me in check along the way. Thank you.
ps: hoping to leave for the 6pm flight tonight. Here's hoping
I missed my Flight.
The tour at the moment is on hold until I find a way out of North America. I planned, and packed as efficiently as I humanly could while trying to wrap up my Americorps service, and upcoming position as Americorps Manager. I left Providence, RI at 5:30pm only to encounter the most stress inducing traffic only ten minutes away from making it to my parking destination to arrive on time. What was usually ten minutes became 45 minutes and not a taxi in site once I arrived. As a 26 year old man going on 27 I broke down and cried. Not only was this the biggest "what the friggity fuck" moment in my life, but it was the moment I was reminded there is a God and he wanted to teach me a lesson: Humility. Days prior to 8:50pm July 31st, 2010 I was going around parading and telling the world and it's baby cousins out the womb that I was going to Africa! I was going to be flying business class, staying at a lodge, having a show, and being that dude away America ready to spread the Telfort love to the people of Bulawayo..........................and in that I forgot to humble myself. I have always been one to mentally move ahead of myself and for everytime right before my ego orgasms something happens to me that brings me back down to earth. Some people were born to live lives where they can get excited and ride the cloud 9 train. I however was born to live a life of checks and balances. I guess it's a way of keeping me honest, and working hard.
So after arriving at my parking destination to catch a cab I am told there is no cab service........WTF............I take a deep breath and drive to the airport............I mean what's $480 worth of parking at the airport right? I can afford that right?.....................yeah...................righttttttt. I remove my belongings and struggle to carry a 6 foot concrete roll filled with heavy stretcher bars and art materials to the airtran station where I have to lug it on the elevator and then drag the rest of my luggage to terminal 4. Freaking terminal 4 takes 25 minutes to reach including waiting time. I have two muscular clean cut overtly homosexual men assist me the rest of the way to the terminal where I see every airline in the world operating, live and kicking but Virgin Airlines............it is then I was reminded again..................there is a God. If someone were to tell me every airline but the one I was traveling with was going to be open when I arrived 45 minutes before take off I would've slapped em with my soggy calussed good hand. I spend 3.5 hours on the phone between Virgin and Cheapity cheap tickets to have rudeness shoved into my rectum. I could not believe the electronic/verbal rape I encountered while dealing with British people and what appeared to sound like Indian people. I hung up and stored my paintings away in storage and too tired to even emote I stumbled to the parking lot, slowly climbed into my cold Mazda6 leather drivers seat, and calmly reclined into the early 1:30am morning of Sunday. I am thoroughly dissapointed in myself for not being on time, and humbled at the fact that no matter how emotionally compromising this situation was there is a God, and as I become the next big thing in the Art World he is going to keep me in check along the way. Thank you.
ps: hoping to leave for the 6pm flight tonight. Here's hoping
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