So as you may have noticed, I haven't been talking about family for a while. Well, the beginning of my trip was saturated with family visits and I had planned this trip to take advantage of my close proximity to many amazing cities.
Many things have happened and it is really difficult to write down every single event and thought that has occurred in the last month.
I did find out that I have a cousin in Atlanta, but he was in Kentucky at the time.
There are four family members left on my schedule who are in Pennsylvania, My Aunt and her three daughters.
My next stop after Atlanta was Washington DC. A place where I was lucky to have someone show me around. This person happens to live in Columbia Heights which is right next to a historical black neighborhood in the dc area. When I first arrived, he knew exactly where to take me - Ben's Chilly Bowl.
I don't even like chilly all that much, but I guess the thing to order is the half smoke. A smokie on a bun with chili, my friend and I shared that and cheese fries. Mmm mmm good. Ben's chili bowl has a big colourful bear in front of it which gave me horrible flash backs to Vancouver street art they are using for the Olympics...shudder...anyways, happy thoughts. Ben's chili bowl is on U Street which was once known as 'black broadway' U Street is basically the epicentre of black struggle, freedom and prosperity through the arts and is booming with black businesses.
So we ate chili smokie dogs with 50 other people and listened to Micheal Jackson on the juke box.
I was able to listen to live jazz, go to a house party and my most favourite place was this amazing cafe called Busboys and Poets. My dream cafe really. Spoken word, a restaurant, coffee, beer, shrimp and grits on the menu, a radical bookstore and just a cool place to chill on comfy couches. It became our hang out, in fact, we were there that night it started to snow and it didn't stop for two days.
When I was in New Orleans, they said it would snow, when I was in Atlanta, they said it would snow and so when I heard the same thing in DC I was skeptical, but it did snow.
It was perfect timing too because my friend had the weekend off and all we did was stay in, eat good food, talk, listen to music and had a snow ball fight that got a little viscous. No kidding, it seemed everyone that day was out on U street throwing snow balls at each other, they were flying every where and some hit a man's wind shield to his car and well, he must have been having a bad day because he lifted his shirt to expose his gun.
What lesson do we learn from this folks?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Miss Ann's Snack Shack
My friend told me about this burger place when I was in Atlanta last summer, I didn't get a chance to check it out then, but made it my second visit.
Was able to bike around, met up with a friend and we biked down Memorial Drive to Miss Ann's Snack Shack which has been running for 35 years and is run by this woman, named Ann. Apparently she runs the whole thing herself and what makes it most apparent is the wait. I think sometimes she gets help from her brother, but he does things like cutting onions, etc.
I have been warned about waits for numerous places, but never did I imagine the wait that was about to happen.
We arrived, locked our bikes up to a flimsy fence which served as a border between us and a running/gasping/barking rottweiler who casually lifted it's leg to pee once it realised we were not going in to his lot, but still a casual reminder of whose territory it was.
Miss Ann's place looks fairly big from the outside until you realise that there is a whole patio blocked in with screen windows for the stifling hot summers.
But today is cold.
There were 8 people ahead of us and there are only 8 seats as the place is set up like a bar, like a counter. As we walked up, we thought we had to give our names like you would normally do at a restaurant, so we walked in and Ann yelled at us to get out and 'what were we thinking' there were people ahead of us, we turned around and walked out meeting the folks standing outside waiting with smiles.
So we took a seat on the plastic chairs and waited, then we came to the conclusion that maybe she might not take debit or credit, our inclination was right. My friend went to get money while I stayed and guarded our spot.
He came back half hour later, by then we had been waiting for an hour and a half.
The people who were in front of us mostly got in and the two people who made it in first still hadn't eaten yet.
There was a sprinkling of folks who were obviously regulars waiting in their cars or in the patio with us. A few people mentioned that they usually don't wait this long, one person tried to get in front of everyone until Ann told him where to go so he left. Some of us tried to figure out what the difference between the ghetto burger and the hood burger - no conclusion yet...
Finally, we got in two hours after arrival and that uncomfortable feeling crept up on me that I had to use the bathroom, They said there wasn't one there, so I walked to three different gas stations looking for a toilet and no one would let me use them.
I came back and she still hadn't taken orders yet.
I made a comment under my breath on how 'i am spending money there, they should at least let me use their toilet'
Ann's brother decided to let me use their toilet after he heard I still hadn't found a bathroom yet. The counter is set up so you can only enter it from one way and so when I got behind it I had to walk past all the eating customers and Ann and her brother cooking, but alas, my bladder got emptied.
When I came back and sat down that is where the fun began...or had it already?
This one man beside me was in serious doubt that I couldn't finish the ghetto burger and kept on insisting that I get the double cheeseburger. No way in hell did I wait in line just to get a cheeseburger, I wanted the ghetto burger, even though you are looked down upon for not being able to finish what you eat and wasting all that good food, I still wanted to risk it.
I ordered a ghetto burger with fries and a lemonade.
I could have just got full on the lemonade alone that was about a gallon sized drink. Your fries are served before your burger.
I ordered the ghetto burger with everything on it, it consisted of:
a bun
2 handcrafted beef patties weighing in about 1lb each topped with cheese
4 pieces of bacon that is deep fried
tomatoes
onion
lettuce
mayo, mustard, ketchup
and last, but not least - chili (which, by the way, is more beef)
I cut it in half,
Let me remind you that the Wall Street Journal has claimed this place to be one of the best burger joints in the United States.
I made sure I didn't get full on the lemonade or fries and I just started digging in. I finished the whole thing and that is when finally Miss Ann took an interest in me. She said I was the only woman she has seen in her life finish the ghetto burger - maybe one other one.
Well, I did feel proud. I really did.
I also discovered the difference between the ghetto and hood burger, the hood burger has coleslaw on it, that is it...
All in all the meat of course was delicious, but I have to say that it isn't the best burger I have had, and one thing I could say is that its missing is a sauce. I know that some burger connoisseurs may say it is all in the meat, or the toppings, but obviously it is the whole package.
The ghetto burger is big and it is hand formed and cooked fresh in front of you. That is about it, other than that I can name a few places that have tasted better.
Is Miss Ann 'crazy' or 'mean'? No, she is busy and likes things run a particular way and isn't afraid to let you know, that's all.
I heard rumours this place was closing, well, I wish Miss Ann all the best and I hope she has someone to look after her now and can rest and enjoy the next segment of her life, she is a sweet yet strong woman.
I finished my burger around 4:00 that afternoon, which means that I basically waited 3 hours for a burger. I did not have breakfast and I did not have dinner. In fact, I am not sure what I did that day except eat a burger.
Was able to bike around, met up with a friend and we biked down Memorial Drive to Miss Ann's Snack Shack which has been running for 35 years and is run by this woman, named Ann. Apparently she runs the whole thing herself and what makes it most apparent is the wait. I think sometimes she gets help from her brother, but he does things like cutting onions, etc.
I have been warned about waits for numerous places, but never did I imagine the wait that was about to happen.
We arrived, locked our bikes up to a flimsy fence which served as a border between us and a running/gasping/barking rottweiler who casually lifted it's leg to pee once it realised we were not going in to his lot, but still a casual reminder of whose territory it was.
Miss Ann's place looks fairly big from the outside until you realise that there is a whole patio blocked in with screen windows for the stifling hot summers.
But today is cold.
There were 8 people ahead of us and there are only 8 seats as the place is set up like a bar, like a counter. As we walked up, we thought we had to give our names like you would normally do at a restaurant, so we walked in and Ann yelled at us to get out and 'what were we thinking' there were people ahead of us, we turned around and walked out meeting the folks standing outside waiting with smiles.
So we took a seat on the plastic chairs and waited, then we came to the conclusion that maybe she might not take debit or credit, our inclination was right. My friend went to get money while I stayed and guarded our spot.
He came back half hour later, by then we had been waiting for an hour and a half.
The people who were in front of us mostly got in and the two people who made it in first still hadn't eaten yet.
There was a sprinkling of folks who were obviously regulars waiting in their cars or in the patio with us. A few people mentioned that they usually don't wait this long, one person tried to get in front of everyone until Ann told him where to go so he left. Some of us tried to figure out what the difference between the ghetto burger and the hood burger - no conclusion yet...
Finally, we got in two hours after arrival and that uncomfortable feeling crept up on me that I had to use the bathroom, They said there wasn't one there, so I walked to three different gas stations looking for a toilet and no one would let me use them.
I came back and she still hadn't taken orders yet.
I made a comment under my breath on how 'i am spending money there, they should at least let me use their toilet'
Ann's brother decided to let me use their toilet after he heard I still hadn't found a bathroom yet. The counter is set up so you can only enter it from one way and so when I got behind it I had to walk past all the eating customers and Ann and her brother cooking, but alas, my bladder got emptied.
When I came back and sat down that is where the fun began...or had it already?
This one man beside me was in serious doubt that I couldn't finish the ghetto burger and kept on insisting that I get the double cheeseburger. No way in hell did I wait in line just to get a cheeseburger, I wanted the ghetto burger, even though you are looked down upon for not being able to finish what you eat and wasting all that good food, I still wanted to risk it.
I ordered a ghetto burger with fries and a lemonade.
I could have just got full on the lemonade alone that was about a gallon sized drink. Your fries are served before your burger.
I ordered the ghetto burger with everything on it, it consisted of:
a bun
2 handcrafted beef patties weighing in about 1lb each topped with cheese
4 pieces of bacon that is deep fried
tomatoes
onion
lettuce
mayo, mustard, ketchup
and last, but not least - chili (which, by the way, is more beef)
I cut it in half,
Let me remind you that the Wall Street Journal has claimed this place to be one of the best burger joints in the United States.
I made sure I didn't get full on the lemonade or fries and I just started digging in. I finished the whole thing and that is when finally Miss Ann took an interest in me. She said I was the only woman she has seen in her life finish the ghetto burger - maybe one other one.
Well, I did feel proud. I really did.
I also discovered the difference between the ghetto and hood burger, the hood burger has coleslaw on it, that is it...
All in all the meat of course was delicious, but I have to say that it isn't the best burger I have had, and one thing I could say is that its missing is a sauce. I know that some burger connoisseurs may say it is all in the meat, or the toppings, but obviously it is the whole package.
The ghetto burger is big and it is hand formed and cooked fresh in front of you. That is about it, other than that I can name a few places that have tasted better.
Is Miss Ann 'crazy' or 'mean'? No, she is busy and likes things run a particular way and isn't afraid to let you know, that's all.
I heard rumours this place was closing, well, I wish Miss Ann all the best and I hope she has someone to look after her now and can rest and enjoy the next segment of her life, she is a sweet yet strong woman.
I finished my burger around 4:00 that afternoon, which means that I basically waited 3 hours for a burger. I did not have breakfast and I did not have dinner. In fact, I am not sure what I did that day except eat a burger.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Good friends
I went to Atlanta and I have to say that Atlanta is one of my favourite cities...
...I was there earlier this year, met some friends and went back to see them.
It is FUN and fun is what I had and if I wasn't dancing, exploring or eating food I was chillin'.
We got to cooking, I even baked a cake, ate and ate and of course went out to amazing shows. Random shows too.
One night we went out just to see what was happening and after leaving a cheesy bar where you hear 'hip hop' so bad that they are using samples from songs that came out last year. My friend and I stumbled upon a live show, (okay - not exactly stumble, but let's just say he knows whose tweets to follow - the man himself) Maseo from De La Soul doing it up at a club, the show was free, the crowd was between the ages of 35 and 55 and he was playing vinyl mixing set after set of fantastic classics. There was a sign saying 'trucker bangin' and a few people had t-shirts that said the exact same phrase. We were trying to figure out if we ran in to a family reunion, a trucker reunion or perhaps a new band that called themselves 'trucker banging' because at one point a few people decided Maseo wasn't good enough and asked him to play some tracks they could 'rap' to...well, some people have talent and some don't. I don't think I have witnessed so much heckling, people were literally begging for them to stop. They did eventually.
Then a couple days later we went out to see Rich Medina.
It was cold, raining and a Tuesday night, the show didn't start until midnight, but folks still made it out to dance to excellent afro beat, funk, soul and a dash of hip hop.
It helps when you are in company of people who like the same music as you do and enjoy food as much as you do and have the same politics and sense of humour as you do. Life becomes simple, or at least simpler - especially when you don't have to get up in the morning and go to a job.
Thanks to my peeps in Atlanta for a good time! Miss you!
...I was there earlier this year, met some friends and went back to see them.
It is FUN and fun is what I had and if I wasn't dancing, exploring or eating food I was chillin'.
We got to cooking, I even baked a cake, ate and ate and of course went out to amazing shows. Random shows too.
One night we went out just to see what was happening and after leaving a cheesy bar where you hear 'hip hop' so bad that they are using samples from songs that came out last year. My friend and I stumbled upon a live show, (okay - not exactly stumble, but let's just say he knows whose tweets to follow - the man himself) Maseo from De La Soul doing it up at a club, the show was free, the crowd was between the ages of 35 and 55 and he was playing vinyl mixing set after set of fantastic classics. There was a sign saying 'trucker bangin' and a few people had t-shirts that said the exact same phrase. We were trying to figure out if we ran in to a family reunion, a trucker reunion or perhaps a new band that called themselves 'trucker banging' because at one point a few people decided Maseo wasn't good enough and asked him to play some tracks they could 'rap' to...well, some people have talent and some don't. I don't think I have witnessed so much heckling, people were literally begging for them to stop. They did eventually.
Then a couple days later we went out to see Rich Medina.
It was cold, raining and a Tuesday night, the show didn't start until midnight, but folks still made it out to dance to excellent afro beat, funk, soul and a dash of hip hop.
It helps when you are in company of people who like the same music as you do and enjoy food as much as you do and have the same politics and sense of humour as you do. Life becomes simple, or at least simpler - especially when you don't have to get up in the morning and go to a job.
Thanks to my peeps in Atlanta for a good time! Miss you!
A Microcosm
The infamous French Courter in New Orleans is like stepping in to another city that perhaps could be found around the corner in a small, 'quaint', 'charming' city in France. It was built up higher than the rest of it's surrounding area.
Well, because New Orleans is surrounded by water, there is the Lake, then the river, then the marshland, then the ponds. If you dig but 2 feet you will run in to water.
(I felt like I was driving through the back country when in vehicles in New Orleans because the roads are literally and forever marked by the water that sits threateningly underneath the ground - yes before Katrina, just a trademark of the landscape. In fact the graveyards are quite beautiful as most of the tombstones are built up and when walking in one you feel as you are walking in a city as some tombstones are two stories high - I wondered though where are the people buried who couldn't afford them?)
So now you see why the people who could afford it, built their homes up, their businesses up, and literally, thier graves up. If you look around, most homes are built a bit up, but it doesn't help if you live in the lower 9th ward, or the 9th ward or Gintilly or Treme or (list goes on) It is a class thing, which most often coincides with a race thing. So even if your home is built up a bit, you most likely will be under water.
Asides from the water one must wonder how much of a complex the 'upper' class really has...
The French Quarter is a tourist attraction, it has character, there are tours speaking of the history, the architecture is amazingly beautiful and there is a street that never sleeps basically called bourbon street where people I think drink 24/7. With all this going on, I unfortunately find it a bit tacky, especially when you are looking at it and observe closely. The sleazy men, the white owned businesses that appropriate black culture and hire black people to represent the food, the tourists running to voodoo shops giggling at the deities and dolls and most disgustingly those who are culture whores and literally live in the buildings that were once slave quarters, but are now upgraded condos.
Oh, what a dream.
But just outside the French Quarter is one of the, if not the oldest black community in North America - Treme. It being right outside the French Quarter says a lot about how the neighborhood was conceived by itself. The French Quarter being a place of bondage and enslavement and Treme signifying the the 'freed slave' who literally bargained, bought and aquired land literally blocks away from their enslavement.
This is significant in consideration to the idea that slavery did not end, (did it ever end?) closer to 1865, especially being in the south and Treme was essentially established as a free area for blacks in the 1700's. I am not a historian and I am in complete acceptance that this is just a blog and I am probably missing many points on many factors pertaining to black history in general. But I am just trying to get to a point of how this community had a head start from most black communities. A free place for black folks, a place of early economic growth, one of the most, as one may say, pioneers of black culture in North America in general, the creation of jazz, of creole food, language and many other art forms in general and by art I do not mean frivolities, but craftsmanship and community and growth in itself.
I am not here to be an expert or to write an essay, but it brings up many questions of how such an early community, no not a community that was thriving in the 60's and was destroyed, but a community that literally set the tone for free blacks in general, a community that was thriving and vibrant in the 18th century, and sure there is tremendous history and culture that is still celebrated to this day and in fact Treme was affected by the flood, but still was able to keep the 2nd liners that run every week TO THIS DAY. But how, the forces of white imperiliasm and colonialism are omnipotent and strong. It is this force of evil that I am still trying to disect. Ha ha, okay, I haven't had much sleep and am obviously overwhelmed at the magnitude of oppression.
And of course one could ask the same thing about natives and how civilisations were literally wiped out.
Why doesn't colonisation in it's different periods and timeframes and gentrification have names like Katrina and why are they not compared to natural disasters themselves?
Man made disasters of America...
A community that was black owned in the 1700s but still has survivors. Treme, is now mostly white owned.
So where is the story in the media or even in the many books that came out after Katrina or even the more progressive graphic novels that came out - where is that story of a man I met who stayed in his home (a home he rents) that is owned by a white man. Who stayed in his home and endured the flood for 3 weeks? The one who was alone and made a light out of three car batteries, the one who didn't get the money that was promised to him because he is not a home owner and the damage was 'not that bad' and as long as FEMA comes around every year to check on the house and it looks okay, the owner can get away with providing atrocious living conditions and get that large pay cheque every month.
Yet still, people go on and they keep telling their stories and they keep living, and it is quite symbolic of how the white man's world really is just the French Quarter and just outside, and a bit lower, where the paint is chipped, what appears to be on the margin really is the culutural force that is forever resilient and has more history and celebration and meaning then the French Quarter ever will. People come from all ove the world to see the French Quarter, but really, they are coming to see Treme.
The French Quarter is in black face and there will always be tickets to the show.
Well, because New Orleans is surrounded by water, there is the Lake, then the river, then the marshland, then the ponds. If you dig but 2 feet you will run in to water.
(I felt like I was driving through the back country when in vehicles in New Orleans because the roads are literally and forever marked by the water that sits threateningly underneath the ground - yes before Katrina, just a trademark of the landscape. In fact the graveyards are quite beautiful as most of the tombstones are built up and when walking in one you feel as you are walking in a city as some tombstones are two stories high - I wondered though where are the people buried who couldn't afford them?)
So now you see why the people who could afford it, built their homes up, their businesses up, and literally, thier graves up. If you look around, most homes are built a bit up, but it doesn't help if you live in the lower 9th ward, or the 9th ward or Gintilly or Treme or (list goes on) It is a class thing, which most often coincides with a race thing. So even if your home is built up a bit, you most likely will be under water.
Asides from the water one must wonder how much of a complex the 'upper' class really has...
The French Quarter is a tourist attraction, it has character, there are tours speaking of the history, the architecture is amazingly beautiful and there is a street that never sleeps basically called bourbon street where people I think drink 24/7. With all this going on, I unfortunately find it a bit tacky, especially when you are looking at it and observe closely. The sleazy men, the white owned businesses that appropriate black culture and hire black people to represent the food, the tourists running to voodoo shops giggling at the deities and dolls and most disgustingly those who are culture whores and literally live in the buildings that were once slave quarters, but are now upgraded condos.
Oh, what a dream.
But just outside the French Quarter is one of the, if not the oldest black community in North America - Treme. It being right outside the French Quarter says a lot about how the neighborhood was conceived by itself. The French Quarter being a place of bondage and enslavement and Treme signifying the the 'freed slave' who literally bargained, bought and aquired land literally blocks away from their enslavement.
This is significant in consideration to the idea that slavery did not end, (did it ever end?) closer to 1865, especially being in the south and Treme was essentially established as a free area for blacks in the 1700's. I am not a historian and I am in complete acceptance that this is just a blog and I am probably missing many points on many factors pertaining to black history in general. But I am just trying to get to a point of how this community had a head start from most black communities. A free place for black folks, a place of early economic growth, one of the most, as one may say, pioneers of black culture in North America in general, the creation of jazz, of creole food, language and many other art forms in general and by art I do not mean frivolities, but craftsmanship and community and growth in itself.
I am not here to be an expert or to write an essay, but it brings up many questions of how such an early community, no not a community that was thriving in the 60's and was destroyed, but a community that literally set the tone for free blacks in general, a community that was thriving and vibrant in the 18th century, and sure there is tremendous history and culture that is still celebrated to this day and in fact Treme was affected by the flood, but still was able to keep the 2nd liners that run every week TO THIS DAY. But how, the forces of white imperiliasm and colonialism are omnipotent and strong. It is this force of evil that I am still trying to disect. Ha ha, okay, I haven't had much sleep and am obviously overwhelmed at the magnitude of oppression.
And of course one could ask the same thing about natives and how civilisations were literally wiped out.
Why doesn't colonisation in it's different periods and timeframes and gentrification have names like Katrina and why are they not compared to natural disasters themselves?
Man made disasters of America...
A community that was black owned in the 1700s but still has survivors. Treme, is now mostly white owned.
So where is the story in the media or even in the many books that came out after Katrina or even the more progressive graphic novels that came out - where is that story of a man I met who stayed in his home (a home he rents) that is owned by a white man. Who stayed in his home and endured the flood for 3 weeks? The one who was alone and made a light out of three car batteries, the one who didn't get the money that was promised to him because he is not a home owner and the damage was 'not that bad' and as long as FEMA comes around every year to check on the house and it looks okay, the owner can get away with providing atrocious living conditions and get that large pay cheque every month.
Yet still, people go on and they keep telling their stories and they keep living, and it is quite symbolic of how the white man's world really is just the French Quarter and just outside, and a bit lower, where the paint is chipped, what appears to be on the margin really is the culutural force that is forever resilient and has more history and celebration and meaning then the French Quarter ever will. People come from all ove the world to see the French Quarter, but really, they are coming to see Treme.
The French Quarter is in black face and there will always be tickets to the show.
Where are the people?
It is quite a shock to grow up in a small town like I did and even migrate to a larger city and have a large native population and then cross a man made border to find that natives do not exist in some people's minds.
How easy can it be to erase a community all together if you just close your eyes really hard?
If you look at the demographics, you will notice the native population is below 1%.
When Katrina hit, we saw people, there was focus on different communities, but what about the 'invisible' nations?
For example how many people are really talking about Choctaw and their experience with the hurricane?
How easy can it be to erase a community all together if you just close your eyes really hard?
If you look at the demographics, you will notice the native population is below 1%.
When Katrina hit, we saw people, there was focus on different communities, but what about the 'invisible' nations?
For example how many people are really talking about Choctaw and their experience with the hurricane?
Why does everyone want to be an indian these days?
I was able to visit a museum in New Orleans focusing on the history and traditions of the Mardi Gras and specifically around black folks who dress up as natives. At first I misunderstood the concept, I thought the people in the parade were a mix of black and native (black indians) and that was the celebration in itself, but then I learned that it is really black people dressed up as natives and the beautiful thing about it is celebrating the fact the native people took in black people who were escaping slavery. (am slowly learning specifics around which nations/tribes)
It is the celebration of the two coming together in solidarity and how they have helped one another out really stretching across the continent before the concept of borders.
The truth of the matter is, is that most black people are mixed with either white or native or both. Everyone I talk to here and I mean absolutely everyone is mixed with native. I met someone the other day (who is visibly black) but whose grandparents were an interesting couple: his Grandfather a Cherokee Chief and his Grandmother was straight from Germany.
When I first started asking questions towards my Dad and his sisters that is one of the first things that was mentioned to me was that we had native in us. It is like we are proud of it. I was told Blackfoot, the Blackfoot Nation stretches from KKKanada down the the states, but then there is also another tribe called Blackfeet which who identify as both black and native.
But then, when I spoke with my Great Uncle he said Cherokee, many people actually say Cherokee and I thought to myself, well, why is it just Cherokee, when there are hundreds of other tribes? Is it because it's such a well known tribe, and so people just say Cherokee? But then I learned that the Cherokee nation is one of the only nations that accepted black people in to their culture.
Quite interestingly enough more recently the Cherokee Nation 'expelled' black folks from their nation. 'Why' is another topic at hand. I am still learning the inner complexities of the relationship between black and native people, one that is very venemous and sacrd, but more so elusive.
Slavery, was one factor in which it wasn't just exclusive to black people, then there was the census records and how natives were punished for not being on the reservations so many identified as 'mullato'. Then there is the intermarriages, the kinship, the solidarity, the struggle. It seems quite obvious that european settlers at the time were quite threatened by the union of native and black folks and I think when there was that communion between the two it was using fire with fire. It was a way of resisting and literally surviving because when there is a 'black indian' at a time when natives were 'free' and blacks were slaves, yet natives were not considered citizens and blacks didn't have reservations, but they had plantations...
...A complex nation
It is the celebration of the two coming together in solidarity and how they have helped one another out really stretching across the continent before the concept of borders.
The truth of the matter is, is that most black people are mixed with either white or native or both. Everyone I talk to here and I mean absolutely everyone is mixed with native. I met someone the other day (who is visibly black) but whose grandparents were an interesting couple: his Grandfather a Cherokee Chief and his Grandmother was straight from Germany.
When I first started asking questions towards my Dad and his sisters that is one of the first things that was mentioned to me was that we had native in us. It is like we are proud of it. I was told Blackfoot, the Blackfoot Nation stretches from KKKanada down the the states, but then there is also another tribe called Blackfeet which who identify as both black and native.
But then, when I spoke with my Great Uncle he said Cherokee, many people actually say Cherokee and I thought to myself, well, why is it just Cherokee, when there are hundreds of other tribes? Is it because it's such a well known tribe, and so people just say Cherokee? But then I learned that the Cherokee nation is one of the only nations that accepted black people in to their culture.
Quite interestingly enough more recently the Cherokee Nation 'expelled' black folks from their nation. 'Why' is another topic at hand. I am still learning the inner complexities of the relationship between black and native people, one that is very venemous and sacrd, but more so elusive.
Slavery, was one factor in which it wasn't just exclusive to black people, then there was the census records and how natives were punished for not being on the reservations so many identified as 'mullato'. Then there is the intermarriages, the kinship, the solidarity, the struggle. It seems quite obvious that european settlers at the time were quite threatened by the union of native and black folks and I think when there was that communion between the two it was using fire with fire. It was a way of resisting and literally surviving because when there is a 'black indian' at a time when natives were 'free' and blacks were slaves, yet natives were not considered citizens and blacks didn't have reservations, but they had plantations...
...A complex nation
Don't talk to strangers
First day my cousin took me around New Orleans,
Actually let me stop here, let me remind you, I am meeting many family members for the first time, I saw a picture of my cousin when he was a teenager, but he is 47 now. So when my cousin came to pick me up, he forgot to mention what vehicle he drives, I am waiting on the corner and this guy drives up ( i had just finished speaking to 'cuz' on the phone) the guy who drives up honks at me and pulls around the corner and stops, so I run to the the truck excitedly and say my cousin's name...the guys shakes his head, but has a creepy smile on his face. I literally had the door open and was about to hop in. So I just closed the door and left.
Awkward.
NO!
...Creepy...
2 seconds later my cousin shows up with his daughter.
So...first day my cousin took me around New Orleans showing me the different neighborhoods, focusing on the ones that were flooded, including his. I got to meet his wife and 3 kids, two were still in high school. All were very open to talking about their 'Katrina experience.' They had evacuated, just left for three days expecting to come back home, they were shocked to find their house in 8 feet of water. Everything was gone. They had to go through moving to different states, staying at different shelters, being turned down from hotels in other states because they were from New Orleans. Finally they ended up in Arkansas and lived there for three years. Yes Conway.
My cousin's daughter told me how unimpressed she was having to change highschools from the city to a small town where learning how to skin and cook a racoon was more important than algebra...but hey, I guess I might want to learn how to eat too when it comes right down to survival.
The only family albums they had now, were scrap books made recently focusing on Katrina, how they came back and just rebuilt their home and staying in a hotel during the process. Now their house is new, they admit it's nicer than their older frame, but some of their neighbors haven't moved back, some friends they haven't heard from in a while are not back in town either. There are several photos dedicated to a renunion of them and a former neighbor they were able to reconnect with, but that is just one. My cousin's high school is being rebuilt so he is going to school in a trailer with half of his former high school population.
The population in New Orleans has been cut in half. Literally, if not more. Everyone I talk to says that it is NOT the same, no matter what the media portrays, no matter what person you meet who is an outsider and raves about the mardi gras they went to and how 'New Orleans is still 'happening' because they went to the mardi gras last summer...there are new people from the ages of 19 - 24 moving in and 'having a blast' living in this city not realising they may be living in a family's home.
And in reality, my cousin and his family are considered some of the lucky ones, they have their health, they have jobs, kids are still in school (except all had to be moved back a grade) one is going to college, they have a new home.
Let me remind you and myself that most folks did not own their homes. If you were renting, the hurricane meant a whole different thing to you.
But of course we all know that others couldn't make it out. The disabled, the elderly, folks in jail, hospitals, nursing homes.
I will cherish their stories along with other people who shared their stories.
It has been so refreshing to be around family, from all over who do not mind sharing their experiences with me, the good and the bad.
I am glad they are not strangers to me anymore.
Actually let me stop here, let me remind you, I am meeting many family members for the first time, I saw a picture of my cousin when he was a teenager, but he is 47 now. So when my cousin came to pick me up, he forgot to mention what vehicle he drives, I am waiting on the corner and this guy drives up ( i had just finished speaking to 'cuz' on the phone) the guy who drives up honks at me and pulls around the corner and stops, so I run to the the truck excitedly and say my cousin's name...the guys shakes his head, but has a creepy smile on his face. I literally had the door open and was about to hop in. So I just closed the door and left.
Awkward.
NO!
...Creepy...
2 seconds later my cousin shows up with his daughter.
So...first day my cousin took me around New Orleans showing me the different neighborhoods, focusing on the ones that were flooded, including his. I got to meet his wife and 3 kids, two were still in high school. All were very open to talking about their 'Katrina experience.' They had evacuated, just left for three days expecting to come back home, they were shocked to find their house in 8 feet of water. Everything was gone. They had to go through moving to different states, staying at different shelters, being turned down from hotels in other states because they were from New Orleans. Finally they ended up in Arkansas and lived there for three years. Yes Conway.
My cousin's daughter told me how unimpressed she was having to change highschools from the city to a small town where learning how to skin and cook a racoon was more important than algebra...but hey, I guess I might want to learn how to eat too when it comes right down to survival.
The only family albums they had now, were scrap books made recently focusing on Katrina, how they came back and just rebuilt their home and staying in a hotel during the process. Now their house is new, they admit it's nicer than their older frame, but some of their neighbors haven't moved back, some friends they haven't heard from in a while are not back in town either. There are several photos dedicated to a renunion of them and a former neighbor they were able to reconnect with, but that is just one. My cousin's high school is being rebuilt so he is going to school in a trailer with half of his former high school population.
The population in New Orleans has been cut in half. Literally, if not more. Everyone I talk to says that it is NOT the same, no matter what the media portrays, no matter what person you meet who is an outsider and raves about the mardi gras they went to and how 'New Orleans is still 'happening' because they went to the mardi gras last summer...there are new people from the ages of 19 - 24 moving in and 'having a blast' living in this city not realising they may be living in a family's home.
And in reality, my cousin and his family are considered some of the lucky ones, they have their health, they have jobs, kids are still in school (except all had to be moved back a grade) one is going to college, they have a new home.
Let me remind you and myself that most folks did not own their homes. If you were renting, the hurricane meant a whole different thing to you.
But of course we all know that others couldn't make it out. The disabled, the elderly, folks in jail, hospitals, nursing homes.
I will cherish their stories along with other people who shared their stories.
It has been so refreshing to be around family, from all over who do not mind sharing their experiences with me, the good and the bad.
I am glad they are not strangers to me anymore.
just rain in the happiest state
A friend of mine said he read an article recently that stated Louisiana was the happiest state in terms of people's state of mind and general satisfaction in life. Comparatively, there is a huge divide between north and south when it comes to happiness, the sun and warmth versus the cold and rain.
My mind was in a state of reluctance upon heading to New Orleans. To be honest I didn't know too much about the city before 2005 – which is sad considering it's history. Everytime I meet someone who said they just went to New Orleans and 'had a blast' I sort of cringe. I mean, do people not know what took place there just shy of 5 years ago? I come from a place where it is mild, it rains, there is sun and sometimes soft fluffy flakes that soon melt and turn in to soft mushy snow.
Some places get rain,
but some places have tornadoes, blizzards, hurricanes, tsunamis and earth quakes...
I wanted to go to New Orleans for a couple reasons, to first see friends, then I recently discovered, yes, I have family there and to see New Orleans – to see the city after the hurricane. Knowing I couldn't do any long term commitment in terms of 'volunteering' but I just wanted to hear stories, I wanted to 'see' instead of reading or hearing (i recognise my priviledge in that) Also, I wanted to see how many black owned businesses there are (the ones left) and support them somehow - by just conversing and buying a meal.
So I arrived in to New Orleans - nervously. My whole trip I have been blessed, it was sunny the whole way, in every single place I went to. For New Orleans, I expected to experience some real southern weather. So I get there and it's raining, but who am I to complain, I didn't lose all of my belongings, I didn't have to stay in the superdome, I didn't lose family members or have to be shipped to an unknown destination with a one way plane ticket or sit on top of my house and watch the world float away. It was just raining. It rains 8 months in Vancouver, so I am cool.
My mind was in a state of reluctance upon heading to New Orleans. To be honest I didn't know too much about the city before 2005 – which is sad considering it's history. Everytime I meet someone who said they just went to New Orleans and 'had a blast' I sort of cringe. I mean, do people not know what took place there just shy of 5 years ago? I come from a place where it is mild, it rains, there is sun and sometimes soft fluffy flakes that soon melt and turn in to soft mushy snow.
Some places get rain,
but some places have tornadoes, blizzards, hurricanes, tsunamis and earth quakes...
I wanted to go to New Orleans for a couple reasons, to first see friends, then I recently discovered, yes, I have family there and to see New Orleans – to see the city after the hurricane. Knowing I couldn't do any long term commitment in terms of 'volunteering' but I just wanted to hear stories, I wanted to 'see' instead of reading or hearing (i recognise my priviledge in that) Also, I wanted to see how many black owned businesses there are (the ones left) and support them somehow - by just conversing and buying a meal.
So I arrived in to New Orleans - nervously. My whole trip I have been blessed, it was sunny the whole way, in every single place I went to. For New Orleans, I expected to experience some real southern weather. So I get there and it's raining, but who am I to complain, I didn't lose all of my belongings, I didn't have to stay in the superdome, I didn't lose family members or have to be shipped to an unknown destination with a one way plane ticket or sit on top of my house and watch the world float away. It was just raining. It rains 8 months in Vancouver, so I am cool.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I'm gonna get me a shot gun and kill the first white"$%^E$^@ I see...
Do people remember that skit? Anyways, another first...I went hunting...hunting for rabbits that is. I didn't have any luck though, but I was able to hold a shot gun and shoot it, first time shooting a gun - it was pretty heavy and powerful and well...I like to try anything and everything at least once.
moe and madge
I needed to burn off some food, so walked around the land to the pond, some pear trees they just got the last of the pears a week ago, pecans ripe and falling to the ground. I wanted to meet my cuz's two horses, he used to ride them, but says he just has them as pets and doesn't really ride them anymore.
Madge and Moe, mother and son, some cows and one big bull that I don't trust and he probably doesn't trust me. Brought out an apple to feed to Madge, but she spat it out and then the cows came to eat up the rest.
There is a trick to getting horses to come near you, pretend to smell them...trust me you don't need to pretend though...
dem rabbits
Took a quick bus ride to Marshall, Texas from Arkansas to meet another cousin who is on my Grandmother's side, been mostly meeting folks from Grandfather's side. This cousin of mine has been solid with me ever since I started my trip. He has called me like clock work pretty much every second day to see how I am doing and to make sure I am safe.
'Hey cuz, you know, just checking to see you're alright and stuff like that, so you doin' okay?'
'Alright, cool, well I'm gonna go now, you call me when you're gettin' closer...'
So now I am here in Texas, in the middle of no where to meet my cousin, his daughter, his grandson and his Mother and Aunt and Uncle and Sister and other folks. It is Thanksgiving for them, I do not tell family members I am opposed to giving thanks to massacres throughout the states that have been committed by new settlers - because then they'll start making fun of me and will ask me if I am going to the next G8 summmit 'to protest' - so I'm just gonna make things simple and enjoy the food and company. For most family members it's just a reason to get the family together and eat well.
So, my cuz takes care of some land and he's a truck driver and he really likes it out in the country and he IS country. The area he lives in, out in the country is predominantly black. Everyone has goats or cows or horses, chickens, everyone goes hunting and everyone, and I mean EVERYPNE has a bbq. Now they don't mess around with bbq's here, it isn't some propane fuelled stainless steel container you buy at walmart for 39.99 that comes with a cleaning brush - I am talking huge contraptions that are like the size of trailers, with different places to put the coals, different spots to put the meat for smoking, another spot to put the meet for flame broiling, I mean, it's outtahand.
I get to the house where people from all over Texas have come to stay, this house was their Grandparents and they grew up in it, so they keep it empty to house family and friends whenever they want to visit from out of town. The place is packed with food, they have the smoker on the lawn, also everyone parks their cars on the lawn too. In the smoker is prime rib, in the kitchen is turkey, the ham is so tender you can pull strips of it off just like bacon AND there is cornish hen, then there are collard greens, turnip greens, the best dressing I have ever tasted in my life and hot water corn cakes. Um yah, I had seconds and thirds, then of course they wanted me to pack food up like I might get hungry in half an hour or something. There were 8 desserts. Pound cake, chocolate pound cake, homemade cheesecake, buttermilk pie, sweet potatoe pie, german chocolate cake with coconut icing and I cannot remember what else because they had to resuscitate me before I had the last two which they spoon fed me before I passed out.
'Hey cuz, you know, just checking to see you're alright and stuff like that, so you doin' okay?'
'Alright, cool, well I'm gonna go now, you call me when you're gettin' closer...'
So now I am here in Texas, in the middle of no where to meet my cousin, his daughter, his grandson and his Mother and Aunt and Uncle and Sister and other folks. It is Thanksgiving for them, I do not tell family members I am opposed to giving thanks to massacres throughout the states that have been committed by new settlers - because then they'll start making fun of me and will ask me if I am going to the next G8 summmit 'to protest' - so I'm just gonna make things simple and enjoy the food and company. For most family members it's just a reason to get the family together and eat well.
So, my cuz takes care of some land and he's a truck driver and he really likes it out in the country and he IS country. The area he lives in, out in the country is predominantly black. Everyone has goats or cows or horses, chickens, everyone goes hunting and everyone, and I mean EVERYPNE has a bbq. Now they don't mess around with bbq's here, it isn't some propane fuelled stainless steel container you buy at walmart for 39.99 that comes with a cleaning brush - I am talking huge contraptions that are like the size of trailers, with different places to put the coals, different spots to put the meat for smoking, another spot to put the meet for flame broiling, I mean, it's outtahand.
I get to the house where people from all over Texas have come to stay, this house was their Grandparents and they grew up in it, so they keep it empty to house family and friends whenever they want to visit from out of town. The place is packed with food, they have the smoker on the lawn, also everyone parks their cars on the lawn too. In the smoker is prime rib, in the kitchen is turkey, the ham is so tender you can pull strips of it off just like bacon AND there is cornish hen, then there are collard greens, turnip greens, the best dressing I have ever tasted in my life and hot water corn cakes. Um yah, I had seconds and thirds, then of course they wanted me to pack food up like I might get hungry in half an hour or something. There were 8 desserts. Pound cake, chocolate pound cake, homemade cheesecake, buttermilk pie, sweet potatoe pie, german chocolate cake with coconut icing and I cannot remember what else because they had to resuscitate me before I had the last two which they spoon fed me before I passed out.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
random stories and thoughts
The last day I was able to go to the land where my Dad was born, where everyone was born and started out as a family, who had farms, my Great Grandfather who ran the only black owned business (a store) at the time, where my family played in a band for church - EVERYTHING!
Conway, Arkansas
Was able to meet many kinfolk out there, it was a whirlwind of hugs, handshakes, kisses, stories, laughter, questions, food. I met about 20 new family members in a matter of 5 hours! I am truly blessed.
Got to see homes where people were literally born in and raised.
This is where my family is from, this where kids played, where herbs were found, where hogs were slaughtered supplying food and fat for soap, where fish was caught, where people got married and where people left, came back and where some died.
My dad has never been back here since he left.
And to think I was going to show up in Arkansas not knowing anyone existed and was just going to go to the local library and look up names...
I am truly thankful.
Did I mention I had the best sweet potatoe pie EVER from a cousin of mine straight from the oven (will never go back to pumpkin pie) AND had a cousin make a cd for me from his band!
Spending time with one cousin of mine I learned quite a bit on how much of a divide there really is in the south that really didn't go away after the civil war. A divide that will always be between blacks and whites and a divide that will seemingly always be between the south and the north. Living in a predominantly white area, with me being the 'other' it was certainly refreshing to hear my family talk about white people as the 'others'. People still have their confederate flags hanging over their porches just like it was 1862. There is a strange politeness from white people that is somewhat familiar to me coming from Vancouver. My cousin was really good to talk to about racism and it felt like we were on the same page, but simultaneously a different book. I am learning more and more about how conservative a lot of my family is – a lot of homophobia, my Dad is looked down upon for dodging the draft because so and so was stationed here or there for world war 2 and so and so went to Vietnam...they support police presence and are fond of former president clinton and are EXTREMELY religious. It's almost like meeting liberals who live in Kits, but have experienced racism in the south. (only a vancouverite might get that...)
Never the less, not every single family member is the same and each one has their own story and experience and survival strategies and I love them and they have welcomed me in their lives very graciously as I have them.
Wow, I sound weird right now...
Good news is, I will be returning for a family re union that is in the making.
Got to walk along the river front, then stumble upon (okay I did a bit of research) this amazing building, they do not call themselves a museum per say, but I met this woman who worked there and she had such on interesting story, it turns out her niece and nephew live in Vancouver and they have the same history as me, in terms of having a father who is a draft dodger and their family is originally from the south.
So this woman shared stories with me ( who works at this building) about how the whole area on 9th street was a black community in the 60's and was thriving and full of black owned businesses, etc. I learned that my cousin used to go out dancing on that street and everyone I eventually spoke with remembers that area fondly as you could find anything there, for a good price, there was always something to do for everyone of all ages and people looked out for each other. But then there is this revitalisation tactic that gets in the way...
The whole building out of many museums that focus on African American history was absolutely amazingly informative, probably because the state was funding this one. Unlike most, it had a comprehensive history around slavery, racism, migration, displacement, solidarity and activism, pioneer-ism, community and how they are all tied together. I was really impressed. But the building itself was a multi busniness unit in it's prime back in the day. The very building this 'museum' was in is the only building left standing (even after a fire - was rebuilt) and when you look outside, across the street and down the street, it is vacant.
I was mesmorised.
So this woman shared stories with me ( who works at this building) about how the whole area on 9th street was a black community in the 60's and was thriving and full of black owned businesses, etc. I learned that my cousin used to go out dancing on that street and everyone I eventually spoke with remembers that area fondly as you could find anything there, for a good price, there was always something to do for everyone of all ages and people looked out for each other. But then there is this revitalisation tactic that gets in the way...
The whole building out of many museums that focus on African American history was absolutely amazingly informative, probably because the state was funding this one. Unlike most, it had a comprehensive history around slavery, racism, migration, displacement, solidarity and activism, pioneer-ism, community and how they are all tied together. I was really impressed. But the building itself was a multi busniness unit in it's prime back in the day. The very building this 'museum' was in is the only building left standing (even after a fire - was rebuilt) and when you look outside, across the street and down the street, it is vacant.
I was mesmorised.
Burn Rubber (why you wanna hurt me)
We arrived at night, went to sleep right away, but woke up and got started, went to the genealogy centre, did some research then my cousin took me around first to meet her daughter and her grandsons. Both handsome and respectable men – one 15, the other 4. The 4 year old can play the drums and he is super cool. Then two more cousins came over and at first it was the twenty questions and 10 of them were about hair and how we managed it. Then, well, it went straight to the karaoke machine they had bought.
“Why haven't I met my family earlier?” ...is the question.
We broke out songs that I hadn't heard in years (okay I'm lying, I listened to most of them last week) and such an eclectic yet, homogeneous mix of Mary J. Blige, The O' Jays, Earth Wind & Fire, The Gap Band, Michael Jackson pre white face, Sam Cooke, Grandmaster Flash, and oh so much more. Hours of fun, cousins can sing, I learned a new dance. For those of you who grew up in the States don't make fun of me, but I learned the bunny hop for the first time, but I was a quick learner and am a master now.
Met the cutest baby with the chunkiest thighs and beautiful eyes. She liked me and let me nibble on some of her fat.
“Why haven't I met my family earlier?” ...is the question.
We broke out songs that I hadn't heard in years (okay I'm lying, I listened to most of them last week) and such an eclectic yet, homogeneous mix of Mary J. Blige, The O' Jays, Earth Wind & Fire, The Gap Band, Michael Jackson pre white face, Sam Cooke, Grandmaster Flash, and oh so much more. Hours of fun, cousins can sing, I learned a new dance. For those of you who grew up in the States don't make fun of me, but I learned the bunny hop for the first time, but I was a quick learner and am a master now.
Met the cutest baby with the chunkiest thighs and beautiful eyes. She liked me and let me nibble on some of her fat.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
don't be a hard rock when you really are a gem
Watching the sunset and driving with my cousin and her husband through Missouri and passing a town called Peculiar, I found myself thinking, wow, I got myself here after years of saving and am now riding with cousins whom I didn't even know existed until a week before and now we were on our way to a town where my Dad and all his siblings were born, but also my grandfather and grandmother were born too - a town where my grandparents met and got married, a town that has so much history, family history at that. We were on our way to Little Rock and Conway, Arkansas.
My Homie
This is where the creamy centre of this trip begins. The sole reason I was inspired to re route my trip and to hear stories upon stories of family history, the good the bad and the ugly. I headed to Kansas City, Missouri to see my Great Uncle _________. Yes, remember, the one who hung up on me. If you don't remember, please read blog from beginning.
I was inspired to do this trip for many reasons, but had a scare when a third family member died, three in a short ammount of time. Diabetes and high blood pressure run in my family and so I was surprised to hear my great uncle who is 83 to be healthier than a 20 year old. He is on no medication, he walks with a skip in his step and he goes to the gym 4-5 days a week. I probably mentioned this earlier, that he does push ups and sit ups too, but I like to brag.
I was able to go to the gym right along with him, our days consisted of talking, going to the gym, talking, going out to eat, talking, going for a walk, visiting his wife in a home, then talking again, then watching the 10 o' clock news. He makes me LAUGH like no one!
Uncle paces trying to explain a concept and gets excited about so many things.
The first place he took me to eat was a soul food buffet. Now I can have seconds of collards and green beans, but seconds of home made mac and cheese, fried chicken and neckbone - I couldn't breathe after. I was made fun of because I call it neck of a pig which is formal to family and everyone knows that when you say neckbone it is neck of a hog - not pig by the way, but hog - but when I think of neckbone I think of turkey - Oh dear, the blasphemy.
Then there is the competition between Texas and Kansas City on who has the best bbq. Uncle took me to Gates, it is a huge restaurant where you can have ribs mostly. A huge smoke house where the cooks open up a door in the wall and it's all flames and they're turning ribs and the ribs are smoking. MMMM, best advice is to get ribs with sauce on the side so the meat isn't too overpowered by it and dip it. I have never really got too excited over bbq sauce, but this sauce was amazing. A perfect blend of sweetness, with spice, thick, but not too thick - just perfect. I had some yammer pie too...mmmmmmmm.
Uncle has such a great memory, he can remember dates, middle names, the make of cars, the song that was playing, who married who, old girlfriends of brothers before they got married. He could tell me more about my Dad then I could him even though he has only met him once. Uncle has such amazing skill in story telling I could just listen to him for hours with his beautiful smile and quirky personality. He spoke poetically using 'country' expressions, innuendos and similies.
Uncle used to work on the railroad, he thinks that 'real' work is getting dirty and even his brother (my grandfather) who was a janitor, that was considered easy work.
Now, I am going to appear naive again, but one day he surprised me when he referred to another gentleman of his age as his homeboy. I was a bit jolted because whenever I have heard that term, it was by people my age trying to be thugs or something. Then he explained that in the country that is what folks called each other, because they were from each other's home town. If you think about it, we all kind of came from the south before migrating north, and it was common to have a farm just like my family did and live out in the 'country' and to call someone your homegirl if she was from your home town. It is intersting how that term stayed with those who have migrated for whatever reasons and stick with youth in all urban settings to this day. The term stuck so much that you see white middle class's offspring (like that!?) grabbing their crotches and doing hand shakes trying to be someone they're not. Saying homeboy and not even realising the history behind its use.
Well uncle and I had a fantastic time together and I learned so much about family that I didn't even know existed. Him and I we had our arguements, but we were able to get past them, move on and enjoy the rest of out time together. It was a culture shock for me because he couldn't understand my accent. I guess I have one, he couldn't understand one word coming out of my mouth when I first arrived, so I was made fun of and was asked silly questions like,
'does canada have jazz' in reference to me not knowing some jazz artists he had named. We just giggled as he showed me his antique jazz collection on vinyl. When I told him I couldn't get soul food in Vancouver he was like,
'well what do ya'll eat up there?' A very serious question.
We went to the Museum of Jazz on 18th and Vine a historical place where he used to party back when he was in his 20's, getting awards for dancing the jitterbug with his wife and going to big band dances. He could have orated and given tours at the Museum himself, 'cause he certainly knew a lot more than what was displayed there. Uncle is like an information machine. After the museum, I was looking in the store and this white woman came up to me and said something like,
'oh you're too young to appreciate music like this, I have seen all of these people in here live' and then I turned to her and said,
'oh that is because white audiences were only allowed in the clubs back then weren't they?' then she got all flustered and defensive saying that she only grew up on a farm and didn't know what racism was, etc. I just said smiled and walked away.
I am getting better.
My uncle's house is small, cozy and decorated with antiques. Uncle has lived there for over 40 years. He built the basement himself and his house is so old I had to use an adapter for his electrical outlets when charging my phone! Ha, ha! One thing was that he wouldn't let me walk in his neighborhood alone, even during day light. He said when he moved here 40 years ago, the hood was white, but then blacks started moving in and a 'white flight' happened.
In his own words, 'there are a lot of niggers in this area now'
Well Uncle, he sure had a lot against niggers. He likes black folk, but not niggers. I could add more to this, but Ill just leave it at that.
I thought that I was going to end up in Little Rock Arkansas going to a library and looking up McDaniels and Covingtons, but my cousins came for a visit and I got a ride back with them.
So the journey continues...
I was inspired to do this trip for many reasons, but had a scare when a third family member died, three in a short ammount of time. Diabetes and high blood pressure run in my family and so I was surprised to hear my great uncle who is 83 to be healthier than a 20 year old. He is on no medication, he walks with a skip in his step and he goes to the gym 4-5 days a week. I probably mentioned this earlier, that he does push ups and sit ups too, but I like to brag.
I was able to go to the gym right along with him, our days consisted of talking, going to the gym, talking, going out to eat, talking, going for a walk, visiting his wife in a home, then talking again, then watching the 10 o' clock news. He makes me LAUGH like no one!
Uncle paces trying to explain a concept and gets excited about so many things.
The first place he took me to eat was a soul food buffet. Now I can have seconds of collards and green beans, but seconds of home made mac and cheese, fried chicken and neckbone - I couldn't breathe after. I was made fun of because I call it neck of a pig which is formal to family and everyone knows that when you say neckbone it is neck of a hog - not pig by the way, but hog - but when I think of neckbone I think of turkey - Oh dear, the blasphemy.
Then there is the competition between Texas and Kansas City on who has the best bbq. Uncle took me to Gates, it is a huge restaurant where you can have ribs mostly. A huge smoke house where the cooks open up a door in the wall and it's all flames and they're turning ribs and the ribs are smoking. MMMM, best advice is to get ribs with sauce on the side so the meat isn't too overpowered by it and dip it. I have never really got too excited over bbq sauce, but this sauce was amazing. A perfect blend of sweetness, with spice, thick, but not too thick - just perfect. I had some yammer pie too...mmmmmmmm.
Uncle has such a great memory, he can remember dates, middle names, the make of cars, the song that was playing, who married who, old girlfriends of brothers before they got married. He could tell me more about my Dad then I could him even though he has only met him once. Uncle has such amazing skill in story telling I could just listen to him for hours with his beautiful smile and quirky personality. He spoke poetically using 'country' expressions, innuendos and similies.
Uncle used to work on the railroad, he thinks that 'real' work is getting dirty and even his brother (my grandfather) who was a janitor, that was considered easy work.
Now, I am going to appear naive again, but one day he surprised me when he referred to another gentleman of his age as his homeboy. I was a bit jolted because whenever I have heard that term, it was by people my age trying to be thugs or something. Then he explained that in the country that is what folks called each other, because they were from each other's home town. If you think about it, we all kind of came from the south before migrating north, and it was common to have a farm just like my family did and live out in the 'country' and to call someone your homegirl if she was from your home town. It is intersting how that term stayed with those who have migrated for whatever reasons and stick with youth in all urban settings to this day. The term stuck so much that you see white middle class's offspring (like that!?) grabbing their crotches and doing hand shakes trying to be someone they're not. Saying homeboy and not even realising the history behind its use.
Well uncle and I had a fantastic time together and I learned so much about family that I didn't even know existed. Him and I we had our arguements, but we were able to get past them, move on and enjoy the rest of out time together. It was a culture shock for me because he couldn't understand my accent. I guess I have one, he couldn't understand one word coming out of my mouth when I first arrived, so I was made fun of and was asked silly questions like,
'does canada have jazz' in reference to me not knowing some jazz artists he had named. We just giggled as he showed me his antique jazz collection on vinyl. When I told him I couldn't get soul food in Vancouver he was like,
'well what do ya'll eat up there?' A very serious question.
We went to the Museum of Jazz on 18th and Vine a historical place where he used to party back when he was in his 20's, getting awards for dancing the jitterbug with his wife and going to big band dances. He could have orated and given tours at the Museum himself, 'cause he certainly knew a lot more than what was displayed there. Uncle is like an information machine. After the museum, I was looking in the store and this white woman came up to me and said something like,
'oh you're too young to appreciate music like this, I have seen all of these people in here live' and then I turned to her and said,
'oh that is because white audiences were only allowed in the clubs back then weren't they?' then she got all flustered and defensive saying that she only grew up on a farm and didn't know what racism was, etc. I just said smiled and walked away.
I am getting better.
My uncle's house is small, cozy and decorated with antiques. Uncle has lived there for over 40 years. He built the basement himself and his house is so old I had to use an adapter for his electrical outlets when charging my phone! Ha, ha! One thing was that he wouldn't let me walk in his neighborhood alone, even during day light. He said when he moved here 40 years ago, the hood was white, but then blacks started moving in and a 'white flight' happened.
In his own words, 'there are a lot of niggers in this area now'
Well Uncle, he sure had a lot against niggers. He likes black folk, but not niggers. I could add more to this, but Ill just leave it at that.
I thought that I was going to end up in Little Rock Arkansas going to a library and looking up McDaniels and Covingtons, but my cousins came for a visit and I got a ride back with them.
So the journey continues...
at last
Got to check out some clubs as well as random hole in the walls and danced to soul. Interestingly enough soul has a huge history here in Chicago starting in the 60's. Was able to meet a man who is running an exhibit on Chicago soul, his exhibit was at the Museum of African American history and he is hoping to find a home for it so he can have a permanent place for the show. Chicago is home to many record companies and radio stations - like for instance Chess Records which has one of my favourite vocalists Etta James.
Just a Bean
I like beans, but I think people like looking at themselves in the mirror a lot more. I was standing and staring at tourists and was acutally dumbstruck at how people can just sit under this massive steel bean that cost something like 3 million and just sit and stare and take pictuers of themselves...when they could be seeing so much more. Fascinating!
Back on track
Was able to rent a bike for a few days and biked ALL around Chicago. Words cannot describe how good it feels to be back on a bike.
I biked from the north part of 'the loop' all through downtown, back to Bronzeville for a second time then through the parks, checked out the Museum of Contemporary Art and biked along Lake Michigan, it's kinda like being back in Vancouver and riding along the seawall, except better. It is beautiful, passed many parks and the lake is massive and a deep aqua marine and a lot of the green part I biked through is a migratory area for geese.
Fun fun fun on my bike. Did I mention Chicago was nothing but sunshine?
I biked from the north part of 'the loop' all through downtown, back to Bronzeville for a second time then through the parks, checked out the Museum of Contemporary Art and biked along Lake Michigan, it's kinda like being back in Vancouver and riding along the seawall, except better. It is beautiful, passed many parks and the lake is massive and a deep aqua marine and a lot of the green part I biked through is a migratory area for geese.
Fun fun fun on my bike. Did I mention Chicago was nothing but sunshine?
chicago polish
Also had to try the polish hot dog.
It was delish. Polish weiner with jalapenos, pickles and mustard.
MMM MMM GOOD!
It was delish. Polish weiner with jalapenos, pickles and mustard.
MMM MMM GOOD!
Deep Dish
Although not a fan of it I was able to check out a local joint and try some deep dish pizza, something that a friend would never forgive me for if I was in Chicago, but did not try the pizza.
So I tried it, bing bam boom, yipidee doo...so now I can say I have had some authentic chicago deep dish pizza.
Still not for me and cannot wait to go to New York to have the 'real' thin crust pizza at it's best.
So I tried it, bing bam boom, yipidee doo...so now I can say I have had some authentic chicago deep dish pizza.
Still not for me and cannot wait to go to New York to have the 'real' thin crust pizza at it's best.
Windy City
It is quite symbolic that such a windy city is undergoing many changes, and I thought Vancouver was bad. You see, change doesn't scare me or many other people and for those who like to harp on how gentrification is inevitable, well - that is just ignorant. Gentrification is a result of well thought out strategic plans set out by the City, the government, developers, law enforcement, court cases and a whole wack of POWER - and the people who may have money, but are stupid enough to fall for their 'charm' and are in fact lacking in charm themselves.
Chicago was on the map strictly for fun.
Before setting out it was recommmended by a friend to check out the south end of Chicago, later what I learned is called Bronzeville. I put on my walking shoes which are my converse, they are white and leather and I really like them a lot...and they are the only shoes I brought with me so I better like them.
I took 'The L' which is Chicagoan lingo for their subway system they have. Very cheap by the way compared to other cities. The train took me in that direction, then I got off and just started walking. The boulevards are gorgeous and huge and I have to admit I was pretty naive walking in awe of the beauty and craftsmanship that went in to each brick of the two story homes and the swift curve and sculptural essence of each stone house. Then a closer look revealed homes that are boarded up, and a double take showed how empty the streets were - I walked block after block and although I saw people, it was emptpy. The wind blew, I felt a chill.
Another revitalisation camp. (i like to make things up sometimes)
What is the theme here folks?
You got it, another black community in the midst of being displaced. Of course, you can destroy homes and businesses, but not the people. The three little pigs and the big bad wolf or rather a pack of wolves that were able to blow the bricks down too.
I stumbled upon this cute boutique that is black owned, met the designer and the owner. The owner who is male said that he grew up in this neighborhood when the projects were still around, he grew up in the projects. We all know why it's called the projects. Because they ARE projects to see how well people will live together stacked up on top of each other. The city and developers are the people in white lab coats mixing dangerous chemicals, but don't worry, they have thick rubber gloves to protect their dainty hands, it's only the black folk that are the guinea pigs.
So what happens when rats are forced to live in close quarters? First they have a lot of babies, then they end up killing each other - after chewing off their own tails. Since then, the boutique owners home him and his mother grew up in is gone, the projects were torn down to make way for mixed housing. The two mile stretch of social housing is gone too...
This isn't new though is it. This has been happening for decades.
Apparently in Bronzeville there were attempts in the 50's to change it by building a high rise to attract middle class whites, but within the same decade whites left and it became predominantly black. (power to the people) ...sorry
Chicago is known to be one of the most segregated cities. There will always be people for or against segregation. Just in the past decade there has been increases in property taxes, businesses bought out by privatised companies who get lower rates, condo development. Fortunately people do not run away from challenges and it didn't stop local residents from fighting to keep their neighborhood for themselves as they have worked so hard to do. After all, Bronzeville is Chicago's first prominent African American neighborhood. After much effort residents were able to get Bronzeville to become a historical district in 1996, but only protecting 9 heritage buildings at that.
Walking around I did get a chance to speak with some residents who were glad the projects and the violence were gone, even though those who were displaced did not have assistance in being re located. Some now have to travel farther to get to work and some or many I imagine still do not have homes yet.
It brings me back to a group of people I did some work with in Vancouver where we were memorialising Vancouver's first and only condensed black neighborhood that was displaced and scattered by a viaduct.
Sound familiar? I think most cities have this story.
Well, we got to interviewing a few former residents and they had mixed feelings about it too. Some say that the neighborhood was 'bad' and they were happy to leave it and be in a safer place, but others have fond memories of the area and wouldn't have changed it for anything. But ultimately what it comes down to is that people should have a choice to stay or to leave or change it the way they want it to. Not the developers, etc. I guess it does become some sort of catch 22 because there are some things people want to change about their neighborhoods, but there are some things they want to remain the same and the changes should benift those who already live there.
SHOULD is a powerful word.
Chicago was on the map strictly for fun.
Before setting out it was recommmended by a friend to check out the south end of Chicago, later what I learned is called Bronzeville. I put on my walking shoes which are my converse, they are white and leather and I really like them a lot...and they are the only shoes I brought with me so I better like them.
I took 'The L' which is Chicagoan lingo for their subway system they have. Very cheap by the way compared to other cities. The train took me in that direction, then I got off and just started walking. The boulevards are gorgeous and huge and I have to admit I was pretty naive walking in awe of the beauty and craftsmanship that went in to each brick of the two story homes and the swift curve and sculptural essence of each stone house. Then a closer look revealed homes that are boarded up, and a double take showed how empty the streets were - I walked block after block and although I saw people, it was emptpy. The wind blew, I felt a chill.
Another revitalisation camp. (i like to make things up sometimes)
What is the theme here folks?
You got it, another black community in the midst of being displaced. Of course, you can destroy homes and businesses, but not the people. The three little pigs and the big bad wolf or rather a pack of wolves that were able to blow the bricks down too.
I stumbled upon this cute boutique that is black owned, met the designer and the owner. The owner who is male said that he grew up in this neighborhood when the projects were still around, he grew up in the projects. We all know why it's called the projects. Because they ARE projects to see how well people will live together stacked up on top of each other. The city and developers are the people in white lab coats mixing dangerous chemicals, but don't worry, they have thick rubber gloves to protect their dainty hands, it's only the black folk that are the guinea pigs.
So what happens when rats are forced to live in close quarters? First they have a lot of babies, then they end up killing each other - after chewing off their own tails. Since then, the boutique owners home him and his mother grew up in is gone, the projects were torn down to make way for mixed housing. The two mile stretch of social housing is gone too...
This isn't new though is it. This has been happening for decades.
Apparently in Bronzeville there were attempts in the 50's to change it by building a high rise to attract middle class whites, but within the same decade whites left and it became predominantly black. (power to the people) ...sorry
Chicago is known to be one of the most segregated cities. There will always be people for or against segregation. Just in the past decade there has been increases in property taxes, businesses bought out by privatised companies who get lower rates, condo development. Fortunately people do not run away from challenges and it didn't stop local residents from fighting to keep their neighborhood for themselves as they have worked so hard to do. After all, Bronzeville is Chicago's first prominent African American neighborhood. After much effort residents were able to get Bronzeville to become a historical district in 1996, but only protecting 9 heritage buildings at that.
Walking around I did get a chance to speak with some residents who were glad the projects and the violence were gone, even though those who were displaced did not have assistance in being re located. Some now have to travel farther to get to work and some or many I imagine still do not have homes yet.
It brings me back to a group of people I did some work with in Vancouver where we were memorialising Vancouver's first and only condensed black neighborhood that was displaced and scattered by a viaduct.
Sound familiar? I think most cities have this story.
Well, we got to interviewing a few former residents and they had mixed feelings about it too. Some say that the neighborhood was 'bad' and they were happy to leave it and be in a safer place, but others have fond memories of the area and wouldn't have changed it for anything. But ultimately what it comes down to is that people should have a choice to stay or to leave or change it the way they want it to. Not the developers, etc. I guess it does become some sort of catch 22 because there are some things people want to change about their neighborhoods, but there are some things they want to remain the same and the changes should benift those who already live there.
SHOULD is a powerful word.
Dorothy isn't in Kansas anymore
Sorry, it's been a while. Kinda got caught in a family vortex through the Mid West and South.
I have received a few gifts along the way:
The New Testament
Pepper Spray
and something to hang on my wall...that is if I ever make it home...
I have received a few gifts along the way:
The New Testament
Pepper Spray
and something to hang on my wall...that is if I ever make it home...
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