hives

usually the stories about hives involve my sister…pre-dawn trips to the emergency room are hazey in my mind. however, last year i was inducted into the club. after a few weeks into my first semester at tulane i called my mom crying…i was broken out all over my torso. it cleared up no problem. only to return, across my whole body, the next night.

that was it. they didn’t show their rounded little heads again…until today.

call it stress, call it bad timing but i’m breaking out as we speak. not as bad as i did before (knock on anythign wooden) but i have the itching part in full form. in fact it is a little hard to connect my hivey dots because i also have track marks from my fingernails trailing my neck, back breasts and stomach. i feel a little itchy on my legs but i’m trying to will that away.

this would be little more than a mildly amusing anecdote if it weren’t for the timing. this is exam week for me. not just exam week…final exam week…and prjects due week. so as i scurry to complete two more major projects (worth 40% of my grades each) and study for my looming exams i am now thrust into the wonderfully inspiring place of itch fest 2006.

further hampering my ability to finish up what needs to be finished is that the website i am working on for one of my projects refuses to upload my programme logic. yeah…life is great down under…just peachy.

more later when breathing is recreational instead of compulsory.

so let’s talk for a moment about the world i’m living in…a world filled with too much stuff and not enough time to do it in…espcially when i lost a few days to being sick and uninspired.

well no more.

today i finished one of my three remaning assignments (many days early i might add). and i’ve begun one of the others and have started culling information for the third. is time creeping in on me? of course…espeically given that i have to study for two final exams that take place on saturday and monday.

even so, i’m feeling good. i spent the day focused and even with a nap that went arry after a late lunch i still managed to finish one assignment and work work work my buns into a frenzy on another.

so there go my endorphins.

my other excitement is that i met up with my friend gabrielle. i met him quite a few months ago when i first moved to new zealand and didn’t know anyone. he complimented the shoes i was trying on and his accent sounded different so i asked where he was from. so began an 6 or 8 hour day speaking spanish (he’s from ecuador) and making our way through the city. in our adventures we haggled costs for zed jewelry (his business back home in france) and ate and met up with a mutual acquaintance from burundi (french speaking) so that at one point we had a conversation that was a mixture of english, spanish and french.

fun.

he left that night and promised to contact me when he was headed back south. and sure enough a few weeks later i got a text message in spanish. and a few months later another one…followed closely by his arrival.

so the other night i met him at our shoe store, where he presented me with a handcrafted leather belt and personalized bag (he’s a leatherworker) and headed for food.

my spanish was beyond rusty but after an hour or so my brain started working again…albeit slowly…and we parted ways with him headed home and an agenda in his pocket directing him to the us, ecuador, tahiti, zed, and back home to france.

what a small world we live…what a beautifully accesible small world.

last night i made breakfast for dinner. not an uncommon thing in my life here or before here. hashbrowns and an omelette. i’ve been thinking all day what went wrong and the only thing i can guess is my beloved cheese…it was a little old and a little dry…maybe i should have just thrown it away. but instead i tossed it in with everything else.

then, this morning at 4am i woke up with stomach pains. cramps. trauma. whatever you want to call it i had it, back and forth to the bathroom to no avail. it was soon six and i was forced to rise and dress myself to prepare for a rotary speech at penrose breakfast club.

yep…sick as a dog and i had to speak this morning.

i managed to pull myself together and get downstairs to meet my ride. i made small talk successfully and headed into the meeting room. there everyone STOOD. no one was seated and my gracious host, not knowing how ill i felt, introduced me to everyone he could find.

the smell of breakfast wafted through the air making my stomach churn. three trips to the bathroom later and i finally vomittted. two or three times i’m not sure. hands shaking i emerged from teh bathroom feeling better. just in time to begin my speech.

powerpoint shown, questions answered and the sickness began to creep again. lucky me we headed home and i jumped into bed.

four hours later i am awakened by my baby checking on me. he falls through later and in true doctor form forces me to drink some rehydration fluids and rubs my back and belly.

only my day isn’t finished yet. my performance exam for kapa haka is today. so i had to get up, get dressed and head down to prepare for that.

all in all, it went ok. i was a little shakey from no food for the day and too little liquid. the smell of food in the air (we had a great big feed afterwards) made me hungry and sick at the same time. still, surrounded by folks who cared enough to come out on a tuesday night at 7pm to support us, excitment in the air, it was a good night.

my baby took a few photos so you all can now see the dancer that is me…two public displays of dancing in two weeks…what is going on here!

the drumming event last night was interesting. hosted in an english style church, pews pushed to the sides to reveal hardwood floors where bare feet stamped and slid to the rythms.

and i sat on the side with my friends. all of us listening intently. our heads bobbing. sometimes our feet tapping. but always seated.

even so, we stood out. our group held two of the four black faces in the crowd of 100 plus people. the master drummer was from guinea i believe, another guy introduced himself…ghana, my friend is from zimbabwe, and then me.

part way through the drumming our ghanaian friend joined the drummers. seated himself briefly and then took off his shirt and jumped to the front. grooving with muhammad, the master drummer, he began to dance…a small crowd gathered to watch how his body moved to, from, with the music. muhammad sped up, slowed down. it was an interesting thing so spontaneously crafted.

after that muhammed seemed to be in the mood for more and so he came barreling to the side and grabbed my friend by the arm and dragged him to the floor, me laughing beside him until it dawned on me that i might be next. i dismissed the thought and instead watched as my friend moved and twisted and acted a nut. he had fun with the music and eventually limped back to his seat.

of course it turned out i was next…the only remainging black person in the crowd…the saying is true…if they come for everyone and you dont speak, there is no one left to speak when they come for you. and so i was dragged to the floor and made to dance. my rubber soled shoes sticking to the floor i moved and swayed and shook. and while not as painful for me as i remember it being back at famu when i took classes and performed in a show…i wasn’t brought to tears of akward embarrassment like the old days…it wasn’t the highlight of my night.

at the same time, it wasn’t the death of my night either. be it age, location, or expectation for some reason it didn’t burn through me like it usually does…the idea that i’m somehow supposed to know how to move…that somehow i’m supposed to flow in the music as if it were mine…didn’t leave me rigid.

was i graceful? not a word i’d use to describe myself…but i danced for a few moments without thinking too much about how beautiful my friend gia is with the drums, or how akward i might look. it’s musical progress to say the least.

we all have them…coutries included. who we let in with a smile and a nod, who we frisk and leave waiting on the other side until we have no choice but to begrudgingly let them pass.

i’m preparing for a trip to australia this break. the time is slowly ticking away and i realized i needed a visa. so i jumped online to look for my information and my boyfriend’s so we could get a jump on the paperwork.

his requires his new zealand visa be updated for a longer stay, that he show proof of his scholarship and payment and enrollment of his classes for next semester, and proof of $7,000 in the bank.

mine took about 5 minutes, i did it online and provided none of the above.

boundaries…these whimsical, imaginary, abstractions of the mind are so important. they show where i belong and where you belong and they show when one of us has strayed without the proper permission. they show who is privy to what resources…what diamonds, oil, schools, hospitals, quality of life, life expectancy…they decide who lives and who dies and how.

i have a friend who is anti borders. he planted the idea in my head about 6 months ago. i laughed at the time telling him he was too left for me and that i didn’t think the world was ready to give everyone a great big hug and reorganize the resources.

i still don’t.

still, i can’t help but think of the how lucky or un- a person can be depending on birthplace. 5 minutes in front of my computer and i don’t even need a stamp in my passport…i’m free and easy. a week later and we’re still soritng out paperwork. boundaries are funny that way.

my boyfriend and i went to the movies yesterday. not just any movie, but part of the human rights film festival. our screening for the evening was lost children…about ugandan children abducted and forced to fight in a war that is more mass murder than even war is usually.

the movie spins in the direction of how these children are exploited. how they are taken at 8 or 9 or even 12 because they are small and cannot fight back, because they take orders, because they know nothing else but to do as they are told.

all at once they are children, smiling cheekily as they speak of the horrors they have seen – they have done. or when old enough to truly understand – eyes cast down and whispers wondering if god can forgive them.

and walking home we discussed it…the why, the how, the how much longer. on the way we talked about the horrors that the film brought to light. and then the conversation turned…to subtelties…

subtleties like a scene where one of the boys goes to take a bath and the shot pans out enough to see him take off his pants, standing naked in full light, in full view. his 8 year old nakedness hanging in the air, magnified on a movie screen.

and people will probably argue that there is a bigger story here and not to get caught up in the details. but it is the details that leave the lasting impression. this little black naked boy standing exposed for no particular reason. it added nothing to the film. his powerless naked frame added nothing to the film except another layer of me wondering when his powerlessness in all of this will end.

a detail. a small detail. but i wonder if anyone stopped to consider that detail for him…i wonder how many would have considered it for their own children.

lost indeed…

it is 12:15 and though tired – cuz lately i am always tired – i am not in bed. and i’m not doing anything productive. i’m not working on any of the 5 assigments due in the next 3 weeks. i’m not planning my upcoming trip to australia (with plane tickets to be purchased and visas obtained). i’m not even reading a good book, i haven’t seen a novel since school first started and i must admit i’m starting to miss them.

mostly i’m just sitting in front of a bright white screen and thinking random thoughts about life love and travel. i’m wondering why the rugby game i went to (interesting experience) highlighted the skycity cheerleaders in typcial cheerleader attire but topped off by not bloomers but…thongs under their closer to belts then skirts skirts.

i’m wondering how long the rain will be ushered by wind to beat against the streets, buildings, and me as i walk to campus downhill, uphill, always on some version of a hill.

i am also caught off guard by the many things that are going on in the world right now. bolivia nationalizing its oil. sudan still searching for peace. saudia arabia “changing with the times”. pipelines exploding in nigeria. the list goes on. i read a sign last week for a movie about the cruelty to chocolate workers in the ivory coast. its not just diamonds anymore to leave you with blood on your hands…snickers bars, cotton, nikes…

and i’d like to be so noble that that is the sole reason i am up tonight, at 12:21 am. but it isn’t. though america’s use of the world’s resources and humanity’s lack of itself are playing tag in my brain, i’m also just tired. tired of my routine. tired of cool weather. tired of thinking long term. instead i’m ready to lie on the sand at a beach, gaze at clear waters, eat kangaroo an buy something that seems so interesting at the time but will ultimately sit unused somewhere in my luggage.

i’m ready for the semester to draw to a close so i can turn my brain off for a little while…that’s all…i’m just ready for a break.

Sometimes I marvel at the ability of people to be cruel. Not just the taunting of children on a schoolyard or the snubbing of a colleague at work, but truly cruel… preying on the grief of others cruel… attacking the defenceless cruel.

Apparently there is some Kansas based church group exercising their freedom of speech at funerals. While family and friends gather to mourn the passing of someone beloved…this church group stands around with signs assuring all that “god hates fags” and the like.

And I cringed; disbelieving that anyone was capable of assaulting the grieving because they don’t like the assumed politics or sexual orientation of the deceased. I can’t imagine how much strength it must take to walk past people screaming obscenities at a daughter’s funeral, a husband, a parent. How do you balance between the rage and the sorrow? The sense of having lost something an the sense of having something taken…right there…as you watch.

Freedom of speech is a beautiful thing…but oh how ugly those words can be.

the first beats drop. imagine the bass,  almost heavy enough to feel through my seat. the light comes up on a teenage boy – slightly less than preppy but a long cry from thugged out. the next beats flow out with a voice…’nigga what, nigga who”. and i cringe.

onto the floor – stage lights blazing – more little not quite preppy zed boys all posed and ready to tap their hearts out. and tap they did. but i was hung up on the first lines of the song for quite a bit of their perfomance. looking around to see if anyone was looking at me nodding knowingly, “there’s one right there,  our very own nigga.”

and i can’t tell you why it bothers me so much, or at least i couldn’t until tonight. tonight when another group of kids broke out their hip hop moves. clad in hoodies and bandanas and slightly baggy jeans. the cliched pose of crossed arms. and my mind raced…it was finally clear to me that hip hop dancing is…like jazz was…a new thing. not just some fad, not just some unimportant thing, but a true contribution to the art world.

and people can snicker…but it is true. when jazz first started folks snickered and said it wasn’t disciplined, it didn’t fit. but it fits now and no one would argue that it is art. the same is true for hip hop dancing (the jury is still out on the current state of hip hop itself as far as i’m concerend but i’ll leave that for another dasy).

it is an artful contribution. so why do i cringe when i see a bunch of kids removed from the us donning the hip hop “uniform” and dancing their hearts out. i don’t cringe when i see folks put on tights or a tutu for ballet, or formal wear for ballroom. i smile and clap and move on with my day. but see, there is a difference.

people look at hip hop as if it is a way of life. not only A way of life, but THE way of life for black people. so in that sense, hip hop dancing isn’t just some intersting moves and an unusual use of beat it is, supposedly, a black person’s intersting moves and unusual use of beat. my moves, my beats.

and with it, my baggy pants and wife beater t-shirt, my bandana and baseball capped tipped to the side. my bling.

but it isn’t. it isn’t. it is just a dance. a style of dance. nigga what…

yeah…what?