The Boys of Baraka

Most people know about my affinity for Netflix. I rarely watch television. I just queue DVDs and watch movies (cuz Im not found of going to theatres), catch up on shows (cuz like I said, I rarely watch tv), and watch documentaries (netflix has got a great selection). So last night I watched The Boys of Baraka. This is a must see film for all black males, anyone concerned with the plight of black children, or anyone who doesnt understand the conditions facing poor children in America.
As the blurb reads: "In an experimental program to reduce the rate of juvenile delinquency, the city of Baltimore sent a group of 12-year-olds deemed "at risk" to a boarding school in Kenya, affording the boys the rare opportunity to turn their troubled lives around. Focusing on four of the youths, this compelling documentary follows the students as they struggle to overcome the obstacles of their past in their hopeful bid for a shot at a brighter future."

With as much exposure as I've had to inner city youth and scholarly research I've done on their plight, this documentary still revealed a great deal to me. I am still unable to fathom the fact that in order to face a brighter future, these young men are taken out of the streets of Baltimore and taken to Kenya. The educational system in most of sub-saharan Africa though rigorous is severely lacking in resources. However, these boys ended up learning in one year in Kenya more than they did throughout years of schooling in Baltimore city schools. I was also impressed by the level of determination the children showed. They were aware that their environments were conducive to failure and were willing to move to a completely foreign environment in order to better themselves. I found many of the children to be smarter than their parents, who were not working nearly as hard as their sons to improve their quality of life.

However inspiring this film was for me, it was still troubling in many ways. I was disappointed that though the Baltimore recruiter for the Baraka school was a black woman, all but one of the teachers, counselors, and administrators of the program were white. These boys were in need of more than educational and psychological counseling. They needed to see Black men as role models encouraging them to make it because they had as well. This was lacking in the program and is lacking overall in most communities. Most of the boys did not have their father's or even other males in their households and this most definitely has an effect on their outlook of their future.

Overall, this is a great documentary and everyone needs to see it.

Viva Chavez!!!!

If you don't stay up on world news, you must see this video. Bush is a devil.

I think Chavez summed things up perfectly and I admire his courage.

Where Do the Children Go?

In one of my classes, we examined the theory of reciprocity in societies; the absence of capitalism in societies because the communities function largely through family and kinship relations. People do things for each other in order to help and community members do not assign market value to their labor or services.
In all of this the issue of orphans in Africa emerged. There is a growing number of orphans due to the effect HIV/AIDS related deaths. When their parents die, some children have family members that will take them in and they are able to continue living supported lives. However, with the high rate of HIV infects (surpassing 30% in many African nations), many children have no where to go. The western approach to this dilemna would be orphanages, but you see, many African countries never had to build orphanages because the concept of children without parents or even family was completely foreign. So today we have an unsupported number of children living on the streets and providing for themselves because enough state systems have not been created to provide them with basic needs.

In an earlier post, I told of my visit to Sanyu Babies Home. These abandoned babies were fortunate enough to be rescued by this organization and able to be brought up in a loving environment. However, after the age of two, they were no longer able to live in this orphanage. When we asked the workers where the children went once they turned 2, they replied by saying that they hoped they could be adopted. But what if they weren't...the children could only hope to be placed in another orphanage.

And so the next question asked is adoption? Why isnt that an option. Well it is, but rarely used. Most families have so many of their own children to care for, that the thought of adopting a child that is not related to them is not even considered. Also, many countries do not encourage international adoption and make it virtually impossible for someone not related to the child to do so.

So once again I ask, "Where do the children go?"

Identification and the Generation Gap

The last couple of months, my mother and I have been getting into petty arguments about her refusal to carry identification when she goes out. We'd go to the bank and she'd be unable to withdraw money because she never had identification on her. She is even annoyed when she is asked to verify her identification. This has always frustrated me because besides the need for tellers to know they are handing over the funds to the right person, I think it's just unsafe not to have ID on you. I always think the worst and worry that one day something might happen to a loved one and they are unable to identify their body or get in contact with someone.
Anyways, as we were getting into yet another debate when I reminded her to bring her ID when we were leaving the house, she exclaimed that she was sick of people needing to know who she was and where she came from. And then it hit me. My mother grew up in the 60s, during colonial times. When she was young, she was forced to carry identification wherever she went. It was used as a means of oppression. As colonized people all over the world did and Blacks in the US, refusing to carry identification was a form of revolt. My mother, however, has been so scarred by this experience and conditioned to be in a constant state of revolt, that even though decades have passed since demanding identification was an institutionalized, oppressive tool, she still detests the act.
Though this is a very inconspicuous example, it goes to show how deeprooted the effects of institutionalized racism are. My mother did not live in the US during the time of Black Codes and Jim Crow, but her experience in Cameroon was so parrallel, that the hostility still lingers here. It also goes to show that though I am dedicating my life to righting the wrongs of colonialism, I will never truly understand or feel what my people have gone through.

Family Strangers

When I was in high school, I wrote a short story about what I thought my next trip to Cameroon would be like. I envisioned knowing no one in the land, while everyone knew me. I couldnt have been more right as I found out last March.
This summer I am preparing high school students for college in the fall at the University of Maryland, College Park. I had them do a ancestral assignment, in order for them to really delve into how they came to be where they are now, through family ties. Many of them complained about not being able to do the assignment because they had deceased parents and grandparents, but I encouraged them to work with what they had, they might be able to discover some things. One girl found out that she is related to Francis Scott Key and others discovered the meaning behind their last name.
Overall, it was a successful project, but it made me think about my own family and the difficulty I would have with a project such as this. I dont speak to my father and know nothing about his family. I'm sure that I could go to his village and ask questions, but with the short life expectancy in Cameroon, I'm worried that people may die before I learn about who they are. My mother is very reserved and does not like talking about her family. I just found out last year that I have a brother, who is 26 and now I wonder what else may have been hidden from me. I never met my grandparents. I have a slew of cousins, but I am not very clear on the path to our relation.
The family that I feel closest to in the US are not even blood relatives. They are my mother's closest friends.
As I've gotten older, the idea of family strangers, that I took so lightly is frightening. I am looking foward to beginning my own legacy bu starting a family, but I want to be able to give my children a clearly idea of where they came from.
Maybe I'll embark on this ancestral assignment myself.

Whose Terrorizing Who?

This summer I've done a great deal of traveling and my time spent in the airport always pisses me off. First it was while leaving the Bahamas, my passport was checked at the door of the plane. I had never experienced this before and it upset me that there was more security leaving the Bahamas than there was coming in. Then, on my trip to Uganda, we went through Dubai. Dubai is known for its gold and other sellable goods. African women are known as marketers and businesswoman. After going through the standard security checks at JFK airport, there was another guard in the corridor on the way to the plane. He saw my group (mostly young white students) and bid us a safe journey. However, an African woman in her fifties was walking alongside of me and she was abruptly stopped "randomly". She was questioned as to why she was traveling to Dubai, but more importantly the guard was more concerned about how much money she was traveling with. She daringly asked him why it was any of his concern and he gave her the BS speal about "doing his job". The blatant racial profiling angers me. There is no attempt to be subtle about it anymore.
On our way back from Uganda, we again transferred in Dubai. There was a terminal in the Dubai airport that was solely for trips to JFK airport. This terminal had another security check set-up that was not present at any other terminal. We went through the x-ray machines again and our bags were emptied and checked regardless of if anything on the x-ray looked suspicious. I inquired as to why this was only being done for trips to JFK and I was told it was in order to stop terrorist. I was so fed up with all of it, that I told the airport security that there was no need to keep looking for the terrorists because they had become them. I was being terrorized! That is when he told me after looking at my passport that the US had created this system and he was Arabic and only worked there! lol I couldn't blame him for disassociating himself. Upon entering the plane we were then told that throughout the 14 hour flight we were not to congregate with other passengers for fear of conspiracy I assume.
I just don't understand why the US doesn't realize that they must be doing something to anger the world to have to go to such extreme measures to protect itself. No other country is this paranoid about unidentifiable terrorists.
Things like this only heighten my desire to leave this country. I can not continue in an existence that perpetuates constant fear in its citizens.

BLACKOUT

Tonight was the best BBQ of the summer. We had a going away shindig that was tons of fun, besides a few bumps along the way. For one, Uganda has a series of power outages everday. We did not feel the full brunt of this issue because our dorm continuously ran on a generator, but most people were not so lucky and sat in darkness for most of the day. Just as we were set up to get our BBQ rolling, the power went out. So we had a candlelight BBQ, which felt very much like a vigil. Even though there wasn't booming music as planned, there was plenty of entertainment due to the excessive number of guests. The scope of the BBQ had been clearly misarticulated and everyone was under the impression that they could invite guests. And as the African way of doing things would require, each of those guests invited four or fice people. In the end, there were more than 100 people there, more than half of which program participants did not know. But it was a great time because of that. I met several new people. The best part of the night was the opportunity to have real, raw, and intimate conversations with Ugandan youth. I am already rather straightfoward when I talk to people, but after a couple of drinks, I was even surprised at how forthright I was with my questions. I had noticed that upon meeting a Ugandan, before you even got to a comfortable level of conversation, they'd adsk you "how you found life in the US". This question was problematic to me for a couple of reasons. 1. It's a fact that many times Africans befriend foreigners so that they can help them go abroad. 2. I didn't want my nationality to be a focal point on the trip. I wanted to experience a true immersion. So initially when asked this question, I'd dodge or brush it off with a generic answer. But tonight I was in the mood for intellectual stimulation and to challenge folks. So when asked the question, I'd ask them why they asked. Honestly, I was told that 1. They didn't like life in Uganda and wanted to leave and possibly go to America so they wanted to know what life was like there. 2. They were bombarded with American pop culture and wanted to know if that was how people really lived. I was happy to hear these answers because it gave me the opportunity to explain why the grass is not always greener on the other side. Yes, the financial quality of life in the US is more promising that most of Africa, but what many of the people I came across were unaware of was the social/racial inequality and challenges faced everyday. They had never been told that they'd be discriminated against because of their race, immigrant status, and being African. They couldn't understand why even though they'd have a degree from a very prestigious African university, it would probably mean nothing in the US. Or that I was living comfortably in Uganda because of the rate of exchange, but in the US I was STRUGGLING to pay my bills. These were things they never associated with the American Dream. So though I'm sure many of their initial goals were to capitalize off of meeting me, I was satisfied in knowing I had done something to broaden their understanding of life as a poor, black person in America.

Whitewater Rafting in Jinja

For the third time in one week, I almost died. This seems to be the trend for the trip. We went to Jinja, the source of the nile and went white water rafting. The experience was indescribable. By far the most daring and thrilling thing I've done. The Nile has class 5 rapids, which is considered rather extreme for the sport and downright crazy to do on your first time. During our training session we were taught how to get back on our boat in case it flipped. I did not like this excercise one bit. I was scared to death of being tossed off that raft in calm water, little did I know what was yet to come. When we started it was fun. It kind of felt like a roller coaster and I was enjoying the ride, until our raft flipped in the middle of a rapid. I was terrified! The more I tried to swim to the raft, the further it drifted. The group in the other raft said they thought our flip was funny, until they saw the look in my eyes. I was terrified! I just knew I was going to die! Somehow, I made it back to the raft and was hoisted back in. I was definitely ready to call it quits, but convinced myself that that was the worse to come.
Two rapids later we flipepd again, but this time all the rafts flipped so it was every man for himself. Just my luck, I was stuck underneath the raft. If I didn't really think I was going to die before, this time I was sure! I began to swim frantically searching for a way out. As I felt my way to the top, I felt someone grabbing a hold of me. Two things crossed my mind. Either it was a group member using me to gain stability in the water, which would have been fatal for us both or it was Jesus. I was kind of right. There were lifegaurd kyackers following us in case of danger and one saw me seriously struggling and pulled me onto his kyack. This flip was particularly bad for all of us because another one of my group members was also strapped to the back of the kyack. Once I got back to the raft, I was extremely thankful to the lifegaurd. I couldnt believe I had made it through all of that. Of course, I had a lifejacket on so I would have been able to float, but the rapids and current was so powerful that I had no control over my body and didnt trust the lifejacket much. When I told my mother what had happened, of course she had a conniption and didn't understand why I had gone rafting in the first place. The wildest part is, when she asked if I would do it again, without a thought I knew I would! lol

Expat Way of Life

We made it out alive! Though we never encountered any obvious physical danger, being in Gulu was an all around frightening experience. The streets were so quiet. All the time, night or day. The market was open from about 9-5, unheard of in African society. It was clear that people were afraid to be in the streets when the sun went out. I felt like I was in a different world. There were about five NGOs on every block, so our presence wasnt astonishing as it was in other parts of the country. Foreigners were almost as popular as Acholis.
Professor Schwenk from Georgetown University/Makerere University spoke to us about foreign aid and development in Africa. He brought up several very good points that I have taken for granted while here. I have raged about my desire to see self-sufficiency within the community, but in so many ways I have. The NGOs that we've visited have largely been run by Ugandans so there is a desire for people to uplift themselves, it's just that the shortage of resources causes them to seek additional help. The fact that Westerners spend so much money on luxurious bullshit makes them prime targets. Why shouldnt someone in need solicit help from someone who cares more about dressing and feeding their cats, than a malnourished child. He also forced my group to face the tourist culture that they claim to despise, yet perpetuate. Yes, people will ask you for money if you come into their homes flaunting it and do not offer any alternatives to their request. And these same patterns of behavior start naively, but soon develop and become harmful. Case in point is the distribution of foreign aid. It is often given in sporadic bursts of large sums of money, politically loaded, and as a result mismanaged and misappropriated.

GUSCO

I thought I was growing numb to the misfortune around me, until I visited GUSCO (a rehabilitation center for former child soldiers). I cried while I watched Invisible Children and Soldier Child and my visit to GUSCO was no different. The overview given of the program was routine, as I had read what was said several times. However, once we were face to face with the children in the center, I couldnt contain myself. There were only 31 children, considered a low number because there was a time when there were at least 200. One young boy had just arrived the day before. He was so frail and scared. He has several visible wounds. The others looked like any of the children, who I had seen throughout the city. When we were given an opportunity to interact with them, I broke down. Everything I had read and watched was alive, real, and in front of me. I gathered myself together and began to talk to the children. Some had been held captive a few weeks, but one unfortunate boy who was about fifteen had been with the rebels for six years. Most of his adolescence was spent in the bush. I was surprised that he had a desire to escape and rationalized how severe the conditions must have been. I spoke with a young girl, Nancy, whose whole family had been killed. She had no one to return to. All she wanted was to go back to school, but there was no one to care for her. Nancy was such a beautiful girl and I felt for her. I gave her my contact info and hopefully she can write or call me one day because I would love to sponsor her. As close as I am to my mother, I can't imagine not having her in my life or worst, being taken from me. These children were so open and so resilient to have gone through such terrible hardship. One young girl had a crucifix around her neck and said that once she realized that it was time for her to run, she got on her knees and prayed for God's guidance. At this point, faith is all one can have. The LRA has moved into the DRC and besides those lands being harder to navigate than Souther Sudan, there are even more rebel groups. I fear that the children may escape the LRA and then be abducted by another force and treated worse because they are foreign and dont know the language. This issue is so multidimensional and the children continue to bear the brunt of the misfortune.

Gulu

Today, I did the craziest thing I've ever done in my life. I stepped into a warzone. Our group made the daring decision to travel into the Gulu region of Northern Uganda. Everyone figured that it was a great opportunity and couldn't miss out. On the road to the region, the distinction was clear. We had to go through a checkpoint and crossed over a bridge to enter Acholiland or "Kony's Land" as the bus driver so ominously called it. All you could see were acres and acres of land with no homes built, as we had seen in the southern parts. The driver told us that a couple of years ago the grassland had been tall bushes, but the government wisely cut down the trees because that is where the rebels dwelled. Soon, we saw a myriad of huts that served as the Internally Displaced People's (IDP) Camps. Once we entered Gulu town, there was a stark contrast to Kampala. It was cleaner and less crowded, but even in broad daylight there was an eerie silence. Tension could be felt in the air. We visited a very large hospital, Locar. And of course being the camera happy tourists, that they are, the group asked if they could take pictures. Why you would want pictures of sick people, many on their death beds....I don't know. Luckily, they were denied! Though the hospital was very large with several wings and great care and attention given to patients, they were obviously lacking in resources and staff administration. Some patients looked as if they had been waiting for hours for simple diagnosis. I later learned that two of my group members, who went to be treated for malaria were pushed ahead of other patients because they are White Americans. Even in the eye of death, my people still find superiority in the White man, or is it inferiority in themselves? The nutrition wing of the hospital impressed me the most. The children were hospitalized because of severe malnutrition and it pained to see them. The myth of starving children in Africa with swollen bellies, had come true. It was largely due to the extreme warfare. Families were unable to farm because their crops had been destroyed or they had been relocated to camps.

The White Man's Burden

They truly believe they are the saviors of the world and dont even realize it! One group member said that he had gone to church in South Africa and saw a huge cartoon-like portrait of a pale white Jesus hanging on the wall. So he saw a relation to the children's extreme faith in Jesus and race. When they saw Muzungus (white people), they saw Jesus. So their faith in white people transcended economical salvation to spiritual salvation. His recognition of this was so powerful that I fully trusted his interest in helping the people we saw. He wanted to focus on self-sufficiency, rather than salvation. But today, while debating Ugandan customs, another group member said she'd tip here even though it wasnt customary, but would not in Europe; even though both places expect it from Americans. I prodded and prodded for an explanation, in vain. Her apparent frustration communicated to me that she knew the reason, but didnt want to verbalize it. Clearly, Africans are less advantaged than their European counterparts. She probably viewed her tip as a handout, her service to the people. But I believe part of understanding culture is living as its citizens do.

Hiking in Uganda

If we were in the North, we would have died! Today, we traveled to Fort Portal, a city full of rich landscape. In order to get a complete experience of the wonders present in the region, we went on a hike. Of course, I wasn't thrilled about this idea because I haven't done any rigorous activity in over a month, but I figured it's be worth it. the guide informed us that the hike would be approximately 3 hours. YIKES! But there'd be crater lakes, a waterfall, and all sorts of wonders on the way. So once again I reminded myself that it was worth it. The first part of the hike went relatively well. I forgot about how I get shin splits very easily and never stretch before a workout. So the series of hills reallygot me good, but it was all worth it once I got to the "top of the world." The view of the crater lakes was breathtaking. Our next trek was to the waterfall. On the path we saw coffee, yams, tea, bananas, and all sorts of crops being grown. The tea was planted on a VERY steep hill and I asked the guide how people managed to plant and harvest on such a steep hill. This was when he kindly informed me that the hill leading us to the waterfall was even steeper. That was when I kindly informed him that I'd be waiting in that spot until they got back.
The group, however, successfully convinced me to continue forging on and I was anxious to see the waterfall. Also, the path this far had been fairly easy and though we had already walked about 7 miles to that point, I felt comfortable and had enough energy to forge on, so I did. When we reached the hill, I immediately regretted my decision. It wasn't even a hill! It was a vertical decline. You could barely see the bottom of the ground as you took each step. The guiden sense my apprehension and had to hold my hand (literally) each step of the way as I side shuffled down (waiting for my impending doom!) Once at the bottom, the worse was clearly yet to come. Uganda is near the equator nad has very sudden and early sunsets. There is no dusk. Brightness turns dark without a warning. As soon as we reached the bottom of the "hill", darkness caught us. We could hear, but still not see the waterfall. To get there, we had to balance and maneuver tree roots. Why? Because underneath them were large gaping holes. Large enough to fit a human body. I was terrified. Somehow, I made it and was pleased that I did. The waterfall was beautiful! However, we didnt have much time to enjoy the scenery because darkness had fallen and we had a 5 mile trek back!
Getting back up that hill was hell. Luckily, one of my groupmates was very supportive and encouraged me each step of the way. We had to grab hold of the stalks of grass to balance with or we could fall backwards. The hill was so steep, even gravity was not on our side! Reaching the top seemed like an unfeatable task, but I did it! Now we had to figure out our way back in the dark, but we had two guides, who took this hike everyday, so we'd be fine right? WRONG!
Three out of the 25 in our group intelligently brought head lamps so we had to distribute that evenly through the group. The paths were very narrow so no one could walk side by side. We were in one long line. As we continued, after a couple miles, I no longer recognized the path we were taking. I knew that it was dark, but I didnt feel any of the things I had felt before. I screamed out to the front of the group and asked if the guide in the front was going the right way. One of our group members informed me that the guide has long gone and he was now our "fearless leader". I was pissed. Though he was Ugandan, he knew NOTHING about these woods, much less the region we were in! He insisted that he knew where we were and kept us treking for about another mile. Then we reached another crossroad and lo and behold, he had NO CLUE where we were! He called the guide following from the rear and he had no clue either. He thought the first guide was taking us another way. We tried to backtrack a bit, but we were lost, in a foreign land, in pitch darkness, in the woods. And if it couldnt get any better than that, it began to rain. I knew there was only one way out of this and told our "fearless leader" to find one of the local boys we had seen while walking. They'd certainly know their way out. So the 2nd guide and our "fearless leader" found some young boys who rescued us. We made it back to the camp at about 10:30pm. We started our hike at 4 and covered over 15 miles. This is why I say, if we were in the rebel bush land of the North, we would have surely been killed.

Babies, Babies, and more Babies!

Today, we visited the Sanyu Babie's Home, where orphaned babies are cared for until the age of 2. This has been by far the best experience. I went to the nursery and fed the newborn baby, Hilda. She was 2 and a half months old, but looked about 5 lbs. She was so fragile. The staff jokingly said I looked like I was afriad to break her, but I was! Each child had their own story. Some had been left in the bushes, trash cans, latrines, doorsteps, anywhere they could be abandoned. The worst story heard was Duncan's. This little boy had been abandoned by this 17-year-old mother, who had been raped by her brother. His mother refused to take care of him so they brought him to the home. I wanted to take all the babies home with me. There was a great deal of love in the orphanage, but once they turned 2, their futures would become uncertain. Most of the children were boys because in Ugandan culture, they were the hardest to care for. Poor families knew they could not afford the dowries associated with their impending marriages so they abandoned them. It's very sad that people could feel so hopeless that they abandon a child on the basis of an even happening decades into the future.
We also went to the slums of Namuwongo Zone B. It was bad. The area was overcrowded and littered with feces and other waste. As we walked through the projects a plethora of children joined our group and tugged on my white groupmates in hopes of recieving money. They had already been taught to associate whites with salvation and completely ignored me and the other black group members. They were also smart enough to realize that we were not physically equipped to deal with the extreme waste in their community. Whenever someone would accidentally step in feces the children would quickly run to wipe their shoes, even though they themselves were walking barefoot. However, beyond the squaller, poverty, and abandonedment these children faced daily, it was their numbers that was indigestable. Each family had at least four children and they continued having them despite their inability to care for them. The children were left hopeless and the cucle of hopelessness continued to transcend generations. My fervor for education has been renewed. At some point the children need to be equipped to learn to care for themselves and educate others in their community. Their environment is no way for children to live!

Message to My People

How long will we blame Europe for their transgressions and not become self-sufficient and accountable for our own actions?!? Decades of tyrannical rule and neo-patrimonialism has sustained the position we are in today. Development involves the efforts and cooperation of all, not just the disadvantaged and marginalized. Yes, they stole our land, people, and resources, but we can not continue to wallow in the misery of colonialism. Just as our brothers and sisters in the diasporas have risen, we must do so as well.

It's Not Your Burden

You do not have, nor have you ever the burden of saving my people. I am sick and tired of you thinking that your two weeks of service means more than lifelong hardship. Giving hundreds of dollars to street children to spend on drugs and booze was not an act of service, but rather idiocracy. Telling citizens of an English speaking country that you are surprised that they can understand and speak English is disrespectful. Maybe I am silent because I dont want to speak to you.

The Coldest Shower Ever

Just pretend you're swimming and you wont notice. Thats what I kept saying to myself this morning as I took a COLD shower. Of all the things I knew I had to encounter, for some reason, this never crossed my mind. I was okay stooping and walking through the dusty streets, but when that freezing cold water hit my body, I was grateful to be in Africa. Because only in the warm African sun could I endure such conditions!

Je suis arrive au Kampala!!!

I've finally arrived! After a trip that literally took two days, we've reached Kampala. Im in Uganda! I am more than excited about what lies ahead on this trip. I can already feel my sharp tongue about to cut through my lips and Im trying to hold myself back. Some are extremely naive about developing countries and already criticizing a plethora of things. That does not sit well with me. But I must remind myself that its only the first day. Relax. But after a comment was made about rules of traffic, it reminded me of a couple of things: 1. Whats the use of speed limits, considering people are constantly disobeying them; 2. Since there is no formal and present traffic authority, shouldnt we marvel at people's ability to navigate roads, nonetheless, and cooperate with one another?