Kashka & Kuukua: A Celebration of Friendship & Love
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Earlier on today I wrote My usual attempt To order my world Make sense of chaos As I wrote I thought This relationship of ours has Grown Progressed Morphed **** From the days We just said “Hello” And went on campus ministry trips To spending time at that “Dominican Connection” retreat with mutual friend, KR Laughing so hard, Letting go of all defences Just being **** Sometimes I wish you had come with On that other “Dominican Connection” weekend in New York Or to Ministry in the Mountains In Colorado Springs where we could have gotten to know each other better ****
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I’m sure there’s a blueprint for our Relationship lying somewhere in God’s house and at those times We were not destined to be that close, Not yet at least **** I remember the time when Yaye Marie and I were teaching you steps to Your first African interfaith dance; How did you get coaxed into that? And later pigging out in the Colonial Room during the international day festival And continental fashion show **** I remember you coming to my numerous African family celebrations, my graduation, my 25th birthday You were slowly building up your Tolerance for spicy African food **** |
An incident of a bright, red face comes to mind That night mom cooked fufu You had had your first taste a month before But this time the pepper was too much Plus it had pigfeet Which from the look on your face You had never tried before I gotta give it to you You are one brave Diva! Never hesitating to try something new **** I remember losing touch after my graduation Then seeing you at your graduation in The summer I went back to Ghana for the first time Don’t recall what you did that summer Or how we got back in touch again **** |
I recall my first semester of grad school I don’t know how much of the difficulty of my first year struggle with theology you knew about Looking back now… It probably wasn’t so much the theology Although I’m sure it played a part But rather my depression that made it such a difficult time for me **** I signed up to lead that trip to Haiti Returned a changed woman You helped me move that summer In between Haiti and Morocco Me driving 50 miles on the freeway Getting stuck behind semis and all the while You patiently driving ahead I left for Morocco with contact only through email that summer Upon my return from Morocco it was an even greater transformation! The beginnings of the woman I am today An amazing adventure **** |
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That July 4th weekend The infamous and dramatic phone call to my boyfriend That ended a 5-year co-dependency I remember you being there for me Encouraging me to come out dancing with the ladies that night, me refusing Choosing instead to Wallow in self-pity for Not being a true black woman Not making that man love me enough To marry me **** Determined for me to get my license that summer you lent me Your time with an ample supply of patience In July of 2002, 6 years after moving to the US I finally did it! **** I tried to finish up teaching and grading Freshman Comp You finished up too Both of us anxious to be done with grad school You looked at jobs I looked for tickets to visit Ghana You interviewed I booked You got the job I confirmed the tickets I was leaving for home Second trip in seven years *** |
Excitement built up as I turned in my final Thesis and drove home The phone call came Relayed the news Tragedy had hit; Disappointment took root Disappointment led to grief I had lost a parent **** I got ready for my trip back to Ghana To bury my father We met at Panera’s that morning It was a sad parting You were moving two hours north to Start a career I was returning home to bury a Father I had barely known Yet knew I would miss We wrote email You called twice and each time I felt hope After talking to you This too shall pass Promised I’d survive **** Blending, bonding, spending time together Time spent watching “Kissing Jessica Stein” Or “The Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” Or falling asleep during “Runaway Jury” Or reading Iyanla Vanzant in bed together Or journaling side by side ****
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Us loving and caring for each other Us sharing our deepest fears: Mine, my inability to remove race from the conversation Mine, worrying about fitting in with your white peeps Yours, your constant struggle with Feeling the need to sound smart all the time around me Yours, your lack of knowledge about your “invisible knapsack” **** Valuable time spent with each other Time spent with each other’s families Each moment building on the next Connecting us Grafting us slowly into each other’s lives Once separate and individual No longer so Blended, bonded That’s us **** We–you and I have come a long way And I guess that’s what makes us so close Makes us friends beloveds Through most of it we have been there for each other A relationship that is still Growing Progressing Morphing **** |
My Friend This is for you For us For what we have that is beyond words For what we have that defies societal restraints For what we profess That society denies For what we have been For what we are For what we will become because Of each other I appreciate you I love you Thank you for Being my friend **** Kashka & Kuukua A Celebration of Friendship & Love Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe Penned Jan 12 2004 Edited October 26 2012 |
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Reconnecting
I missed a week, and all week I was thinking I really ought to at least post a vignette from my memoir, and all week I kept thinking I will write that blog entry so no need to post a vignette. But as you can see I didn’t get to it. It was a very busy week. It begun with my hosting people in my new space, news of one of my student’s losing her father, my sister Sheela’s best friend losing her mother, and ended with the news of Whitney Houston’s death as I was recovering from the violence in Safe house, Denzel Washington’s latest movie. Surreal!
I received about 25 people in my new home last Sunday and I have to say I was impressed with myself. Almost all the various tributaries of my life came together in these 25 people and for the most part everything flowed effortlessly. People made conversation. People asked for advice and people gave it. People asked for a re-cap of my time in Ghana. People were kind and interested in each other. I was a happy camper. My best bud stayed the night and honoured me with the gift of doing my dishes. But the day begun with me not wanting to get out of bed and with absolutely no groceries in my house. At first I didn’t panic: I’d go out to the grocery store and grab the necessary ingredients but then I realized that some of my guests were coming early and that just couldn’t be arranged. When a few calls to some key people didn’t yield any solutions, I had a slight moment of panic. What would I serve people? It even crossed my mind to “order” food! I KNOW! But that thought was short-lived. Finally calls were returned and groceries arrived and I began cooking. I had some great sous-chefs. Everyone was well-fed and watered by the end of the evening and I dare say they all had fun.
The theme of feeding folks continued through my catering gig at Mills College on Tuesday where I had the privilege of feeding Nuruddin Farah who specifically requested fish cooked the “Ghana way. It was a pleasant evening but this catering thing is no joke. My back was on fire by the end of the night. I fed myself and my ex, my famous groundnut soup which took about four hours to prepare, on Wednesday. Again on Friday, I fed two more friends and then two more again on Saturday and Sunday. SO all in all I fed about 100 people this week. Do I need a new career? I have been exploring the idea of setting up shop somewhere. During the party, I was introduced to Guest Chef andGuerilla Cafe’s pop-up restaurant. I have applied to both. Keep your fingers crossed y’all; I might be coming to a location near you 
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So it’s not a wonder that with feeding this many people, looking for furniture for my new apartment, trying to be a support for the grieving people in my life, and trying to find work that will keep a roof over my head, the most important thing of all went by the way side: My writing. No blog. No new vignettes to add to my memoir. No journaling. I am happy to say that I did edit almost half of the memoir at various times during the week. Plus I met with my advisor who had plenty of notes for me. It’s coming along. I officially have two months until it’s time to turn in my manuscript for my thesis. I know this is what i’m supposed to be doing this year so I’m sure it’ll fall into place. In the meantime, I’m working on my citizenship, figuring out how to pay my bills, and feeding people.
Enjoy another taste of the memoir:
I am the fourth child of my father, from the Ewe in the Volta region of Ghana. My father borrowed five women’s wombs. He legally married only two of these women. I am the eldest child of his first wife, fourth womb. My father, according to family tales, never stayed with any woman long enough to have more than one child with each of the five “recorded” women with whom he had children. That is, until he met my mom and charmed by her beauty and culinary skills, stayed long enough to have two girls, Sheela and I.
I am named Kuukua, for girl born on Wednesday in the Fante ethnic group, Dzigbordi, for the attribute patience, and Yomekpe, the paternal family name, which means “grave stone,” the latter two originating from my father’s ethnic group. I trace my mother’s maternal lineage to an English merchant who docked on the coast of Ghana and decided to settle down and marry a woman from the Akan-Fantes in Cape Coast. Her paternal lineage, in much a similar way, traces back to colonial settlers intermarrying with the Gas in Accra. These two groups intermarrying with the colonial settlers created a spectrum of tans and browns in our family.
I was raised in my maternal Grandmother’s house. A five-eighths mulatto, she was highly suspicious of the locals and for her, this meant anyone with a darker skin shade than hers. Not only was my father’s family a darker shade of brown, they were also not Catholic, and so were to be doubly feared.
Grandmother’s extended family were practicing Anglicans because of the original merchant descendant, but three generations before, my great-grandmother converted to Catholicism before her marriage to a Scottish man thus, causing our branch of the family to become Catholic. By the time our generation came along, we practically only kept company with those who were Catholic. For the majority of our growing years our lives revolved around our Catholic Preparatory school and our neighborhood Catholic parish, St. Charles Lwanga. We had the occasional non-Catholic friend playmate; once a Muslim family friend included my family in the Ramadan food deliveries, honoring our friendship and shocking Grandmother into silence. Reared only with my maternal lineage for most of my life, I had little knowledge of my father’s family, food, and religion. Once I was ready to reclaim what had been taken from me, I began to notice the joys and challenges that go along with recovering historical memory that has lain dormant.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 7 so far )The North Wind Comes Acalling and Once Again I am Wanted in the Bay
Ok, so this week I’m not sure I’m sticking to the promise of themed reminiscing…anyway you decide!
Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat down to dinner with my sister on Wednesday night. We were celebrating my birthday early, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. I was moving again. I am forever leaving friends and family behind. It also felt like the tears from Ghana were finally catching up to me. (I refused to cry when I left). As she sat smiling across from me, all I could think of was the fact that I was moving away from her. Again. It’s true what Grandmother said: even if you never see someone, just knowing they are there, close by, and you could get together whenever, is of some comfort. (That’s what she said when I told her I was returning to the US). I feel like the woman in Chocolat who was always moving whenever the North Wind came calling for her. Although this time I feel it’s more of a calculated move. I feel I have lots of things to accomplish this year knowing the things I know now.
I enjoyed my one month vacation mostly spent in Ohio with my mom and sisters, with a week-long excursion to Kalamazoo, MI to see one of my closest friends. But now it’s time to do that ‘Something’ this year. Like publish that memoir! Of course I had moments when I felt like moving permanently into my mother’s house and going to find some job right there in Columbus…it didn’t matter the kind of job…and just vegging out. It’s real easy to just exist, but I think it takes more effort o actually become more than a mere existence. I would probably get frustrated very quickly if were to just exist anyway. These moments haven’t lasted very long, thankfully. I’ve come to my senses rather quickly, shaken off the thought and quickly regrouped. I knew that I couldn’t stay in Ohio for a few reasons but sometimes it felt comforting to think of it. I knew I needed to return to the Bay at all costs.
It was a difficult holiday psychologically because I had to watch all the housing situations I searched for, fall through, and that made me a bit nervous about returning to the Bay. But I just had to trust that the Bay was where I needed to be and something would work out. I’ve gotten lots of assurances of couches and beds but I know what it takes for me to share space with folks I already know so I’ve been hesitant to accept any of them long-term. I’ve felt like perhaps I was being too picky, but I know that my sanity is very important to me and as such it must be thoroughly considered above all else in every situation. I trust that the universe will work something out.
In all this searching, I’ve noticed that I miss my students very much and I find myself reaching out to my colleagues in Ghana and requesting a play-by-play of their days. At first I attempted to follow the school’s hours trying to stay awake till when they arrived in school so I didn’t miss anything. I’ve let go of that. What surprises me is that I didn’t think I was so invested. But I should have known. The job defined me for 133 days. I loved it, hated it. I cried. I laughed. Some of the students challenged me. Some frustrated me, especially when they wrote atrocious essays, but almost all of them loved me and I, them, and now I miss our daily interactions.
I think I am still in transition between being that adult who was in charge of so much, (Ironically enough my boss used to describe me as “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”) and being this adult who is currently in charge of nothing. A friend of mine this weekend said I walk taller now that I’ve returned from the Motherland. I can’t help thinking a big part of it was because of my interactions with everyone the last 6 months. Returning to the motherland as a responsible adult was just what I needed, to perhaps claim my space in society. To stand and be counted. Now the charge is what am I going to do with this newfound height? What will I do this year that will reinforce this and will serve as a thank you to the Motherland and my people? I think beginning with completing that memoir might be just the thing I need to do first! Cooking and Dancing more often might follow close behind. Join me!
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 5 so far )Thoughts During the Long Layover (a week overdue (blame it on costly airport wifi))
I stare down at my swollen ankles and use my hands to trace the chubbiness right from the ankles to the toes. I used to want to be this fat. The kind of nice plump that people could tell by looking at my feet, that I was well cared for. Now I know it’s not healthy to be over a certain weight given one’s specific body type. But as a young person who pretty much weighed between 80 and 100lbs until my mid 20’s, I was teased mercilessly. Complete with buck teeth, I was the brunt of many a joke in my classrooms over my entire school career, that is until I wore myself out praying to become fat, eating all things fatty, and padding my clothes.
It’s funny how a tiny act like staring at swollen feet can evoke such a powerful memory.
In any case, I had almost a four hour layover in Brussels. It’s slowly dwindling and I am happy for that. There are no shops in this section of the airport. This is probably a good thing since I am broke anyway. This trip is costing me a lot more than I bargained for. Or maybe the truth is I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I agreed to move my life to Ghana for a year. With a ticket over $1800, airline baggage fees about $300, shipping 3 barrels costing $175 each, travel to and from Cali, shopping for professional clothing and other household things, I think I am close to $5000 in total moving costs.
Was it worth it all? What happens if I decide this is not for me, and I want out? What do I do with all these things I’ve shipped to Ghana? But what if I decide, I want to stay? How many of my contemporaries return to Ghana and stay this early in their lives,l. at age 34? I know of folks retiring there after they’ve acquired their “fortunes” or amassed enough wealth to live better than they used to live when they were there. I know these folks are around my mother’s age. But what would the country look like if my contemporaries all came home in their numbers and pushed for better functioning public service systems. New public restrooms. Dual-, better yet, multiple-carriage roadways that were built in the allotted amount of time with no contractor “chopping” the money. Traffic regulations implemented and thwarters penalized. Child labor abolished and perpetrators dealt with harshly. The status of women elevated and their well-being and thriving be of national concern. What if my coming home, our coming home would aid in this process? Would I have the patience to deal with the traffic, poor cell service, filthy public restrooms or lack of, and the superiorist attitudes of men?
Lots of people commend me when I say I’m returning to my home country. Most wish me well amid comments of “there’s no place like home.” A few laugh out loud in my face saying: “no way you are going to make it. Those people will drive you nuts.” I first I saw this as some challenge. Then with sadness, as I saw my own people give up on their own developing countries. Then I saw the added layer of how they perceived my assimilation. Was I so assimilated that I was unable to return to my own culture? Then there’s my mom who says jokingly, Kuukua loves Ghana. She’s a Ghanaian through and through.” I’m usually waiting for the “you can’t take the Ghanaian out of her” part. It doesn’t come. Maybe that’s my own baggage. Is this a bad thing? Idk for right now.
For now, my swollen feet tell the story of my long journey to try out this my home country. I’m in Brussels after traveling from Columbus to Chicago, a total of about 8 ½ hours flying time but more of prep and stress. I still have about 8 more hours to go not including the layover. Ugh! Anyway, onward I say.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )Life Beyond the Vacation
There is a lot to say and do but for some reason I am quiet and calm. I booked my flights yesterday and it gave me some calm after it was all done. It’s scary to be making such a big move. It didn’t occur to me until Nana Nyarko said it that I was really doing something brave. Yes, it was home but it was out of my comfort zone. A place I hadn’t lived in for 16 years. I am taking a big leap of faith dragging myself off to another continent and especially to a country where sexism and homophobia have lunch together every day. A place where any sense of progressiveness is sometimes seen as an adoption of Western ideals and a booting of the traditional homegrown ones. Homophobia and sexism are preached in the pulpit on Sundays at most churches, discussed and prayed about at Bible Study on weekdays, and argued about over Star beer in the local chop bars where men retreat to instead of going home to their toiling wives.
Over the last two months I’ve been privy to conversations with several people, some of which have scared me. People in charge talk like this? These are the voices in the mainstream? What will happen to the world if we don’t stand up and counter some of these conversations and yelling matches? What happens if those of us with alternative voices chose to remain quiet? I’ve been more shocked at my own friends’ reactions to their “lot in life” to use the phrase rather facetiously. Most of the women I encountered knew their worth but some were willing to let society dictate to them how much they should be worth. Some were willing to be physically groped in public places because it was easier than causing a scene and drawing attention to the man doing it. Some had never been told their worth and so didn’t know to expect any better. On an average a woman is guaranteed to be forcefully grabbed by a strange man at least once a day if she leaves her house and more if she uses public transit. This is not OK! The term, “Personal Space” and “Boundaries” mean absolutely nothing to most men, married or not. The common retort I’ve gotten is that women were created for men’s pleasure so any woman who doesn’t acquiesce to such harassment hates men, this then ushers in the topic of homophobia and when this comes in, people literally lose their minds.
But I think I am beginning at a good place. The school I’m headed to is an international one, and there is only a handful of its kind in Ghana. As such, it is a cocoon of sorts, and this characteristic both thrills and disturbs me a bit. It would be a microcosm of Berkeley to an extent but there will be more people who look like me than not providing a comfort I have not been privileged to have before. I have been assured of care and support for this journey, but it’s my conscience that nags about service to the poor and how this fits in. The school is one of the more expensive schools in Ghana and even though they serve orphans as well, the concept still remains that it is an exclusive school of 320 students more than half of whom can afford to be there. I have heard only positive things from everyone I’ve spoken to. I know now after traipsing through five institutions that no institution is perfect. Some are better than others but they are all people-made and so have flaws. Once I learned this, and also that institutions don’t always work for people, especially my people, I had a whole new understanding and appreciation for them and my relationship with them. I hope this will be one of the better ones. This hope is what tempers the nervousness and anxiety that seizes hold of me at all hours. What the heck am I doing? When I can’t answer this question, I try to pack. When fitting 16 years of life in America into 2 50-lb suitcases fails, I go shopping. After all, I am going to have to replace those shoes I gave to Aunty Ama. J
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 7 so far )first update from Ghana (long overdue)
Enuanom na adofo, mi gyena Ghana na miri kyerew0
I owe you one. I apologize for the silence since my angst filled post 2 months ago. Since most of you follow me on FB I assume that you mostly all know that I am in Ghana. It is day 6 of my 73-day experiment to try on my country of birth. So far so good. I’m happy to report that I’ve had waakye, my favorite street-vendor food, for breakfast and dinner on a couple of occasions. The jet-lag is challenging leaving me consistently sleep-filled and nodding off in the most inopportune of places like in the taxi cab or sitting upright on my bed working my way through one of my numerous “summer reading” texts. The journey was pleasant albeit rather long and arduous on the no-longer-limber body.
“Hi Sir!” I flashed all 32 molars as I attempted to get help from the guy in the seat across the aisle from me. “Would you mind terribly helping me with my carry-on?” I’ve been told I smile pretty. It helps that I have a pretty face to go with it.
“Why of course! Anything for that pretty smile.” Feminism out the door, Or perhaps it’s a different articulation of feminism (we can debate that at a later date). With ganglions on both wrists and two wrist surgeries behind me, hand luggage was always a hassle. Try as I did to minimize how much I took aboard flights, I never seemed to succeed. The extra pound or three off the 50-pounder checked luggage almost always inevitably ended up in my hand luggage. The past few months of traveling had actually found me perfecting a system: Wait until everyone was boarded so there was sure to be no overhead space for my luggage then feign surprise as they asked if I would mind terribly if they gate-checked it for free! I would pretend to think it over ever so momentarily pretending that I might need something from it during the flight. I would then acquiesce, and waving the bag away saunter onto the plane with a triumphant look. Well for this transatlantic trip, it didn’t work that way. They couldn’t gate-check the luggage. So the flight attendants’ brought me a Delta plastic bag and asked me to downsize the hand luggage a bit until we could zip it back down to its original un-expanded size. The funny thing is the sir I asked seemed to struggle with the luggage almost as much as I would have. I guess that should teach me to go by appearances. Anyway, I made it through to Amsterdam smiling at strange white men who surprisingly happened to be contractors from the South. Baton Rouge, South Carolina, and Texas. There’s a race commentary for later. In Amsterdam, all hand luggage were forcibly checked. I was relieved.
In a throwback to my first time in an arcade, I settled into the 17-hour plane ride with two stops and 3 hours of layover, scanning the over 100 entertainment options with panicking and frenzied calculations. If I chose wisely, didn’t doze off, or take breaks while at the watering hole, I could potentially see 4 movies on the first leg and 3 on the second. What if I couldn’t decide which 7 were worth it? In the end, I didn’t make the 7 cut but I did see the period classics that I had missed in the theatres: the 7th Harry Potter (somebody needs to kiss already!), Black Swan (OMG!), Life As We Know It with Katherine Heigl, and Going the Distance with Drew Barrymore. I saw bits of Barney’s Version, No Strings Attached, The Rite, and Big Momma 3, enough to know not to spend any more shrinking brain cells on them. I believe that such nocturnal busyness is responsible for my current super comatose level of jet-lag.
I arrived in Accra worn out but was rescued almost immediately by Papa Kwame, our Estate Manager. With him by my side, I could let some of my defenses down so I did. He walked me through the immigration paperwork and a one-hour wait for my luggage (I’ll never complain about SFO again!). Another hour later, we pull into our compound.
Thanks to my MFA writing, I was ready for my aloof Grandmother. This time I didn’t even attempt to chase her for a hug. She stood at the back door almost nervously as I approached the front door calling her name to ask how she was.
“Hi Ma! Otsi Den?”
She responded with a mumble. Something about how old age sucks. I nodded knowing I could neither agree nor disagree on this fact. Having written out quite a bit of scene around my interactions with Grandmother, I could almost predict the next sequence of dialogue. They came just as I imagined. They had to do with how much she hates my hair this way. The baby locs that I’ve been twisting.
“Do you like it?” I play clueless twirling one of them. “I did it myself,” I add proudly still ignoring her discomfort.
I abandoned the effort and asked what was for dinner. I then went to my room to re-arrange the luggage the house-help unloaded, shed my travel clothes, and spray my room with the mosquito spray readying myself for my first night back in Ghana.
This is how I begun and ended the main part of this epic journey.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )WORDPRESS INTIMIDATION
There! I’m here at the page. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think “I need to blog” but it has come to be so intimidating that I’ve been paralyzed for a while. I don’t have anything to say. Who wants to read what I have to say anyway? The list of excuses goes on. And I stay away from the page. I think the fear of not having anything to say paralyzes me at least once a week, but the fear of not posting something “substantial” (however that’s defined) paralyzes me daily. So the page remains blank night after night as I find other things to occupy my time.
So once again, a lot of time has passed since I blogged.
Life has been great for the most part. I didn’t expect AWP to have had such an impact on my life but it did!
First of all, I hadn’t been to Washington DC in almost 10 years, so I was excited to be back. It surprised me to have the Capitol steps all to myself as I strolled various parts of The Mall that Sunday and Monday after AWP was over. I used to live here! I kept thinking. It’s kind of like when the reality of the gifts you have, finally sink in. I think people there take it for granted to be in the Nation’s capital every day, much as I take it for granted that I have a 360 degree view from my workplace that encompasses three major bridges, especially the world’s famous Golden Gate.
Secondly, I stayed with my friends Anice and Reece out in Maryland instead of staying at the conference hotel. Definitely made the trip doable, but also I choose family and friends over hotels any day, on a budget or not. That way, I didn’t just meet them for “lunch” or “coffee” but I actually got to talk to someone when I got back from the conference, although, I was gone for a good 12-14 hours the first two days. Reece and Anice took me out to Mama Ayesha’s for my birthday. It was great! Nice ambiance, and the food was superb! Our Rice Pudding came with a few candles on top. I blew them out and then Anice asked me “The Birthday Questions” which were four questions that were helpful in causing me to reflect on year 33 and name my hopes for year 34. I think year 33 was tough and I had a lot of heartache so I hope year 34 will be one of relative ease.
I had a mini VONA reunion with my dear friend Willona Sloan. We were a pair of laughing, silly, girls who came alive with laughter at the slightest provocation. I was also lucky to have my MFA cohort friend Wendy Sterndale.
When Wendy joined the two of us, we were truly “ac’in a fool” and had a great time together. I didn’t know I could laugh so hard! We enjoyed the company of VONA elders Elmaz, Faith, Ruth, Suheir, Evelina, and Junot (from afar), and fellow VONAites, Crystal, Chelsea, and Daisy. We were lucky to get “stage” seats to the reading by Ruth Foreman, Carolyn Forche, and Suheir Hammad, hosted by Hedgebrook’s Amy Wheeler, and held at Busboys and Poets. For me, side events like the off-site University of Miami MFA reception and the on-site Macondo Foundation reception were more engaging than the sessions. Of course, I loved Junot Diaz’ plenary in which he challenged all of us writers to be real. I enjoyed listening to Jhumpa Lahiri’s plenary, although I wished she would have interacted with the audience. I have to say, it was amazing to have the lead keynotes be writers of color, but more importantly the first keynote be a woman! That made for a great inspiration right there!
I volunteered my time on Friday afternoon as a registration desk clerk and I had quite a ball. I was stationed at the booth marked “E-H” between two white guys who were hilarious! One of whom wrote Saving Erasmus Steve Cleaver
I bantered with them for most of my four-hour shift so the hours went by really quickly. I found out how common it was for writers to have a degree in Theology as well as an MFA. I think altogether, I have now met about 10 folks with that combination. I don’t feel so odd anymore. (Yeah right! I wish that was all it took!)
Overall, AWP reminded me that I wanted to be a writer, was a writer and author already, but that I needed to keep writing. A part of me was depressed after the third session on publishers and agents because it felt like they were saying a lot of it depended on luck and I wasn’t encouraged by this idea. Of course, it is my perception, you know?
I returned from AWP and DC and plunged right back into work and my MFA demands. It feels like I haven’t stopped moving since the Earl Lectures ended three weeks ago. A part of me knows that this is only the beginning; the other part is in denial. I am excited for the many things that are happening in my life this semester.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 5 so far )WORDPRESS INTIMIDATION
There! I’m here at the page. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think “I need to blog” but it has come to be so intimidating that I’ve been paralyzed for a while. I don’t have anything to say. Who wants to read what I have to say anyway? The list of excuses goes on. And I stay away from the page. I think the fear of not having anything to say paralyzes me at least once a week, but the fear of not posting something “substantial” (however that’s defined) paralyzes me daily. So the page remains blank night after night as I find other things to occupy my time.
So once again, a lot of time has passed since I blogged.
Life has been great for the most part. I didn’t expect AWP to have had such an impact on my life but it did!
First of all, I hadn’t been to Washington DC in almost 10 years, so I was excited to be back. It surprised me to have the Capitol steps all to myself as I strolled various parts of The Mall that Sunday and Monday after AWP was over. I used to live here! I kept thinking. It’s kind of like when the reality of the gifts you have, finally sink in. I think people there take it for granted to be in the Nation’s capital every day, much as I take it for granted that I have a 360 degree view from my workplace that encompasses three major bridges, especially the world’s famous Golden Gate.
Secondly, I stayed with my friends Anice and Reece out in Maryland instead of staying at the conference hotel. Definitely made the trip doable, but also I choose family and friends over hotels any day, on a budget or not. That way, I didn’t just meet them for “lunch” or “coffee” but I actually got to talk to someone when I got back from the conference, although, I was gone for a good 12-14 hours the first two days. Reece and Anice took me out to Mama Ayesha’s for my birthday. It was great! Nice ambiance, and the food was superb! Our Rice Pudding came with a few candles on top. I blew them out and then Anice asked me “The Birthday Questions” which were four questions that were helpful in causing me to reflect on year 33 and name my hopes for year 34. I think year 33 was tough and I had a lot of heartache so I hope year 34 will be one of relative ease.
I had a mini VONA reunion with my dear friend Willona Sloan. We were a pair of laughing, silly, girls who came alive with laughter at the slightest provocation. I was also lucky to have my MFA cohort friend Wendy Sterndale.
When Wendy joined the two of us, we were truly “ac’in a fool” and had a great time together. I didn’t know I could laugh so hard! We enjoyed the company of VONA elders Elmaz, Faith, Ruth, Suheir, Evelina, and Junot (from afar), and fellow VONAites, Crystal, Chelsea, and Daisy. We were lucky to get “stage” seats to the reading by Ruth Foreman, Carolyn Forche, and Suheir Hammad, hosted by Hedgebrook’s Amy Wheeler, and held at Busboys and Poets. For me, side events like the off-site University of Miami MFA reception and the on-site Macondo Foundation reception were more engaging than the sessions. Of course, I loved Junot Diaz’ plenary in which he challenged all of us writers to be real. I enjoyed listening to Jhumpa Lahiri’s plenary, although I wished she would have interacted with the audience. I have to say, it was amazing to have the lead keynotes be writers of color, but more importantly the first keynote be a woman! That made for a great inspiration right there!
I volunteered my time on Friday afternoon as a registration desk clerk and I had quite a ball. I was stationed at the booth marked “E-H” between two white guys who were hilarious! One of whom wrote Saving Erasmus Steve Cleaver
I bantered with them for most of my four-hour shift so the hours went by really quickly. I found out how common it was for writers to have a degree in Theology as well as an MFA. I think altogether, I have now met about 10 folks with that combination. I don’t feel so odd anymore. (Yeah right! I wish that was all it took!)
Overall, AWP reminded me that I wanted to be a writer, was a writer and author already, but that I needed to keep writing. A part of me was depressed after the third session on publishers and agents because it felt like they were saying a lot of it depended on luck and I wasn’t encouraged by this idea. Of course, it is my perception, you know?
I returned from AWP and DC and plunged right back into work and my MFA demands. It feels like I haven’t stopped moving since the Earl Lectures ended three weeks ago. A part of me knows that this is only the beginning; the other part is in denial. I am excited for the many things that are happening in my life this semester.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Feasting on Food and Words under Natal Trees
I would demand a tree! I thought to myself as Faith Adiele read from her memoir essay at SOMArts’ latest baby: Feast of Words: A Literary Potluck.
I too had an absentee ballot for a dad. Although in my case I was lucky (or unlucky depending on how you look at it) to still be on the continent of Africa with my mother’s people. Talk of bitter kola nuts, tubers of “real” yam, and sisters from spirit worlds had me missing my homeland, Ghana. I was right there with her as I imagined the sound of the ululations, and the knocking sound some of the words made as the women uttered them when Faith and her new-found sister strolled the streets.
I miss Ghana. Everyday! Moments like these– hearing other African writers read about the continent– take me back and make me miss it more. Later on in the evening, I played with sesame seeds, and tossed a few mini-sized Hersheys-kisses look-alikes into my mouth, all the while suspiciously eying the cinnamon bark being passed around. We were writing through sensory detail; I was thinking of millet, Golden Tree chocolates, and roots from the medicine woman’s jar. I guess Faith’s prompt worked. Even though I made a shameless plug for my latest anthology (AWWR), I didn’t have the guts to share my free write when it came time for the competition. aah well, another time I guess.
It was a great experience all around.
I want to thank the co-captains, Irina and Lex for birthing this brain child. And of course all the fun people who attended and brought good food. If you missed it, catch them next first Tuesday, February 1, 2011.
Be sure and also check out Faith Adiele’s main site.
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