the African Tourist
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… pupating.
There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly. Richard Buckminster Fuller
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. Nathaniel Hawthorne
The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly. Richard Bach
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Naturally the news of his death was a shock. The last time I checked, he was a Jehovah’s Witness and was supposed to live forever ’cause he was vegetarian, sleeping in an oxygen tent and wearing that face mask to keep germs away from his system! But all that hype just shows why you should believe at most 30% of a ‘news’ story or celeb gossip.
I’ve been listening to radio coverage of his death and legacy. All’s I got to say is that a large number of people (read radio personalities) should just shut up if they have no idea what they’re talking about. Better for us to assume you’re an idiot than for you to confirm it by talking a whole lot of smack. Ok, to be fair, I’ve been listening to just one station which today had a ‘music afficionado’ on to comment on MJ’s legacy. The guy in question, a Randall Abrahams, said that kina Ray Charles and James Brown did more for music than Michael did. And that in another 20-30 years this will be clear. Something about true legends/icons changing our sense of style, and changing our lives, and according to him Michael didn’t do that. Ok, I won’t attack Randall, ’cause what do I want from him? He grew up in segregated South Africa and that has CLEARLY informed his world view.
Or maybe only black people really ‘get’ MJ’s impact on the world and others don’t? There has never been an untruer statement. On that same radio station there were people from all races, who’d grown up in the same segregated South Africa, who got what Michael was about.
But wait, I’m here to talk about what Michael meant to my life. When I play his earlier music, when he was with Jackson 5, I can literally smell what was cooking, and feel the air temperature and the taste of sunlight on my skin on the day that song got etched into my memory. Blame it on the Boogie has me, to this moment, moving and singing along as soon as I hear it. When I listen to ‘Off the Wall’ I remember early teenage crushes, and my introduction to poached eggs, and riding bicycles for what seemed a long distance to get to friends’ houses or to the shops.
Thriller reminds me of the Chelly Chellys (for the uninitiated, Seychellois) who ran a video store, and how I smiled and flirted with them (no pain experienced there 
) to pleeease hold a copy for me as soon as it came in. Then a group of us crowded around the television paying rapt attention to the Thriller video and enjoying the dance moves. Naturally the zombies crept us out, but Michael, even as a zombie was gorgeous and light on his feet. I would point to the Thriller video as the precise point when I recognized (in retrospect) the power of American cultural hegemony. Anything American I’d watched before Thriller had not had the impact on me that that video had. It made me long to be part of that culture. And that was Michael’s impact on the world. His work reached into all the nooks and crannies of this planet and did more for America than any amount of rhetoric about democracy and land of the brave and free could ever have done. He built that door to the world, and made it possible for rap music and culture to ‘bust thru it’ and influence all ‘hip and young’ people in the world today. Michael did that. Do you ever wonder why Bollywood or Nollywood movies merely entertain and teach, but do not elicit the same aspirational experience from you that a Hollywood movie does? (or am I the lone mind-colonized individual who thinks this?) I think Michael mastered the art of both teaching while entertaining and creating aspiration in his fans.
By the time I got to college, Michael now looked very light skinned, but was still good looking (though lacking in whip appeal), healthy and energetic. Of course many discussions were had about how he was selling out, about his rejection of blackness by bleaching his skin meant that black people should also reject him because he was rejecting us, etc. etc. Of course it was all about black folk and not about what he, Michael, felt or thought. But I still loved him. -ish. His ability to thrill and to bring joy with his beats and moves.
Then he did ‘Remember the time‘. I sat in a common room with friends, anxiously awaiting the world premier of the video, with all of us wanting to see if Michael’s ancient Egypt would be black or white. As the video started we were all tense, watching for the first infraction so that we could cut ties with him forever. After the first two minutes we relaxed (and why wouldn’t we with Iman, Eddie and Magic featuring prominently?), and by minute 6:15, when that stunningly choreographed dance sequence started, we were all flowing to the music. That was where I made up with Michael, in that incredible video. Anything he did after that was already forgiven because though he appeared to have rejected black folk by bleaching his skin, he still knew (acknowledged and promoted) where he’d come from. He was post-race a long time ago, his music said it, didn’t you feel it? 
But because many of us were trapped in our mental cages, we saw it as a rejection of black people instead of interrogating the possibility of a post-race state of being.
[<begin digression> Sometimes I think we just cling to the history of victimization as a way to honor or acknowledge our ancestors, instead of moving beyond the victim posturing. Maybe we fear we'll incur ancestral wrath if we simply say "yes they suffered, however, we need to move on and not dwell upon it"? Then again, you're trying to tell me it can get worse than this? Sitting in the victim cage and refusing to leave it when the gate's been wide open for years, with the jailers having long moved on to other quests? A post for another day, no doubt.<end of digression>]
Any subsequent stories about ‘Wacko Jacko’ – and I am so offended that SA newspapers persist in using that ‘Jacko’ moniker even now in their headlines. I can only hope that a pox will attack whoever made the decision to dishonor Michael thus – were met (by me) with total disinterest. So Michael was weird. Big deal. You would be too if you’d been through what he’d been through (anyone heard Kanye rap that part in ‘Knock you down’ where he says “this is bad, real bad, Michael Jackson… now I’m mad, real mad, Joe Jackson”? Michael’s childhood’s in rap’s lexicon as shorthand for violence, right up there with Ike-n-Tina and Rodney King). The child molestation accusations were difficult. Extremely disturbing, and I found it interesting that no one ever asked those parents why they were retarded enough to leave their children with a man who got more disturbed by the year. No, not blaming the victims (or the boogie), but blaming their ‘genius’ guardians/parents.
Not a single one of these accusations at any time then or even now – as all the pitiful details of his life emerge – diminishes his brilliance and impact on music and on lives across the world. Ever. Folk clearly need to take more lessons in how to separate the artist and his/her influence, from the flawed individual, and to quit throwing the baby out with the bath water.
Hopefully Randall Abrahams and his ilk will pay close attention and learn about Michael’s legacy from those who know: the Gordys, Jones-es, the Jay-Zs, the Akons. And don’t let’s forget about the Japanese and the Filipino (prisoners), or the millions of individuals who continue to honor his memory.
Psssht… didn’t change our lives or the world indeed!
[The short answer to the title is: a soundtrack to memories, and an exemplar of a consummate entertainer who had impact. O' to emulate even a fraction of that talent and work ethic]
*Yes, of course I’ve fallen on the sword of elevating a mortal to a deity now that he’s past tense. If I didn’t do it, wouldn’t that particular sword then be rendered obsolete?
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I’ve been reading, over the past day or two, of the Governor Sanford confession.
I’m not going to get into “oh the horror!” etc. ’cause I’ve essentially made a decision to leave people to their ways. So why am I blogging about it?
‘Cause his wife just kicks some butt and shows how it should be done. She reminds me of why I absolutely loved being in the Low Country, where women don’t sweat they just glisten . I enjoyed that carriage steps remained outside some houses so that visitors could ask what they were, and get treated to a history of how ladies used them to climb in and out of horse-drawn carriages. I especially enjoyed that the men walked on the curbside of the road and held the door open for any woman going in or out before them. Not ’cause they wanted something, but just because they’d been raised to do certain things for women, and women for men. That ’southern charm’ and breeding is what I see in Janet Sanford’s statement. No drama (at least not to the press), no long stories, just:
“We reached a point where I felt it was important to look my sons in the eyes and maintain my dignity, self-respect, and my basic sense of right and wrong.”
I just love how she (and her PR folk) expressed herself and how she pointed out that in life, it’s about being able to look yourself (and your kids) in the eye. Also liked the rest of the statement and that she left the door ajar. Like I said, no drama or long stories, just saying what needs to be said.
“Psalm 127 states that sons are a gift from the Lord and children a reward from Him,” she said. “I will continue to pour my energy into raising our sons to be honorable young men. I remain willing to forgive Mark completely for his indiscretions and to welcome him back, in time, if he continues to work toward reconciliation with a true spirit of humility and repentance.”
“This is a very painful time for us and I would humbly request now that members of the media respect the privacy of my boys and me as we struggle together to continue on with our lives and as I seek the wisdom of Solomon, the strength and patience of Job and the grace of God in helping to heal my family,” she added.
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I’ve been working up my walking fitness for the past couple of days after about a month of being a pure and total laggard. Ideally I am supposed to do a run/walk first thing in the morning, but that AM cold is so bad I end up pushing it to early evening. Today I figured 3pm was as good a time as any to go out and I plotted a route that takes me about 1.5 hours of mostly walking with brief stretches of running.
All was well for the first 20 minutes until I got to a flight of 108 steps. I love those steps: a) ’cause they are challenging! that hill they take me up is STEEP, but the view from the top is excellent. b) it’s in an old area of Johannesburg, a ‘hood with houses dating back to the early 1900s, houses that were built for the mining wadosi in those days, and it ALWAYS renders me totally speechless how enormous those plots of land are. E.g. all up the 108 steps, on either side, are enormous plots of land with equally large houses. It makes me wonder about whether it’s the original families who still live there and if so, how they’ve managed to maintain their wealth. If not, how are they resisting the trend taking place in many other areas, of owners selling out to developers who then build tiny little condominiums or blocks of flats? I try to avoid thinking about all those on whose backs the residents have made their fortunes, and depending on how upset I am about the toyitoyi du jour (another day, another toyitoyi… the capitalist in me wonders at what point people will let go of baggage and just work?), end up thinking about it anyway.
So I got to the bottom of the steps and decided that I’d climb them backwards today. Just because. I figured it would, a) work out some underused leg muscles, and b) allow me to see the view on my way up. No sooner had I gotten to step #10 than I saw a guy with a big smile (like christmas had come early), sprinting from the left side of the road, turning, and starting up the steps. Did I mention the guy looked TOTALLY unkempt and EXTREMELY suspicious? He was clearly surprised to find that I was facing him and not away from him. 50 thoughts flashed through my mind at once. He was definitely coming for me. I was not fit enough to sprint up those steps, stay ahead of him, and get to the guard at the top of the hill… he would probably catch up with me at step #30. Wouldn’t he feel hurt if he was just innocently running up the steps and I was standing here being suspicious of him?
Fortunately my flight instinct kicked in and I lickity-split heaved myself off the steps and jumped down a 6-foot wall that’s just beside the steps, and sprinted my behind back to the main road. I looked back for long enough to see that he’d sat on the steps with a crest-fallen expression. Now as I sit and type this I feel that maybe he was hurt ’cause he was innocently seeking out someone to converse with… but trust me, at that moment in time, my instincts were screaming “GET AWAY!“
Yes the area is secure, they call security guards to say a suspicious black female’s pretending to run in their ‘hood all the time, and it provides me with security ’cause the security vehicles usually drive slowly beside me until I leave their patrol area. But like with any ‘perfect’ system, there’s a blindspot and that staircase is it.
Next time I plan to go that route, I’ll do it early morning when (hopefully) the crazies aren’t up yet, and there’s a great deal of resident foot traffic. And yeah, ye olde fitness regime really needs to get pushed up several notches, want to be able to rely on Bolt-like (hey, I can always aspire…) sprints whether on high or low ground. And naturally I’ll keep listening to my instincts and keep those eyes in the back of my head open.
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It’s been 26 days since I watched Earthlings and decided to go vegetarian. Progress thus far? Fine. I’ll ‘fess up. A week into the vegetarian life, I caved in to a prawn curry. Every single prawn was consumed with more than its weight in guilt. Why did I do it? I was going crazy for the texture of meat. The chewy feel of it.
3 weeks into it, last weekend, I succumbed to a piece of beef from the stew that was beside all the vegetarian fare. Despite the images of cows being branded on their faces, or the depleted dairy cows being converted to hamburger meat… I consumed that piece of beef. My mouth rejoiced, but the rest of me was disapproving.
I’ve figured out (in another stunning re-invention of the wheel) that it’s about food texture (a good friend reliably informs me that infants and toddlers know this already). My jaw is going crazy for something ‘chewy’ to masticate, and it craves meat on some days, until it’s fed mushroom steaks. Mushrooms can be nice and chewy, depending on how you cook ‘em.
I’m slowly getting there. I looked cooked chicken, wing-to-eyeball, this afternoon and felt nothing. Aluta continua!
So… another May is here. This one makes it my 3rd blog anniversary.
First couple of years were good blog years. This past year’s been a pain in the butt ‘cause I’ve lost a whole lot of umph. It’s been a gradual loss, and I suppose it all dumped onto this past year. After the continuing Kenyan fiasco, with the chaser of the pogroms in SA, it’s been a lotta difficult to get back onto the saddle, and quite honestly, I doubt that I’ll ever recover that earlier vibe/insouciance. Not to worry though, ‘cause it never ceases to amaze me how I grow and get wiser from one minute to the next…
So imagine how much wiser a year makes me!
Oh, how wise has it made me? Let’s see:
And… Year 4? Onward and upward! Fighting those windmills and refusing a return to “sanity”.
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Just after publishing downward dog post, I watched a documentary, Earthlings, on youtube. Wow. Talk about graphic footage. And the narrator justifies its graphic nature by saying that if one insists on having meat in their diet, they should not shy away from seeing how that meat gets to their table.
I’ve watched the Peta videos on their website in an attempt to kick the flesh habit. It worked for a while, but I was back to nyama choma shortly thereafter. Earthlings is a whole other ball game. Only watch it if you would change the world and make it a better place. And if you have a heart that’s soft enough to be touched by cruelty to animals.
What we do to animals in the name of God giving us authority over all animals on earth, is JUST UNSPEAKABLE! I’ve tried to justify it by saying that that goat, sheep, and ingokho over christmas cannot possibly fall into the realm of commercial farming, but that’s a moot point. We all were never habitual meat eaters traditionally. An animal was only sacrificed during important occasions (doubt the veracity of my argument? Go read ‘Things fall apart’ for the umpteenth time, and see the fixation on kola nuts and yams, vs. nyam chom or egusi soup). And we knew what occasions were important enough to permit blood-letting. And surely, the animal was asked for mercy before its throat was slit (basis of kosher- and halal-ism (essentially, mesma coisa), though I’d put my money on halal meat in Somalia being the ‘halal-est‘ ’cause those folk do.not.play! or compromise). Today, what exactly is the special occasion that justifies that nyama choma on a frequent basis?
The truest thing said in that documentary was that, “if slaughterhouses had glass walls, or if we had to personally kill the meat we consume, we’d all be vegetarian”. Not quite sure about that though, because the (clearly) hidden camera footage from those slaughter houses & hunts shows people who enjoy hurting defenseless animals. It’s not enough that the animals live in those conditions, they have to kick, throw, hit, prod and insult them! Ohhh and don’t even let me get started on the dolphins! So it begs the question, in the unlikely event that commercial animal farming stopped, where would these bloodthirsty chaps end up? And more than that, do they have families? Children, wives? How do they behave towards them, if they’re that cruel to defenseless animals?
Quick overview of the video, animal exploitation by humans around 5 themes: 1. Pets (shows how, by not spaying your pets or by discarding them, you’re ensuring they are ‘put to sleep’ in INCREDIBLY inhumane ways, and disposed of in landfills – something which CSI, when they delve into landfills to find dead bodies, never show us), 2. Food (beef, pork, poultry (ducks for foie gras - which I regrettably, once enjoyed in a francophone country), seafood: fish, dolphins, whales), 3. Clothing (leather – I’m giving away my leather jacket ’cause I SO KNOW it’s Made in India!… shoes are made in China, which is no better… what to do, when leather shoes and belts are marks of qualidade?????? , fur – I was never going to buy anything fur-lined, since the WalMart scandal around dog fur-lining winter jackets in the ’90s), 4. Medical experiments (one word, UNSPEAKABLE!). I cannot tell you how many times I called “HEYZEUS” (translate from spanish, and doesn’t it kinda link modern christianity to Zeus, that Greek Almighty?) in the course of this particular segment, 5. Entertainment (Circuses, Zoos – thank the heavens I never made it round to the Jozi Zoo, Pony rides, Bullfighting, Rodeos, Hunting, Fishing).
The point of the documentary was that in our interactions with other ‘earthlings’ (sentient beings inhabiting this earth) we should ensure we are not exploitative. It needs to be a symbiotic relationship, not a parasitic (by us) one. And right there, I saw how my partying and disregarding DD’s needs is part of this exploitative relationship. Though I must admit that after that 1st night (returning at midnight), I would rush home, regardless of the scintillating company, to get DD out the apartment before he got desperate. And did I mention that if you leave the bedroom doors open when he’s home alone, DD will make a point of pissing on your bed to seek retribution for you leaving him alone? Perchance, in his “best breed of therapy dog” way, he prepared me to receive the Earthlings video in a positive manner?
There were parts that had me looking away, fast forwarding ‘cause I could not stand to see the suffering of the animals. There were parts where I gazed in horror, convinced my eyes were not seeing what they were seeing.
I finally get why the guys at the ashram have vegetarianism as a pre-requisite for taking their yoga-instructor courses. I’d previously thought they were being a bit forceful, the usual religious oppressiveness of getting everyone to do it your way or not at all (ok, so maybe they are just a tad). I thought this even after reading their pamphlet on why vegetarianism was the moral choice. It is one thing to read about vivisection (experimenting on live animals) and quite another to actually see what vivisection looks like to millions of animals.
So does one viewing of Earthlings mean I’m cured from the flesh habit? For the time being, yes. But like taking a bath/shower, it needs to be done repeatedly. No, I don’t plan to traumatize myself further by watching it on a monthly basis. I just plan to be more mindful of power relations, that might does not make right (whether you’re a despot or a person about to step on an insect), and that I should empathize with the suffering of all other sentient beings instead of rolling up my window and speeding away ‘cause I am overwhelmed by the number of people who want small change from me.
