Near the Old Man of Storr, Scotland I took this in 2004

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Things done change

As I sit here, the beginnings of thought awakening, I can see the mist that has surrounded and blanketed my city, or at least my nook of it, this morning.

I haven't travelled in such a time that I dream about it all the time.

I pick a place I've never been and imagine what it may or might be like, with such relish...
I'm waiting for inspiration to take hold of me and help me decide which path to follow, as it stands I only have past memories and hopes of new ones to quench me.

Before I go and travel, I wait for the place to call to me, like a lost child. It becomes a deep yearning to find that place, to go, to see, to connect for reasons I have never been able to fathom at the time of the calling.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to go to Ghana. The Ghanaians I have met are always lovely, but maybe it's also my bias, could be? I happen to think that as an over arching rule, people from African nations have an amazing kindness and love that other continental groups don't share with the same gusto.

I re-memebered just yesterday, in fact that Ghana was the place where people who were to become slaves were taken. They were held in what is known as The Middle Passage, before they left their continent forever, along with stories, languages, dances, songs, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunties and uncles, foods, the land that birthed them, and the sky that held them.

I now have an image of the scene from the book Roots, by Alex Haley, in my head. The scene where we learn of all the conditions on that ship. The people chained below deck, dying or dead.

I also can hear Bob Marley, sing Buffalo Soldier, as I conjure up these images,
"Buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta:
There was a buffalo soldier in the heart of America,
Stolen from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.

I mean it, when I analyze the stench -
To me it makes a lot of sense:
How the dreadlock rasta was the buffalo soldier,
And he was taken from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival."(I got this from, but they words africa and america weren't capitalized, so the capitals, mine.) is just a wee bit of info about who the Buffalo Soldiers were.
I hope this link works it's an amazing history in photos of the Buffalo Soldiers, with accompanying music sung by Neville Dennis.
otherwise there's Bob Marley's version, check it:
While we're on the subject of dissecting culture, history and politics , I strongly recommend that you, whoever you may be, read Zakes Mda, an amazing writer from South Africa. He writes about the horrors of hate , in such a poignant way. One such masterpiece of his is called Ways of Dying, about modern S.A, "post" apartheid. I put post in quotes, because it's clear to anyone that apartheid is still very much alive and torturing, even now, in 2009.

My mother was in S.A not less than 5 years ago, and saw children with no shoes,with no pencils or paper to write with.

It's easy to take so much for granted, when we never have to wonder about our instant comfort; our feet being kept safe in shoes, our bellies being kept satiated by our full fridges and cupboards.

And the title of this post is my homage to Biggie, cuz slowly but surely we shall and will overcome.

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