I am blessed to have some wonderful, beautiful friends. They challenge me, they tolerate my aloofness at times, they respect me, they put up with my soapbox stances, encourage me to do more with my life, while at the same time accepting me just the way I am. I love them dearly. Often, we have these long debates about a myriad of subject matter from the state of Black America to the role of preachers in the church to the readiness of our candidates to run our country. In these debates I usually quote a statistic or utilize my vast trivia knowledge (I am a History Channel, A & E, and PBS fiend) to support my position or statements at the time. In one such debate, I was speaking with Kal about the 2008 election. We had actually started this conversation in late 2006 when we learned who the major candidates were. On the Democratic side in particular, there emerged the two strongest, Barack Obama and Hilary R. Clinton. When I do make bold statements and predictions my friends challenge my sources or make me give specific reasoning behind what I am saying. I truly believe that nine times out of nine I am correct. But there is that rare moment that a prediction I make I get totally wrong.
On February 10, 2007, in an effort to make it clear my stance at the time of what my feelings of what the world and America was ready for in their next leader, I committed to writing who I thought would be the 44th President of the United States of America. Below is that email. And yes, I did get it incorrect. Way wrong. Although, I still stand behind my statements for all the reasons listed, I think it was actually the candidate herself that shifted the momentum to the other candidate and vice versa. Looking back at all that has happened in the 20 months since this email was written; I am so glad that I got this one wrong.
Re: For the Record...(originally written February 10, 2007)
Kal and I have been having this debate that we'd like to include you guys in on: the 2008 Presidential Election. So far, I believe, that most of my predictions have come true (i.e. in Feb 2001 on the train in France that Bush would lead us into war, etc.). So that it is stated early and before the Presidential run season officially begins, I truly believe that the next president of the United States will most certainly, definitively, conclusively and fah sho be none other than Senator Hilary R. Clinton. My reasons are simple: people are upset at the current state of things and with all the attention that Obama is generating, the Dems will finally reach the elusive so called MTV demographic and lead legions of minorities to the polls. Obama will stir things up but will not get the nomination, naturally transferring his support to the next best thing: Clinton.
The world is ready for change and she is it. She is smart, has the right connections and represents more than "the lesser of two evils" that has inflicted politics over the last 40 years or so. More importantly, I believe she represents more than the traditional Dems. vs. Them mentality that she can play up very well and make her campaign more about the issues. Furthermore, the world body is looking for change. While other developed nations have exalted women to powerful positions including Britain with Thatcher (by the way the longest serving Prime Minister in UK history), the US lags so far behind that other nations are looking for this ceiling to change. History is waiting for Clinton and some people will vote for her based squarely on that. The Speaker of the House: a woman; the Sec. of State: woman (black woman at that) the next president: a woman.
However: President Clinton II will ride her historic victory for 2 years after which she will be called upon to fulfill some of her lofty goals, fail and become a 1 term president with no real positive legacy. Therefore ruining it for the Democratic Party for the next 8 years. She will get the incumbent nomination in '12 knocking out Obama (or the next hot ticket) and lose because she will no longer be a novelty, eliminating her fickle minority base....
There, have officially gone on record...any thoughts!!!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Colin Powell: My Favorite Teacher
I couldn't wait when I turned eighteen to participate in an election, to take my place as an American citizen and cast a vote for the person I felt most qualified to run my city, my state, represent me in Washington DC, or represent this nation as President of the United States of America. In high school I was part of a history class that was designed to give us an indepth knowledge of the US Constitution and then compete in a state competition against several other high schools throughout the State of Indiana. Our inner-city high school had won this state contest five of the past six years up to that point. Our team was the only one in the state with vast racial diversity (meaning the only one with black students), so some of the teams were not only surprised by our continued success, they were visibly upset. I would have to survey a few of my friends, but I don't think that we even understood the complexity of racial discrimination or truly felt its impact at the State Competition. Our success was derived from one of the best teachers of which I ever have had the pleasure of being a student, Mr. Karl Schneider. Mr. Schneider's teaching style I have tried to emulate whenever I am in front of a group of eager minds waiting for knowledge to be poured into them. We were such students. Mr. Sneider though would lead us into certain answers, but never quite gave us the answers. He would approached the subject matter by asking us to find the answers using research methods, critical inquiry and analysis, discussion, and a myriad of other techniques that came from the student rather than the banking model of depositing information in our head only to regurgitate it on tests and class work. His methods had us investigate ourselves and truly discover the wondrous world that transcends the viewing of it in Black & White.
Mr. Schneider encouraged us to set aside friendship, race, class status (in this case it class refers to both economic and high school standing i.e. freshman, sophomore, etc.), physical attributes, and GPA when critiquing the papers and speeches we were developing for the competition. He told us to look within the person delivering the messages and find the flaw in what they were saying not the flaw in the person him/herself. He told us it was no need to revise the person, but ok to challenge their work and encourage revision. The We The People competition was designed for high school students to argue before a panel of judges five to six different categories of issues related to the US Constitution. It was cool how it was set up to mimic a Congressional hearing, so our argument had to be coherent, concise, and credible. The panel was made up of lawyers from around the state, state representatives and professors that knew their respective field as it relates to the Constitution, so we had to be thoroughly prepared. We worked nearly an entire semester in this class studying the Constitution, practicing memorizing our speeches, and learning about each other in the process.
This past Sunday I awakened and turned on the television as I always do and catch the round of Sunday political programming. I had heard buzz that one of my ultimate heroes was going to be on and announce that he would endorse one of the candidates running for President of the United States of America. This was big news because he is one of the most respected military, diplomatic and political figures in the nation and when he speaks people seem to listen. I took a deep breath because I knew the severity of his being on television this day, two week and two days before the election. I wondered exactly what would happen, would he endorse the candidate of the party of which he has benefited from for the past thirty plus years, or would he cross political party affiliation and endorse the candidate that resembles his race. I knew the arguments before they even happened, if he went McCain, the Republican, it would be praised as a thoughtful decision, not a loyal soldier backing his party. In contrast, going Obama, would certainly come off as he is not thinking, he's voting for him simply because he's Black, and not that he did any due diligence in reaching this decision.
I looked on with intent as he was asked, "General [Colin] Powell, are you ready to back any particular candidate for President?" he responded with the most thoughtful, thorough and insightful answer no one else but a seasoned diplomatic statesman such as Colin Powell could deliver. He broke it down into in minute piece and talked very concisely about the vision for America and how the core issues were not being addressed by his party's candidate, such as the current economic crisis and the responses to some of the defamation of the Democratic candidate. He spoke of judgment and how the Sarah Palin fiasco was a disappointment and that he felt she was not ready to be President on day one as the Veep should be (like a back up quarter back ought not be injured if the starter goes down). I was impressed by his answer because it reminded me why I like Powell so much in the first place. Though a staunch loyalist (great soldiers are), he still had an aire of independent thought when it came down to issues that affected the vast majority of the American People.
I thought of Karl Schneider. He taught us about the Constitution, how he loved its concept and despised its misuse. He told us that the true American looks within a situation, a process or a person and make judgments based on character and commitment, and all challenges could be overcome with this type of "on purpose" living. I admire Colin Powell in the same way I admired my history teacher: he was fair, balanced, challenging, respectful, loyal and committed to changing the world for the better. I wish Mr. Schneider could be alive today to witness how far America has come, how the content of one's character overrides pigmentation of the epidermis.
One of the last things I remember about Mr. Schneider is a few weeks before the State competition, he told us we would be the last class that he would ever teach formally, because he would retire at the end of the year. How lucky was I to be taught by this man, who forever changed my life, because he changed the way I processed thought. We won the state competition and went on to place fourth at the National We the People competition that April. Two months later I graduated and Mr. Schneider retired. A few years later he died, but his spirit lives on, because I saw him Sunday morning on television sharing his in-depth wisdom and encouraging the investigation of the issues, the character and commitment of those that will lead our nation. The best teachers teach us to find the teacher and teachable moments in all things....thanks Colin, Karl...
Mr. Schneider encouraged us to set aside friendship, race, class status (in this case it class refers to both economic and high school standing i.e. freshman, sophomore, etc.), physical attributes, and GPA when critiquing the papers and speeches we were developing for the competition. He told us to look within the person delivering the messages and find the flaw in what they were saying not the flaw in the person him/herself. He told us it was no need to revise the person, but ok to challenge their work and encourage revision. The We The People competition was designed for high school students to argue before a panel of judges five to six different categories of issues related to the US Constitution. It was cool how it was set up to mimic a Congressional hearing, so our argument had to be coherent, concise, and credible. The panel was made up of lawyers from around the state, state representatives and professors that knew their respective field as it relates to the Constitution, so we had to be thoroughly prepared. We worked nearly an entire semester in this class studying the Constitution, practicing memorizing our speeches, and learning about each other in the process.
This past Sunday I awakened and turned on the television as I always do and catch the round of Sunday political programming. I had heard buzz that one of my ultimate heroes was going to be on and announce that he would endorse one of the candidates running for President of the United States of America. This was big news because he is one of the most respected military, diplomatic and political figures in the nation and when he speaks people seem to listen. I took a deep breath because I knew the severity of his being on television this day, two week and two days before the election. I wondered exactly what would happen, would he endorse the candidate of the party of which he has benefited from for the past thirty plus years, or would he cross political party affiliation and endorse the candidate that resembles his race. I knew the arguments before they even happened, if he went McCain, the Republican, it would be praised as a thoughtful decision, not a loyal soldier backing his party. In contrast, going Obama, would certainly come off as he is not thinking, he's voting for him simply because he's Black, and not that he did any due diligence in reaching this decision.
I looked on with intent as he was asked, "General [Colin] Powell, are you ready to back any particular candidate for President?" he responded with the most thoughtful, thorough and insightful answer no one else but a seasoned diplomatic statesman such as Colin Powell could deliver. He broke it down into in minute piece and talked very concisely about the vision for America and how the core issues were not being addressed by his party's candidate, such as the current economic crisis and the responses to some of the defamation of the Democratic candidate. He spoke of judgment and how the Sarah Palin fiasco was a disappointment and that he felt she was not ready to be President on day one as the Veep should be (like a back up quarter back ought not be injured if the starter goes down). I was impressed by his answer because it reminded me why I like Powell so much in the first place. Though a staunch loyalist (great soldiers are), he still had an aire of independent thought when it came down to issues that affected the vast majority of the American People.
I thought of Karl Schneider. He taught us about the Constitution, how he loved its concept and despised its misuse. He told us that the true American looks within a situation, a process or a person and make judgments based on character and commitment, and all challenges could be overcome with this type of "on purpose" living. I admire Colin Powell in the same way I admired my history teacher: he was fair, balanced, challenging, respectful, loyal and committed to changing the world for the better. I wish Mr. Schneider could be alive today to witness how far America has come, how the content of one's character overrides pigmentation of the epidermis.
One of the last things I remember about Mr. Schneider is a few weeks before the State competition, he told us we would be the last class that he would ever teach formally, because he would retire at the end of the year. How lucky was I to be taught by this man, who forever changed my life, because he changed the way I processed thought. We won the state competition and went on to place fourth at the National We the People competition that April. Two months later I graduated and Mr. Schneider retired. A few years later he died, but his spirit lives on, because I saw him Sunday morning on television sharing his in-depth wisdom and encouraging the investigation of the issues, the character and commitment of those that will lead our nation. The best teachers teach us to find the teacher and teachable moments in all things....thanks Colin, Karl...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Running for Ray
I never met Ray. I've never spoken to him on the phone, never have seen a picture, and never have heard his voice. I didn't know one thing about him, that is until I met his daughters. We were all waiting for the Indianapolis 500 Mini Marathon to begin when Kal and I made a pact that we would motivate at least 10 people during the race. This of course we hoped would keep us going and make sure we interacted with a few people of the thirty thousand or so that were running this day. One of the first people we saw were three young women wearing bright yellow shirts that read: "Running for Ray." When I asked them to explain who exactly Ray was, they cheerfully responded, "Ray was mine and her father," pointing to her sister, "and my uncle!" the other young lady chimed in. "Why are you guys 'running for Ray'?" I asked. "Ray is our hero!" Suddenly the wager my three friends and I made seemed all too trivial. Suddenly it seemed no longer enough to just be motivated by not finishing last to prevent me from buying them dinner for the next year. I felt a bit silly, like I could be using this experience for more than a game between friends.
Ray had died a year earlier of cancer. It was his dream to have his little girls (they were in their twenties) run in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with him. But like so many of us that believe that we have unlimited opportunities to spend with those we love most, his dream never came to fruition even though he had completed 12 Mini's prior. So they were running for Ray, but in a way they were running with Ray also. I felt joy for them that they were doing something special for someone they loved, keeping him alive by making a bold statement to complete their father's dream. In turn they inspired a few of us, including me.
When I looked around I saw thousands of such journeys printed on the shirt of people who had a myriad of reasons they were taking time to run the 13.1 miles for "something." The reasons varied from a lost loved one to cancer survivors to a couple that were beating the odds of obesity and completing a run/walk just to prove to themselves that they could do it. "So why are you here, what are you running for?" a gentleman asked me as the race began. "I don't wanna buy dinner, my friends will tell me I suck if I come in last place," I said with a huge smile. Kal laughed. I felt much better about our bet. Once again Kal, Shauntea, Michael and I had set a goal and now were able to complete it. We had spent many adventurous nights laughing and fellowshipping over the years camping at Clifty Falls, getting lost in Paris (Kal and I getting stuck on the train [sigh]), experiencing the ruins of Rome, Naples and Florence, Swimming in the bio-luminescent lagoon of Puerto Rico, New York, Chicago, etc. The bet seemed as good a reason as any.
But secretly, I had another agenda. Twenty years ago at the tender age of twelve, I had ran in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with my school. We had trained for about nine weeks to prepare for the race that should have taken about 3 hours to complete. At around mile 7 of the 13.1 miles, I came down hard off of a curb and twisted my foot so far I could see the bottom of my shoe and hear a loud cracking sound. OUCH! My teammates saw me stopping and I told them to keep going for I was all right. I wasn't. Not at all. But in those days the route was a little different than it was now. We began at the Monument Circle and ended at the Speedway Track. Therefore my parents were waiting for me 13 mile away at the track! Cell phone technology was non existent and I am a little kid so I didn't know how to ask strangers for help. So I did the best think I could think of: continue running. I ran and ran and tried to forget the pain that was radiating from my shoe and just thought happy thoughts to get me through (iPods--not invented yet!). I did make it to the track and at the entry I saw my father and mother eager to see me and excited that I was almost finished (the track is the last 2 miles of the race). My father came up to me and said that he would run the remaining distance and I said please take me to a hospital where they diagnosed it as a broken ankle. The doctors were shocked that I make it so far on my foot. In other words I never finished.
This day, I was determined to finish, cross the checkered line and make up for the decades that passed that I had this "failure" on my mind. Two hours twenty-one minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, I cross the finish line, first among my friends, who came in within seconds after I did. Although time-wise Michael beat all of us (he began the race a few minute later than we did), and Shautea crossed last, having to purchase dinner for all of us for the remainder of the year, I felt very proud of all of our accomplishments. Kal was battling with knee problems the entire race, Mike, in his second Mini completion, had an injury a few years ago that could have kept him from ever running again, Shauntea completing the Mini for the second time had a newborn baby months prior to the race and I literally collapsed in pain from cramps in my leg as soon as I crossed the finish line. Damn, we're old!
I am so glad we made the bet, not because I get free dinners, but because I get to be free with wonderful people I love dearly and enjoy knowing. I get to challenge and be challenged by beautiful friends that are my heroes. I wish I would have made a T-shirt for them. Some were running to overcome obstacles, just for fun and others--for Ray. But my shirt would have read: Seizing the Opportunity, Running With FRIENDS!
Ray had died a year earlier of cancer. It was his dream to have his little girls (they were in their twenties) run in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with him. But like so many of us that believe that we have unlimited opportunities to spend with those we love most, his dream never came to fruition even though he had completed 12 Mini's prior. So they were running for Ray, but in a way they were running with Ray also. I felt joy for them that they were doing something special for someone they loved, keeping him alive by making a bold statement to complete their father's dream. In turn they inspired a few of us, including me.
When I looked around I saw thousands of such journeys printed on the shirt of people who had a myriad of reasons they were taking time to run the 13.1 miles for "something." The reasons varied from a lost loved one to cancer survivors to a couple that were beating the odds of obesity and completing a run/walk just to prove to themselves that they could do it. "So why are you here, what are you running for?" a gentleman asked me as the race began. "I don't wanna buy dinner, my friends will tell me I suck if I come in last place," I said with a huge smile. Kal laughed. I felt much better about our bet. Once again Kal, Shauntea, Michael and I had set a goal and now were able to complete it. We had spent many adventurous nights laughing and fellowshipping over the years camping at Clifty Falls, getting lost in Paris (Kal and I getting stuck on the train [sigh]), experiencing the ruins of Rome, Naples and Florence, Swimming in the bio-luminescent lagoon of Puerto Rico, New York, Chicago, etc. The bet seemed as good a reason as any.
But secretly, I had another agenda. Twenty years ago at the tender age of twelve, I had ran in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with my school. We had trained for about nine weeks to prepare for the race that should have taken about 3 hours to complete. At around mile 7 of the 13.1 miles, I came down hard off of a curb and twisted my foot so far I could see the bottom of my shoe and hear a loud cracking sound. OUCH! My teammates saw me stopping and I told them to keep going for I was all right. I wasn't. Not at all. But in those days the route was a little different than it was now. We began at the Monument Circle and ended at the Speedway Track. Therefore my parents were waiting for me 13 mile away at the track! Cell phone technology was non existent and I am a little kid so I didn't know how to ask strangers for help. So I did the best think I could think of: continue running. I ran and ran and tried to forget the pain that was radiating from my shoe and just thought happy thoughts to get me through (iPods--not invented yet!). I did make it to the track and at the entry I saw my father and mother eager to see me and excited that I was almost finished (the track is the last 2 miles of the race). My father came up to me and said that he would run the remaining distance and I said please take me to a hospital where they diagnosed it as a broken ankle. The doctors were shocked that I make it so far on my foot. In other words I never finished.
This day, I was determined to finish, cross the checkered line and make up for the decades that passed that I had this "failure" on my mind. Two hours twenty-one minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, I cross the finish line, first among my friends, who came in within seconds after I did. Although time-wise Michael beat all of us (he began the race a few minute later than we did), and Shautea crossed last, having to purchase dinner for all of us for the remainder of the year, I felt very proud of all of our accomplishments. Kal was battling with knee problems the entire race, Mike, in his second Mini completion, had an injury a few years ago that could have kept him from ever running again, Shauntea completing the Mini for the second time had a newborn baby months prior to the race and I literally collapsed in pain from cramps in my leg as soon as I crossed the finish line. Damn, we're old!
I am so glad we made the bet, not because I get free dinners, but because I get to be free with wonderful people I love dearly and enjoy knowing. I get to challenge and be challenged by beautiful friends that are my heroes. I wish I would have made a T-shirt for them. Some were running to overcome obstacles, just for fun and others--for Ray. But my shirt would have read: Seizing the Opportunity, Running With FRIENDS!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
For Fernando Mercado
This Poem was written for Fernando Mercado, who ended his own life on October 8, 2008, leaving friends, family and an extended network of many who cared to wonder why. My prayer is that those that knew him find some peace and this poem helps you with acceptance of this event......Find opportunities to celebrate his life, and less to mourn his death.
The Best Thing You Can
Do For Me Right Now
a poem for Fernando Mercado
The pain is just too much for me to bear
I don't think anyone anymore even really cares
About my plight that has taken flight
Far above where I can no longer contain it
I can't maintain my sanity
There is a man in me that I don't recognize anymore
I feel so trapped in silence
In a room that contains no doors
At least God manifest a window
So I can at least see that there is a world outside myself
Tear down these walls, oh Lord
I can't afford to pay attention to my sorrows
Happiness seems as uncertain as tomorrow
I feel as though I am followed by storms
And the sun is there to blind me not keep me warm
I often pray for frigid temperatures and snow
Because at least everyone else will feel
The coldness that I seem to know
Everything I touch is a failing endeavor
I can hear everyone laughing and taking pleasure
In seeing me fall flat on my face
So if there is a trace of hope inside of me
I want it to provide for me
A beacon so that I can make it through to the shore
I want to be sure that my pain does not transfer
Into a cancer that love cannot even cure
My message is for you to endure
For you to carry on the burdens of this life
Because it is worth living
It is worth giving of yourself
And being in the company of friends
Don't allow your life to end
Without loving with your best effort
Comfort those that cry for me
And try to be strong
For you have a long way to go
Show me that you care
By being there for each other
That is the best thing you can do for me right now
Do For Me Right Now
a poem for Fernando Mercado
The pain is just too much for me to bear
I don't think anyone anymore even really cares
About my plight that has taken flight
Far above where I can no longer contain it
I can't maintain my sanity
There is a man in me that I don't recognize anymore
I feel so trapped in silence
In a room that contains no doors
At least God manifest a window
So I can at least see that there is a world outside myself
Tear down these walls, oh Lord
I can't afford to pay attention to my sorrows
Happiness seems as uncertain as tomorrow
I feel as though I am followed by storms
And the sun is there to blind me not keep me warm
I often pray for frigid temperatures and snow
Because at least everyone else will feel
The coldness that I seem to know
Everything I touch is a failing endeavor
I can hear everyone laughing and taking pleasure
In seeing me fall flat on my face
So if there is a trace of hope inside of me
I want it to provide for me
A beacon so that I can make it through to the shore
I want to be sure that my pain does not transfer
Into a cancer that love cannot even cure
My message is for you to endure
For you to carry on the burdens of this life
Because it is worth living
It is worth giving of yourself
And being in the company of friends
Don't allow your life to end
Without loving with your best effort
Comfort those that cry for me
And try to be strong
For you have a long way to go
Show me that you care
By being there for each other
That is the best thing you can do for me right now
Derrick S. Slack
10/9/2008Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Head of State
Last year (2007) when I lived in Ghana, I was up late like I am right now, anxious and preparing my notes, doing last minute research and pacing in my hotel room nervously. The next morning I would have met the (in)famous African leader, Robert Mugabe. I had been calling out all week during the African Union summit on my radio show on VIBE FM Ghana for the African heads of state to come on my radio program and "tell their side of the story." I realize with the Western media outlets like the BBC and CNN, the story that was being circulated around the world may not be the lived reality of the people actually living there (there in this case being Zimbabwe). I received word from 
his people that he was in fact interested in talking with me (I had generated a lot of buzz on my radio programs as a straight shooter and outspoken critic of just about everything, although I was somehow perceived as fair and balanced). I had already interviewed Jesse Jackson (on July 4th ironically) and we had a blast talking about everything American, African and of the African American. I couldn't get a straight answer as to why he was in Accra, Ghana attending the African Union Summit, it seemed like a last minute decision, because he didn't even have credentials to get in the place. But boy what a name makes, he somehow made his way in and, I don't know what he did, he wouldn't really say.
Mugabe was the first (actual) Head of State I had met and had a focused conversation with. He was surprising short (unless I am just abnormally tall) and calm. I thought his presence would fill the room with an ominous mist of fear or an internal loudness that I imagined a "dictator" would possess. But if had not been up all night and all week preparing and getting a crash course in African politics and the situation and history that lead up to what was currently going on in that country, I probably wouldn't have even recognized him. This man came in with two people, not the entourage I had expected, no one checked for bombs or weapons, but somehow I suspected that one of those men had a gun, a machete or at least some tear gas to stun a would-be attacker. I just allowed him talk, asked a few probing questions and kept my word that I would let him tell his side of the story -- which by the way was quite fascinating!
I had the same feeling last night because I knew that today I would see for the first time up close and personal the (what I hope will be) next president of the United States of America: Barack Obama. I had been waiting for him to come back to Indy so I could be one of the first in line to hear history in the making. I woke up early and dressed and was ready to leave when my sister called and said that she too wanted to go, finally accepting my invitation from earlier in the week. I was excited to spend this historic occasion with her. We think we were leaving early to get up front, but to our surprise the line was already wrapped around the entire Fairgrounds where the rally was held. The line had to be (no exaggeration) a mile long! Well, I thought to myself, it's too late to volunteer for this event so that I could get a front row unobstructed view of the man, and its so many people we might not get to get in at all! So I remained patient, after all I am organizing a trip to the Inauguration, so I could potentially get another chance, or I could just fly out to another rally and see him there. The line was moving and pretty fast to get in. So there was hope.
We finally get to the door and are confronted with another obstacle, we had a white ticket. The Orange tickets were for the pit in front of the podium, the green were for the stand behind the podium (where you can be seen forever on film of the rally) and the white tickets were for general admission in the bleachers. I am used to getting into places usually reserved for others, but this place was highly organized and secure. Even my trademark, don't look them in the eye, look like you know where you are going routine didn't work, they wanted to see my ticket. So reach into my pocket and I just so
happen to have an orange piece of paper in there that I pull out. Wow, good thing I wore these pants yesterday, when I got an email address written on this paper that I did not remove. I waive it in the air and they let me in. But little sis had to go the other way toward the stands. Somehow minutes later (that Slack ingenuity) she shows up at my side in the pit in front of the stage. We have the perfect spot!
Two and a half hours later waiting in the rain, we see him. Unlike Mugabe, this man was tall, full of energy and his presence filled the outdoor stadium with something I can only describe as special. I knew that I was looking at our next president. We met several friends and were all inspired to not only go out and vote, but to go out and change the world. So many people in one small place and nothing terrible happened, I felt blessed being there. I also felt the confirmation for my own path to greatness. Listening to him I heard my friends, relatives, strangers alike telling me that I potentially have that same power that I saw so fluently radiate from this man. I felt as if I could be an officer of change, that I could speak to the multitudes, inspiring them to overcome challenges and stand up to adversity. I wanted to go back in time (just a year and half ago) and speak with Robert Mugabe again armed with this knowledge and challenge him to do more with the power he has. To use it to bring beauty, peace, prosperity....like Barack will as a Head of State.
his people that he was in fact interested in talking with me (I had generated a lot of buzz on my radio programs as a straight shooter and outspoken critic of just about everything, although I was somehow perceived as fair and balanced). I had already interviewed Jesse Jackson (on July 4th ironically) and we had a blast talking about everything American, African and of the African American. I couldn't get a straight answer as to why he was in Accra, Ghana attending the African Union Summit, it seemed like a last minute decision, because he didn't even have credentials to get in the place. But boy what a name makes, he somehow made his way in and, I don't know what he did, he wouldn't really say.Mugabe was the first (actual) Head of State I had met and had a focused conversation with. He was surprising short (unless I am just abnormally tall) and calm. I thought his presence would fill the room with an ominous mist of fear or an internal loudness that I imagined a "dictator" would possess. But if had not been up all night and all week preparing and getting a crash course in African politics and the situation and history that lead up to what was currently going on in that country, I probably wouldn't have even recognized him. This man came in with two people, not the entourage I had expected, no one checked for bombs or weapons, but somehow I suspected that one of those men had a gun, a machete or at least some tear gas to stun a would-be attacker. I just allowed him talk, asked a few probing questions and kept my word that I would let him tell his side of the story -- which by the way was quite fascinating!
I had the same feeling last night because I knew that today I would see for the first time up close and personal the (what I hope will be) next president of the United States of America: Barack Obama. I had been waiting for him to come back to Indy so I could be one of the first in line to hear history in the making. I woke up early and dressed and was ready to leave when my sister called and said that she too wanted to go, finally accepting my invitation from earlier in the week. I was excited to spend this historic occasion with her. We think we were leaving early to get up front, but to our surprise the line was already wrapped around the entire Fairgrounds where the rally was held. The line had to be (no exaggeration) a mile long! Well, I thought to myself, it's too late to volunteer for this event so that I could get a front row unobstructed view of the man, and its so many people we might not get to get in at all! So I remained patient, after all I am organizing a trip to the Inauguration, so I could potentially get another chance, or I could just fly out to another rally and see him there. The line was moving and pretty fast to get in. So there was hope.
We finally get to the door and are confronted with another obstacle, we had a white ticket. The Orange tickets were for the pit in front of the podium, the green were for the stand behind the podium (where you can be seen forever on film of the rally) and the white tickets were for general admission in the bleachers. I am used to getting into places usually reserved for others, but this place was highly organized and secure. Even my trademark, don't look them in the eye, look like you know where you are going routine didn't work, they wanted to see my ticket. So reach into my pocket and I just so
happen to have an orange piece of paper in there that I pull out. Wow, good thing I wore these pants yesterday, when I got an email address written on this paper that I did not remove. I waive it in the air and they let me in. But little sis had to go the other way toward the stands. Somehow minutes later (that Slack ingenuity) she shows up at my side in the pit in front of the stage. We have the perfect spot!Two and a half hours later waiting in the rain, we see him. Unlike Mugabe, this man was tall, full of energy and his presence filled the outdoor stadium with something I can only describe as special. I knew that I was looking at our next president. We met several friends and were all inspired to not only go out and vote, but to go out and change the world. So many people in one small place and nothing terrible happened, I felt blessed being there. I also felt the confirmation for my own path to greatness. Listening to him I heard my friends, relatives, strangers alike telling me that I potentially have that same power that I saw so fluently radiate from this man. I felt as if I could be an officer of change, that I could speak to the multitudes, inspiring them to overcome challenges and stand up to adversity. I wanted to go back in time (just a year and half ago) and speak with Robert Mugabe again armed with this knowledge and challenge him to do more with the power he has. To use it to bring beauty, peace, prosperity....like Barack will as a Head of State.
Racist Attribute
Nearly each day I call in to the Greg Garrison Show on WIBC 93.1 in
Indianapolis and debate many issue with the host Greg Garrison, a
conservative former prosecutor in the area. This particular show he
went off when I questioned some of his comment of how "Barack Obama
scared him" and how he "absolutely fears this man. He was praising
Sarah Palin for her "experience" and grace and how she is a breath of
fresh political air, etc. This is the letter I wrote to explain
further my position. For an archive of the show go to
(http://wibc.com)
Indianapolis and debate many issue with the host Greg Garrison, a
conservative former prosecutor in the area. This particular show he
went off when I questioned some of his comment of how "Barack Obama
scared him" and how he "absolutely fears this man. He was praising
Sarah Palin for her "experience" and grace and how she is a breath of
fresh political air, etc. This is the letter I wrote to explain
further my position. For an archive of the show go to
(http://wibc.com)
_________________________
Greg,
I fully understand your frustration with people using race as a factor when bringing up certain issues, and your visibly (audibly) getting upset this morning. Let me be clear I was NOT calling YOU a racist! Please check the archive of the show this morning (September 24, 2008, around 10:37 AM). Believe it or not Greg racism is still a problem, perhaps not as overtly institutional as a generation ago, but it certainly still does exist on an individual basis. I am sure that at least one, two or maybe even a thousand of these individuals listening tune in and hear "Look, guys, I'm a smart guy, a lawyer even, and I am so afraid of the Black man running for president...but the other candidate's VP, whom I have only heard speak once or twice, she has to be all right....she's White AND a woman, so we have NOTHING to fear with her." I know the power of radio, and even further know the power of ignorance, primarily why I chose to get into education and dedicate my life to helping dispossessed people around the world. And face it, like your guest said today, most Americans get their news from talk radio and the internet, and a lot of it, yes including your show, is from a narrow perspective. When I can hear colleagues regurgitating
comments from the day before's Rush Show it worries me, especially since, when challenged on their view they give me a look as if to say, "Well I heard it on the [news/Rush/Garrison/Fox/etc.] so it must be [what I should be thinking/true/valid]."
You gave a lot of time today in defense of YOU not being a racist, and I do respect you for your comments, your show and that you allow me on even though you know 93% of the time I will have an opposing viewpoint. You even said that you "don't want that (the race card) brought up again." That's great but I challenge you to have a conversation with anyone about the GOPs VP choice without bringing up the 1) she's a woman, 2) opposing views on her are sexist. Perceived
racism/sexism, is just as real as the indoctrination of it. For according to some examples you have said on your show, i.e. African Americans are CEO of large corporations (Dick Parsons, Bob Johnson, Kenneth Chenault, others), have an equal access to higher education, have served in the highest branches of our government (Senate, Congress, Supreme Court, Sec. of State,etc.), even one of them is running for president, so by in large we can move passed this race thing.
We have moved a very, and I mean very long way from the racist (and sexist) founding of this country. But when you can say people are being sexist for their view of one and NOT being racist for the other, I question your intentions. Haven't women been given the same access to education, been leaders of government, large corporations, and 18 million people voted to have one as the Chief Executive of their beloved country? Are not we beyond the sexism that has defined Western Civilization? Why not give as much time explaining this to your listening audience?
On the issues, Palin is empty, you have to realize this. She was chosen and a political ploy to win votes, not make policy. Obama, whether you agree with his policies, is at least speaking about them. McCain's campaign chief admitted at the RNC that the election is about personality, not policy or the issues. This scare me to no end that they'd rather have an empty pretty face one heart beat away from the Presidency, then a proven uniter of both policy and personality.
I enjoy our conversations, regardless if in my attempt to try to at least get someone to think about the other side actually happens, I would like to continue trying. But, I certainly apologize for being unclear as to calling you a racist, for I was not......can't promise not to bring up race though, for I believe it is an important subject to explore.
Derrick
http://www.dslack.com
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sterling's Silver
I met Sterling about 2 1/2 years ago when I became the first
African-American male to teach at his high school. He was in my
poetry class and was always eager to display for me his new rhymes that
he had written and viewed himself more of a rapper than poet. Everyday
he would come to me (before and after class) and share with me his work
and general guy stuff in which he wanted my advice. Having a strong
physical presence (being 6'2" tall and hair running the length of my
back) and an all too confident spirit that all things are possible and
of course being the only African-American male adult at the school made
me quite a popular novelty (school is more than 95% African American
and Latino). This was especially true for my male students. Perhaps
it is because we are in a society plagued by children being reared by a
single parent, usually the mother, the male students generally will
gravitate to me and often latch on to my every move and word as though
I were the father they longed for and needed. I both enjoyed and am
flattered to have had this opportunity and responsibility.
But I couldn't figure out Sterling. He would often tell me
stories about his home life that in many ways differed from his peers
at school. He and his siblings were fortunate to have two parents in
the house and both with advanced education. He adored his father and
would tell me stories that seemed wild about his profession and life.
His parents were Princeton grads and a host of other wonderful
accomplishments he revealed to me about them. But the way he attached
himself to me and seemed to look up to me, made me wonder internally if
in fact all of what he told me of his parents were true. Perhaps some
of the adventures and general attitudes they carried with them were a
bit exaggerated. My experiences (or ignorance) led me to believe that
these students needed a father-figure, so why would someone with one
treat me in the same way as someone without one. It was just hard for
me to understand Sterling.
That was until I reached Accra, Ghana and met a man named Dexter.
Ghana was my 8th African country I had visited on this adventure and up
until that point I had met 12 Germans, 9 Dutch, 7 French, 2 Mexicans, 2
Swiss, 1 Portuguese, 1 Englishmen, and 1 guy from Japan, but Dexter was
the first African-American. I called him while I was in Togo and
informed him that I would be in Ghana (the neighboring country to the
west) the next day. He was in Ghana only another day and a half,
heading off to a business meeting in Sierra Leone and agreed to hook up
with me when I arrived in Ghana. I was excited because I had only
spoken to Dexter one other time months prior in New York when he called
me because he heard about my Mt. Kilimanjaro experience and he was
interested in climbing it. And now we meet face to face for the first
time half a world away.
Four hours after leaving Lome, Togo, I arrive at Dexter's Hotel
and when he approached, I instantly knew who he was. It was like I had
already met this man before. In a way, I actually had. Dexter is the
father of Sterling. "Hey, D. Slack!" he says with a big, inviting
smile, firm handshake, and voice resembling the one he lent to his
son. I outlined this update even before I experienced it, thinking
that the main theme of it would be about Black Americans and our lack
of enthusiasm for international travel, evident for the fact had hadn't
met any along this path. I was reserving it for when I met the first
African-American. So swirling in my mind on my way to Accra were ways
to complete this message. But that was of course until I met Dexter.
This man is certainly alive. With a thirst for life and seemed to
completely enjoy the vast experiences he was afforded. After helping
me secure a room at the hotel (helping by paying for it), we get a
beverage and he says, "Man, I have a lot for you to do today!" and he
begins to tell me of all things that could happen this day. After
eliminating the smell of the road trip off of me, we go to the arts
market to look for a few things, then to the monthly meeting of the
AAAG (African American Association of Ghana). He was invited by a lady
who ran several NGOs in Ghana and thought that me linking up with her
would be fruitful to my mission in Africa. And this encounter has
proven the most fruitful thus far! There were 20 Black Americans at
this meeting. In just a matter of hours I met the largest number of a
particular nationality.
I met so many progressive people interested in helping Africa and
those across the African Diaspora at this meeting and in some way each
has influenced me, causing me to alter the course of my journey
slightly. I have always dreamed of being part of a school in Africa
(founding one or helping administer one) and I met a young lady from
Atlanta who has just opened one in Accra. This journey I wanted to
help African people, socially, economically, spiritually and I met
several people that have provided me with opportunities to utilize my
energy and talents to do just that. And through Dr. Sandra Ross, the
lady introduced to me through Dexter, I even got a teaching job (funded
by Gate Foundation).
After the meeting, Dex took me on a mini tour of some of the
Attractions in Accra. And some of what I saw truly surprised me. The
infrastructure of Ghana has vastly improved in the three years since I
have been here. This may be because the world right now is looking in
at Ghana, waiting for it to take the lead on changing the face of
Africa. This year (2007) marks the 50th year anniversary of Ghana
Independence, the first African country to win independence from European
colonial rule. Pioneering freedom, innovation and stability, Ghana has
the opportunity to become the beacon of hope for other developing
nations in Africa. Comparatively speaking, it is clearly decades
beyond the other 7 African nations I have been to thus far on this
journey. But like everything else, it has years to catch up to truly
compete global as a solid and truly independent nation.
Dex and I had many such conversations about life, politics,
America, Africa, business, public school education and we truly became
fast friends laughing, joking and hanging out. By the time I actually
closed my eyes to sleep 24 hours was in between then and when I woke up
that morning in Togo. It was certainly my longest day thus far in
Africa and honestly one of my very best. Dex had trouble with his
ticket and had to cancel Sierra Leone, so he had an extra day and a
half before he had to fly out to Kenya (conincedentally, my exact next
destination). We hung out some more and I not only gained a friend,
but more understanding of why Sterling was the way he is. Unlike most
of the male students I have encountered, Sterling was not searching for
a replacement for his father, rather he saw so much of his father in
me. We liked so much of the same things it was kind of scary. We
wrote with the same blue Bic pen with the comfort grips (the only pen I
write my journal entries with and the only one Dex uses), we ordered
the same things on the menu and even (here's the scary part) had the
exact same Samsung t809 mobile phone.
When learning these things about each other, he said what I was
thinking: "Man, it's no wonder my son loves you so much....I see why he
talks about you all the time." I smiled. Warm fuzziness invaded my
heart, thinking, "I see why he talks about you all the time too!". It hasn't been
often that I have heard that I have made some
sort of positive impact on someone, yes, I have seen the positive
difference that I potentially have made in a child's life, but hearing
it can never get old. It made me think about some of the conversations
I have had with Sterling. He always seems to have a answer to
everything and is always optimistic about his future and abilities,
just like Dex his father. Meeting Dex made me appreciate the work that
I am able to do in a young person's life, and also of the more important
role parents play.
Dexter Wadsworth seems to both enjoy and except his role as good
man, great father and now to me, a wonderful friend. His golden smile,
diamond outlook, platinum personality has passed on to his Sterling as
one beautiful silver lining in darkened skies. Dex, I can't until I
see you again, 25 years younger, discussing poetry, rap and general guy
stuff......
African-American male to teach at his high school. He was in my
poetry class and was always eager to display for me his new rhymes that
he had written and viewed himself more of a rapper than poet. Everyday
he would come to me (before and after class) and share with me his work
and general guy stuff in which he wanted my advice. Having a strong
physical presence (being 6'2" tall and hair running the length of my
back) and an all too confident spirit that all things are possible and
of course being the only African-American male adult at the school made
me quite a popular novelty (school is more than 95% African American
and Latino). This was especially true for my male students. Perhaps
it is because we are in a society plagued by children being reared by a
single parent, usually the mother, the male students generally will
gravitate to me and often latch on to my every move and word as though
I were the father they longed for and needed. I both enjoyed and am
flattered to have had this opportunity and responsibility.
But I couldn't figure out Sterling. He would often tell me
stories about his home life that in many ways differed from his peers
at school. He and his siblings were fortunate to have two parents in
the house and both with advanced education. He adored his father and
would tell me stories that seemed wild about his profession and life.
His parents were Princeton grads and a host of other wonderful
accomplishments he revealed to me about them. But the way he attached
himself to me and seemed to look up to me, made me wonder internally if
in fact all of what he told me of his parents were true. Perhaps some
of the adventures and general attitudes they carried with them were a
bit exaggerated. My experiences (or ignorance) led me to believe that
these students needed a father-figure, so why would someone with one
treat me in the same way as someone without one. It was just hard for
me to understand Sterling.
That was until I reached Accra, Ghana and met a man named Dexter.
Ghana was my 8th African country I had visited on this adventure and up
until that point I had met 12 Germans, 9 Dutch, 7 French, 2 Mexicans, 2
Swiss, 1 Portuguese, 1 Englishmen, and 1 guy from Japan, but Dexter was
the first African-American. I called him while I was in Togo and
informed him that I would be in Ghana (the neighboring country to the
west) the next day. He was in Ghana only another day and a half,
heading off to a business meeting in Sierra Leone and agreed to hook up
with me when I arrived in Ghana. I was excited because I had only
spoken to Dexter one other time months prior in New York when he called
me because he heard about my Mt. Kilimanjaro experience and he was
interested in climbing it. And now we meet face to face for the first
time half a world away.
Four hours after leaving Lome, Togo, I arrive at Dexter's Hotel
and when he approached, I instantly knew who he was. It was like I had
already met this man before. In a way, I actually had. Dexter is the
father of Sterling. "Hey, D. Slack!" he says with a big, inviting
smile, firm handshake, and voice resembling the one he lent to his
son. I outlined this update even before I experienced it, thinking
that the main theme of it would be about Black Americans and our lack
of enthusiasm for international travel, evident for the fact had hadn't
met any along this path. I was reserving it for when I met the first
African-American. So swirling in my mind on my way to Accra were ways
to complete this message. But that was of course until I met Dexter.
This man is certainly alive. With a thirst for life and seemed to
completely enjoy the vast experiences he was afforded. After helping
me secure a room at the hotel (helping by paying for it), we get a
beverage and he says, "Man, I have a lot for you to do today!" and he
begins to tell me of all things that could happen this day. After
eliminating the smell of the road trip off of me, we go to the arts
market to look for a few things, then to the monthly meeting of the
AAAG (African American Association of Ghana). He was invited by a lady
who ran several NGOs in Ghana and thought that me linking up with her
would be fruitful to my mission in Africa. And this encounter has
proven the most fruitful thus far! There were 20 Black Americans at
this meeting. In just a matter of hours I met the largest number of a
particular nationality.
I met so many progressive people interested in helping Africa and
those across the African Diaspora at this meeting and in some way each
has influenced me, causing me to alter the course of my journey
slightly. I have always dreamed of being part of a school in Africa
(founding one or helping administer one) and I met a young lady from
Atlanta who has just opened one in Accra. This journey I wanted to
help African people, socially, economically, spiritually and I met
several people that have provided me with opportunities to utilize my
energy and talents to do just that. And through Dr. Sandra Ross, the
lady introduced to me through Dexter, I even got a teaching job (funded
by Gate Foundation).
After the meeting, Dex took me on a mini tour of some of the
Attractions in Accra. And some of what I saw truly surprised me. The
infrastructure of Ghana has vastly improved in the three years since I
have been here. This may be because the world right now is looking in
at Ghana, waiting for it to take the lead on changing the face of
Africa. This year (2007) marks the 50th year anniversary of Ghana
Independence, the first African country to win independence from European
colonial rule. Pioneering freedom, innovation and stability, Ghana has
the opportunity to become the beacon of hope for other developing
nations in Africa. Comparatively speaking, it is clearly decades
beyond the other 7 African nations I have been to thus far on this
journey. But like everything else, it has years to catch up to truly
compete global as a solid and truly independent nation.
Dex and I had many such conversations about life, politics,
America, Africa, business, public school education and we truly became
fast friends laughing, joking and hanging out. By the time I actually
closed my eyes to sleep 24 hours was in between then and when I woke up
that morning in Togo. It was certainly my longest day thus far in
Africa and honestly one of my very best. Dex had trouble with his
ticket and had to cancel Sierra Leone, so he had an extra day and a
half before he had to fly out to Kenya (conincedentally, my exact next
destination). We hung out some more and I not only gained a friend,
but more understanding of why Sterling was the way he is. Unlike most
of the male students I have encountered, Sterling was not searching for
a replacement for his father, rather he saw so much of his father in
me. We liked so much of the same things it was kind of scary. We
wrote with the same blue Bic pen with the comfort grips (the only pen I
write my journal entries with and the only one Dex uses), we ordered
the same things on the menu and even (here's the scary part) had the
exact same Samsung t809 mobile phone.
When learning these things about each other, he said what I was
thinking: "Man, it's no wonder my son loves you so much....I see why he
talks about you all the time." I smiled. Warm fuzziness invaded my
heart, thinking, "I see why he talks about you all the time too!". It hasn't been
often that I have heard that I have made some
sort of positive impact on someone, yes, I have seen the positive
difference that I potentially have made in a child's life, but hearing
it can never get old. It made me think about some of the conversations
I have had with Sterling. He always seems to have a answer to
everything and is always optimistic about his future and abilities,
just like Dex his father. Meeting Dex made me appreciate the work that
I am able to do in a young person's life, and also of the more important
role parents play.
Dexter Wadsworth seems to both enjoy and except his role as good
man, great father and now to me, a wonderful friend. His golden smile,
diamond outlook, platinum personality has passed on to his Sterling as
one beautiful silver lining in darkened skies. Dex, I can't until I
see you again, 25 years younger, discussing poetry, rap and general guy
stuff......
African Journey #1
The last time I was in Africa (exactly 10 months ago to date) I
just about froze to death. I lost some brains cells because of it, but
for some reason I was on top of the tallest free standing mountain in
the world, Mt. Kilimanjaro, about to die yet determined to make it to
the top: and I did. What a reward! Now, as I sit here in Fes,
Morocco, I am once again freezing. However this time there is no
mountain I can use to justify leaving the brisk wintry, snow filled,
slush ridden sidewalks of New York City only to be caught in the winter
rainy season of North Africa. Cold as ever! Here I am Bermuda shorts
and all getting off the plane only to think, like some people just a
day earlier, we had been stuck on the runway for the last 6.5 hours.
How can I travel all the way to Africa and be this cold, I thought to
myself. That turbulence must had been my stomach grumbling. I whisked
on my jacket and sweater and braved the chilly Casablancan air. Where
is my reward?
Thirty minutes and several passport and customs checks later I
discovered my reward: I was in Morocco! I had made it, once again I
dreamed of Africa and here I was on its soil, no matter how chilly/cold
the air, I was here.
Arriving in the morning, I spent the day getting acclimated to the
Moroccan culture and familiarizing myself with where things were how to
use the trains and how the currency worked. I knew I'd be here a week
and these things proved to be important know-hows. I stayed the night
in Casablanca, waking up early to head to Meknes to link up with folks
I had been in contact to hopefully volunteer. Meknes proved to be a
dead end because my contact was unavailable this week. I arrived too
late to Meknes to really see the city, so I got a hotel and rested. I
wrote in my journal on the way to Meknes for God to send me an angel
upon arriving and when I stepped from the train there was an eager
Braham, registered tour guide and happy to see me. He directed to me
to a nice hostel and told me to go to Fes and see its Medina (from my
understanding to seeing several Medinas now it is the old part of the
city, completely surrounding by a wall with entry points/gates along
the way to get in). I was just happy to have a place to stay that was
cheap and clean so I said I would check it out.
Again the turbulence rumbles in my stomach. Searching for food I
stumbled upon a quaint restaurant with a very nice man all smiles that
brightened the darkest night. I sat down to eat and he sat right down
with me and we chatted the night away talking about our respective
homes and about the journey in which I was preparing to engage. He
gave me pointers of how to navigate and which parts to stay away from
and after dinner he took me on a tour of the city. Meknes turned out
to be a wonderful place rich in history with grand castles that date
back hundres of years. After the tour we embraced and a piece of my
heart opened to put a piece of his inside. I will remember this angel
sent to me to meet.
Awaking the next morning, I quickly dressed and headed for the
train to take me an hour to Fes. Again in my journal I wrote a prayer
for guidance and protection and to only send an angel to help me today,
casting away all things negative that can happen. Again, getting off
the train there was Braham, who had taken the earlier train to Fes
coming toward me with big eyes and a smile. He directed me to a hotel
to put my things and to freshen up. Putting my things away I said to
myself, "this dude is about to rip me off, he smelled me coming." But
just as quick I reminded my self of the prayer I had written asking for
protection and only an angel be brought my way, and smiled eager to go
get my blessing.
Braham in deed turned out to be a blessing! He took me high in
the hills to see the Fes Medina from high up and it looked like how I
imagined the cities in the Bible would look. And it turns out this
city (maintaining a wealth of it original splender) dates back nearly
1500 years. We went down into the Medina and explored the old ways and
spoke to many people whose crafts were many generations old. The
streets of this Medina were so narrow that only one and a half people
can fit side by side ion the streets. Therefore cars were prohibited
to enter. The only form of transportation was the mule taxis that
carried your things. Braham was an interesting source of knowledge
about Morocco, its culture and he too wanted to hear stories of my home
and my journey. We exchanged many thought s and stories and parted
late int he evening at my hotel. I relaxed to the feeling that this
journey was starting to take shape.
The next day I traveled north (6 hour train ride) to Tangier, the
closest point from Morocco to Spain. Tangier was a hip town full of
Europeans and people there spoke so many different languages that no
one seemed to understand each other. Needing to be in Marrakesh (10
hour train ride south) by Saturday (I was on Thursday at the time), I
tried to get a quick ferry across the waters to Spain. It turned out
there is no quick or cheap way to accomplish this so I did not go.
Each journal entry has ended with the same prayer for protection and
the arrival of an angel. This blessing came in the form of a man named
Ydriss. The train rides are so long and when you can get an entire
bench to yourself you seize the moment and stretch out to sleep. I
made it about two hours like this before a woman tapped violently on my
shoulder telling me to move over. Her and her family took ALL of the
remaining space and pushed me in a corner against the window. A few
curse words and unpleasant things said about her mother floated in my
head, but again I felt I was being tested and tried to make the best of
this situation. It turned out that this family was the wife, mother,
sister, and son of Ydriss, who came into the car later and introduced
himself and we spoke for hours about everything. Upon getting off the
train he invited me to the hotel with his family and he would negotiate
a good price for the night. I followed him there and rested well the
night.
The next day Ydriss took his family to the ferry for Spain where
they live and we hung out the entire day, him telling me stories of his
Moroccan home people he has met in his life and I did the same. He
took me on tour of the Tangier Medina, had someone fix my phone and
later we boarded a train headed south to Marrakech. He owns a shop
here in Marrakech, speaks 8 languages and turned out to be a great
listener and friend. At one point we were laughing so hard that soda
came out of my nose. We really connected when I let him listen to my
poetry on my iPod and promised him I'd leave a poem with him that I
write before I leave.
I think this is a good place to stop. I am leaving Marrakech
tomorrow headed south to Mauritania and then on to Dakar, Senegal where
I will begin my mission work helping my African Brothers and Sister
there.
Language of Love (dedicated to Maroc)
Love is the language of which we were all born native speakers
Conversing in laughter and games we play
While breaking bread like brothers
We are no different-- Citizens of this world
Our blood flows through us like the mighty ocean
Ebbing against the Tangier sands
Love is the language spoken when strangers
break their silence and connect palms and eye contact
And smiles and stories of their home
Only to realize that we were from the same place
We breathe the same air and our tears originate from similar pain
Love is synonymous with "Welcome"
For it invites peace breaking the barriers of what is unknown
And embracing faith
I have known such a love while ingesting cous cous with lamb
And exchanging side wrenching laughter in the Marrakech Medina
I have felt its presence under the Moroccan moon
Surrounded by its wind that send chills like the serenity of a silent prayer
Love is the Hand of God manipulating our moments so that we may meet
Love knows no nationality
It is a language spoken only with our hearts
Heard only when we open our minds
Love is the reason we dance, or play music, or sing, or cry, or whistle
Live, die, try, dream, believe, hope or travel
It is what we give our sons as we bid farewell
Sending them off to distant lands unknown
What we give our brothers as they dream of new worlds
And possibilities uninhibited by fear
What we provide for our sisters as they struggle to remain positive about life
Love is the gift given to the world by God
More abundant than air, for it transcends life
More beautiful than the African Landscape at dusk
And more fertile than its soil, for it can grow in the harshest
Climates of hatred and bitterness created by borders
Love is more delicate than a newborn child
Wild like a rose among dandelion
It is a language without a dictionary defined only by the
Good we find in others, in ourselves
It is what we speak each time we close our eyes and dream
Speak to me, my friend, in Love
And our souls will be forever altered
Our hearts will sings songs
And loneliness will disappear
Derrick S. Slack
24/Feb/2007
Marrakech, Maroc
just about froze to death. I lost some brains cells because of it, but
for some reason I was on top of the tallest free standing mountain in
the world, Mt. Kilimanjaro, about to die yet determined to make it to
the top: and I did. What a reward! Now, as I sit here in Fes,
Morocco, I am once again freezing. However this time there is no
mountain I can use to justify leaving the brisk wintry, snow filled,
slush ridden sidewalks of New York City only to be caught in the winter
rainy season of North Africa. Cold as ever! Here I am Bermuda shorts
and all getting off the plane only to think, like some people just a
day earlier, we had been stuck on the runway for the last 6.5 hours.
How can I travel all the way to Africa and be this cold, I thought to
myself. That turbulence must had been my stomach grumbling. I whisked
on my jacket and sweater and braved the chilly Casablancan air. Where
is my reward?
Thirty minutes and several passport and customs checks later I
discovered my reward: I was in Morocco! I had made it, once again I
dreamed of Africa and here I was on its soil, no matter how chilly/cold
the air, I was here.
Arriving in the morning, I spent the day getting acclimated to the
Moroccan culture and familiarizing myself with where things were how to
use the trains and how the currency worked. I knew I'd be here a week
and these things proved to be important know-hows. I stayed the night
in Casablanca, waking up early to head to Meknes to link up with folks
I had been in contact to hopefully volunteer. Meknes proved to be a
dead end because my contact was unavailable this week. I arrived too
late to Meknes to really see the city, so I got a hotel and rested. I
wrote in my journal on the way to Meknes for God to send me an angel
upon arriving and when I stepped from the train there was an eager
Braham, registered tour guide and happy to see me. He directed to me
to a nice hostel and told me to go to Fes and see its Medina (from my
understanding to seeing several Medinas now it is the old part of the
city, completely surrounding by a wall with entry points/gates along
the way to get in). I was just happy to have a place to stay that was
cheap and clean so I said I would check it out.
Again the turbulence rumbles in my stomach. Searching for food I
stumbled upon a quaint restaurant with a very nice man all smiles that
brightened the darkest night. I sat down to eat and he sat right down
with me and we chatted the night away talking about our respective
homes and about the journey in which I was preparing to engage. He
gave me pointers of how to navigate and which parts to stay away from
and after dinner he took me on a tour of the city. Meknes turned out
to be a wonderful place rich in history with grand castles that date
back hundres of years. After the tour we embraced and a piece of my
heart opened to put a piece of his inside. I will remember this angel
sent to me to meet.
Awaking the next morning, I quickly dressed and headed for the
train to take me an hour to Fes. Again in my journal I wrote a prayer
for guidance and protection and to only send an angel to help me today,
casting away all things negative that can happen. Again, getting off
the train there was Braham, who had taken the earlier train to Fes
coming toward me with big eyes and a smile. He directed me to a hotel
to put my things and to freshen up. Putting my things away I said to
myself, "this dude is about to rip me off, he smelled me coming." But
just as quick I reminded my self of the prayer I had written asking for
protection and only an angel be brought my way, and smiled eager to go
get my blessing.
Braham in deed turned out to be a blessing! He took me high in
the hills to see the Fes Medina from high up and it looked like how I
imagined the cities in the Bible would look. And it turns out this
city (maintaining a wealth of it original splender) dates back nearly
1500 years. We went down into the Medina and explored the old ways and
spoke to many people whose crafts were many generations old. The
streets of this Medina were so narrow that only one and a half people
can fit side by side ion the streets. Therefore cars were prohibited
to enter. The only form of transportation was the mule taxis that
carried your things. Braham was an interesting source of knowledge
about Morocco, its culture and he too wanted to hear stories of my home
and my journey. We exchanged many thought s and stories and parted
late int he evening at my hotel. I relaxed to the feeling that this
journey was starting to take shape.
The next day I traveled north (6 hour train ride) to Tangier, the
closest point from Morocco to Spain. Tangier was a hip town full of
Europeans and people there spoke so many different languages that no
one seemed to understand each other. Needing to be in Marrakesh (10
hour train ride south) by Saturday (I was on Thursday at the time), I
tried to get a quick ferry across the waters to Spain. It turned out
there is no quick or cheap way to accomplish this so I did not go.
Each journal entry has ended with the same prayer for protection and
the arrival of an angel. This blessing came in the form of a man named
Ydriss. The train rides are so long and when you can get an entire
bench to yourself you seize the moment and stretch out to sleep. I
made it about two hours like this before a woman tapped violently on my
shoulder telling me to move over. Her and her family took ALL of the
remaining space and pushed me in a corner against the window. A few
curse words and unpleasant things said about her mother floated in my
head, but again I felt I was being tested and tried to make the best of
this situation. It turned out that this family was the wife, mother,
sister, and son of Ydriss, who came into the car later and introduced
himself and we spoke for hours about everything. Upon getting off the
train he invited me to the hotel with his family and he would negotiate
a good price for the night. I followed him there and rested well the
night.
The next day Ydriss took his family to the ferry for Spain where
they live and we hung out the entire day, him telling me stories of his
Moroccan home people he has met in his life and I did the same. He
took me on tour of the Tangier Medina, had someone fix my phone and
later we boarded a train headed south to Marrakech. He owns a shop
here in Marrakech, speaks 8 languages and turned out to be a great
listener and friend. At one point we were laughing so hard that soda
came out of my nose. We really connected when I let him listen to my
poetry on my iPod and promised him I'd leave a poem with him that I
write before I leave.
I think this is a good place to stop. I am leaving Marrakech
tomorrow headed south to Mauritania and then on to Dakar, Senegal where
I will begin my mission work helping my African Brothers and Sister
there.
Language of Love (dedicated to Maroc)
Love is the language of which we were all born native speakers
Conversing in laughter and games we play
While breaking bread like brothers
We are no different-- Citizens of this world
Our blood flows through us like the mighty ocean
Ebbing against the Tangier sands
Love is the language spoken when strangers
break their silence and connect palms and eye contact
And smiles and stories of their home
Only to realize that we were from the same place
We breathe the same air and our tears originate from similar pain
Love is synonymous with "Welcome"
For it invites peace breaking the barriers of what is unknown
And embracing faith
I have known such a love while ingesting cous cous with lamb
And exchanging side wrenching laughter in the Marrakech Medina
I have felt its presence under the Moroccan moon
Surrounded by its wind that send chills like the serenity of a silent prayer
Love is the Hand of God manipulating our moments so that we may meet
Love knows no nationality
It is a language spoken only with our hearts
Heard only when we open our minds
Love is the reason we dance, or play music, or sing, or cry, or whistle
Live, die, try, dream, believe, hope or travel
It is what we give our sons as we bid farewell
Sending them off to distant lands unknown
What we give our brothers as they dream of new worlds
And possibilities uninhibited by fear
What we provide for our sisters as they struggle to remain positive about life
Love is the gift given to the world by God
More abundant than air, for it transcends life
More beautiful than the African Landscape at dusk
And more fertile than its soil, for it can grow in the harshest
Climates of hatred and bitterness created by borders
Love is more delicate than a newborn child
Wild like a rose among dandelion
It is a language without a dictionary defined only by the
Good we find in others, in ourselves
It is what we speak each time we close our eyes and dream
Speak to me, my friend, in Love
And our souls will be forever altered
Our hearts will sings songs
And loneliness will disappear
Derrick S. Slack
24/Feb/2007
Marrakech, Maroc
John Mc(Wayne)
The latest polls have Barack Obama for the first time above 50%, an unprecedented feat that (I pray) carry on through the election in less than six weeks. What also is unprecedented is the fact that yesterday, John McCain suspended his campaign and rushed back to Washington to sort of oversee what the Fed is going to do regarding the $700 billion dollar bank bailout. I cannot believe that the poll numbers and this campaign suspension are unrelated. McCain is shaking in his maverick boot at the notion that he will lose in November that his pulled this stunt to appear as if he is putting the country first. But think about, what good will he actually do in Washington, other than do what we are all doing, wait and see. And listening to his cue card holding, oneliner, side kick running mate, I just get frustrated that this man seems so desperate to win that all of these antics are making a mockery of the whole election process. When asked by Katie Couric on specifics, Palin, could only regurgitate the rehearsed lines that were given to her from the campaign, with no elaboration, insight or depth. Now this suspension thing. I pray that America is smart enough to look passed the stunts and look to the only candidate that is about the real. BO will inherit a broken White House, broken Washington, broken system, and more than likely will be blamed even for this latest bailout mess, but he will rise to the occasion and prove to the world that he was the best choice for the job. Those John Wayne, run home and be a hero days of Washington politics are over Mr. Palin, I mean Wayne....sorry McCain.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
19, 340: Almost....
Samuel Dhumass-Blacksmith (fictitious name), inventor of the game horseshoes, on his deathbed said the following, "In my life I almost did a great many things, but I have learned that the only time almost counts is in the game I invented" then he died. Obviously the idiot in the family, Dhumass-Blacksmith was dead wrong! Anyone who almost lost everything they worked for in a hurricane or was runner-up in a beauty contest, or got a Silver Medal in the Olympics or was two hours short from the top of....wait I'm going too fast.
Day 3
I woke up late and was feeling extremely delirious when I went to the bathroom outhouse and for a minute I didn't know where I was. I was nearly feeling the full effects of High Altitude Sickness (HAS) with a
full blown headache and the funny bloated turning feeling in my stomach. I didn't sleep well at all the night before with the tossing and turning and these crazy, bad dreams that I felt were caused by not having a pillow (you try sleeping on a pad made for a midget with no pillow). I was though all packed to go to our first major altitude
test at Lava Tower which is 4,600 M (15,000ft). We ate lunch there and man was it some test. The altitude was murder, my hands swelled to nearly twice their already enormous size and the headache went from
a 7.6 right up to 11.9. We stayed there for about an hour to "acclimate" and then headed down to about 3,900 M where we would camp. During the 3 hours it took to get to camp I had to utilize some DSlack Mind Trick to take total control of my body who kept saying, "Dude, I'm tired let's give up" I said back to it ignoring its requests to cower, "I can, I will, I must, I trust...my mind is stronger than my body!" saying this only 4,003,274 times till camp.
Day 4
No appetite, deadly sign of HAS. I only drank some tea the porters served, not realizing I only ate the eggs and not the 4 other courses they offered. We trekked for about 4:30 to the next camp which was about 4,300M and I am convinced that I have full blown HAS only without the vomiting that usually occurs (good sign I only hope).
Though the only reason I wasn't actually returning my food to the earth the wrong way was perhaps I wasn't eating, now at all. I retreated to my tent freezing cold around 13:00 and an hour later the porters were shoving food in my tent. They came back about 45 minutes later to see that I hadn't touched a thing. They kept waking my up
every 5-10 minutes saying eat. By the time dinner came and everyone figured I wasn't eating, they sent in the big guns: Joshua, my guide. A very matter-of fact speaking gent, he said, "Derrick, my friend, eat or you will die tomorrow!" I took to the soup like air, and the other food-like concoction like water, or so I thought. After learning that I still had only eaten very little, they said they would make a big breakfast and let me sleep. I slept all of 16 hours.
Day 5
We only hike for 3 hours, but they seem like 35, with my HAS and all and lack of food. Anyway we hike to 4,600M where we camp and rest for our midnight attempt at the highest point in Africa. By the time we get to camp, me singing to my self about how much stronger by mind is than my body, my 11.9 headache went all the way down to 2. Of course this gives me confidence that I can in fact make this dream happen. I still do not eat and I can see the pained look in Joshua's eye. He simply says that I need this food for energy, but he will make sure I have some cookies and tea before we leave at midnight. I sleep surprisingly well.
Day 5/6
I was awakened at 23:22 and the porters were excited for me. They made the tea and then served me the cookies and I must have swallowed them whole. My headache now completely gone! I can do this! I thought to myself and with a final look at all the encouragement and love received from back home I thought, yeah I really can do this...to the top we go. We leave at exactly 0:30 and we head into the darkness up to Uhuru Peak, the highest...well you know, Africa. "Pole, Pole (pronounced po-lay, po-lay)" Joshua and John who for some reason decided to go with us this time out, say. "Pole, Pole" (Swahili for slow, slow) I shout back excited and a bit nervous. This trek to the top should take 6 hours where the sky is clear just in time to see the beautiful sunrise and other awesome views from the top.
Day 6...the first 2 hours
I am making a great run at it only stopping every 500 steps or so (what else are you to do on a mountain in five layers of clothing, surrounded by snow and nothing else, so you count your steps and make up words, songs, etc.?). My mind is stronger than my body; I am certain of this at this point. Oh, Uh, the Body fights back. "We'll see who's stronger..." it says making my knees shake. "Uh, Body, I'm in control here" Mind says with agitation in its tone. My Body gave another shot and made my knees wither once again. My Mind growing more convinced of its imminent defeat says, "my mind is as strong as my body...ok already we're equals let's make it to the top of this thing!" Not liking the tone, Body makes my back, knees, arms and everything else shut down. This process takes 2 hours.
Day 6...Almost
Body scores so many points that the Mind is defeated. Mind stops its arrogance and is now under complete control of Body. "Eh, I didn't make it....I've come further than perhaps I was capable...It's not so bad to get 2 hours from the top there's no shame in that" Mind saying totally brainwashed. Joshua and John are trying to encourage me, but there is no use...I'm done. The lack of food and the HAS and everything else running through my mind is all pointing to failure...all system failure. I begin to cry. Well, I almost made it to the top and I guess Dhumass-Blacksmith was right, Horseshoes Game contains the only valuable "almost". Feeling like a failure, Joshua says, "You are so fatigued we need to get you down, this mountain isn't worth your life!" He's right, I guess until I learned how you get off of a mountain...manually. "You mean we have to walk back the same way we came?" I look back, take a long, hard, deep breath (50mph winds and all) and Mind says to Body, "Dude where's your second wind, you always have a second wind, you beautiful Black Body you" Body too an ego-maniac, but stubborn, continues the fatigue. Almost, Almost, Almost.
Day 6...Giving up?
Nothing worked to get Body moving again and it's been 30 minutes in the blistering cold, not the water (now completely frozen), the banana chips some Americans gave me two days before...nothing. So, Mind now trying to fight back and refusing to give up because it would be (physically) harder in its mind to go back 4 hours rather than 2 hours up (not realizing that is more hours to get down, oh well). So Mind remembers we have one last "energy drink" in the pack. This isn't an energy drink at all it's truly canned tang with added orange pulp...disgusting! But I ingest this nonetheless and say four words that changed the very course of my history, "I can do this!" Joshua, hearing the shear determination in my voice, says "ok then twinde (let's go)". I grabbed him hard, turning him around and deeply look him in the eyes and say, "Don't you dare let me fail!" Mind wins, although Body gave it a go at taking control, it did have a second wind in it after all.
Day 6...on top of the world
We take 2 hours to reach Gillman's Peak, the "almost" of the peaks, the second highest point in Africa, and all my emotions flowed out of me. I felt such a shear sense of accomplishment that tears and every emotion known to man came out at once. I (almost) did it! All of this caught on the video camera I brought to capture such beautiful moments. People were coming over to me wondering what the heck was wrong. "I made it! I made it!" I shouted. One person came over and shot that to Hell. "No you almost made it, the true peak is up there" Up there was another hour. So off to stand on top of the world we go. Mind was in full control and Body knew it would share in this glorious story if we made it so it complied (ahh, the male ego). One hour later, cameras rolling, I stand on top of Africa, yes I made it. All the months of preparation, all the annoying count downs, all the metaphors came down to this one very important moment in the battle between what your mind is capable of and how much you can push yourself beyond what you thought were your limits. Uhuru Peak, the Highest Most Awesome Place to have a dream come true.
Day 7...The Certificate
The day before, I made sure I had everything packed and ready to complete our descent to Mweka Village to receive my Certification that I summited the great mountain. This 3 hour trek took us an exciting 2 hours (surprising because Day 6 we hiked a total of 14+ hours). Anyway when we reach the bottom, my tour company was waiting and giving congrats and I received my certificate and felt like I won the Nobel Prize for Not Giving Up.
So this trek to the top didn't go as planned, I had no idea I would get so close and feel that way, but it lends itself to a great and wonderful story that I am sure I will annoy you with for the rest of your lives. But don't yell at me too much, after all I will at least be alive to tell it.
Day 3
I woke up late and was feeling extremely delirious when I went to the bathroom outhouse and for a minute I didn't know where I was. I was nearly feeling the full effects of High Altitude Sickness (HAS) with a
full blown headache and the funny bloated turning feeling in my stomach. I didn't sleep well at all the night before with the tossing and turning and these crazy, bad dreams that I felt were caused by not having a pillow (you try sleeping on a pad made for a midget with no pillow). I was though all packed to go to our first major altitude
test at Lava Tower which is 4,600 M (15,000ft). We ate lunch there and man was it some test. The altitude was murder, my hands swelled to nearly twice their already enormous size and the headache went from
a 7.6 right up to 11.9. We stayed there for about an hour to "acclimate" and then headed down to about 3,900 M where we would camp. During the 3 hours it took to get to camp I had to utilize some DSlack Mind Trick to take total control of my body who kept saying, "Dude, I'm tired let's give up" I said back to it ignoring its requests to cower, "I can, I will, I must, I trust...my mind is stronger than my body!" saying this only 4,003,274 times till camp.
Day 4
No appetite, deadly sign of HAS. I only drank some tea the porters served, not realizing I only ate the eggs and not the 4 other courses they offered. We trekked for about 4:30 to the next camp which was about 4,300M and I am convinced that I have full blown HAS only without the vomiting that usually occurs (good sign I only hope).
Though the only reason I wasn't actually returning my food to the earth the wrong way was perhaps I wasn't eating, now at all. I retreated to my tent freezing cold around 13:00 and an hour later the porters were shoving food in my tent. They came back about 45 minutes later to see that I hadn't touched a thing. They kept waking my up
every 5-10 minutes saying eat. By the time dinner came and everyone figured I wasn't eating, they sent in the big guns: Joshua, my guide. A very matter-of fact speaking gent, he said, "Derrick, my friend, eat or you will die tomorrow!" I took to the soup like air, and the other food-like concoction like water, or so I thought. After learning that I still had only eaten very little, they said they would make a big breakfast and let me sleep. I slept all of 16 hours.
Day 5
We only hike for 3 hours, but they seem like 35, with my HAS and all and lack of food. Anyway we hike to 4,600M where we camp and rest for our midnight attempt at the highest point in Africa. By the time we get to camp, me singing to my self about how much stronger by mind is than my body, my 11.9 headache went all the way down to 2. Of course this gives me confidence that I can in fact make this dream happen. I still do not eat and I can see the pained look in Joshua's eye. He simply says that I need this food for energy, but he will make sure I have some cookies and tea before we leave at midnight. I sleep surprisingly well.
Day 5/6
I was awakened at 23:22 and the porters were excited for me. They made the tea and then served me the cookies and I must have swallowed them whole. My headache now completely gone! I can do this! I thought to myself and with a final look at all the encouragement and love received from back home I thought, yeah I really can do this...to the top we go. We leave at exactly 0:30 and we head into the darkness up to Uhuru Peak, the highest...well you know, Africa. "Pole, Pole (pronounced po-lay, po-lay)" Joshua and John who for some reason decided to go with us this time out, say. "Pole, Pole" (Swahili for slow, slow) I shout back excited and a bit nervous. This trek to the top should take 6 hours where the sky is clear just in time to see the beautiful sunrise and other awesome views from the top.
Day 6...the first 2 hours
I am making a great run at it only stopping every 500 steps or so (what else are you to do on a mountain in five layers of clothing, surrounded by snow and nothing else, so you count your steps and make up words, songs, etc.?). My mind is stronger than my body; I am certain of this at this point. Oh, Uh, the Body fights back. "We'll see who's stronger..." it says making my knees shake. "Uh, Body, I'm in control here" Mind says with agitation in its tone. My Body gave another shot and made my knees wither once again. My Mind growing more convinced of its imminent defeat says, "my mind is as strong as my body...ok already we're equals let's make it to the top of this thing!" Not liking the tone, Body makes my back, knees, arms and everything else shut down. This process takes 2 hours.
Day 6...Almost
Body scores so many points that the Mind is defeated. Mind stops its arrogance and is now under complete control of Body. "Eh, I didn't make it....I've come further than perhaps I was capable...It's not so bad to get 2 hours from the top there's no shame in that" Mind saying totally brainwashed. Joshua and John are trying to encourage me, but there is no use...I'm done. The lack of food and the HAS and everything else running through my mind is all pointing to failure...all system failure. I begin to cry. Well, I almost made it to the top and I guess Dhumass-Blacksmith was right, Horseshoes Game contains the only valuable "almost". Feeling like a failure, Joshua says, "You are so fatigued we need to get you down, this mountain isn't worth your life!" He's right, I guess until I learned how you get off of a mountain...manually. "You mean we have to walk back the same way we came?" I look back, take a long, hard, deep breath (50mph winds and all) and Mind says to Body, "Dude where's your second wind, you always have a second wind, you beautiful Black Body you" Body too an ego-maniac, but stubborn, continues the fatigue. Almost, Almost, Almost.
Day 6...Giving up?
Nothing worked to get Body moving again and it's been 30 minutes in the blistering cold, not the water (now completely frozen), the banana chips some Americans gave me two days before...nothing. So, Mind now trying to fight back and refusing to give up because it would be (physically) harder in its mind to go back 4 hours rather than 2 hours up (not realizing that is more hours to get down, oh well). So Mind remembers we have one last "energy drink" in the pack. This isn't an energy drink at all it's truly canned tang with added orange pulp...disgusting! But I ingest this nonetheless and say four words that changed the very course of my history, "I can do this!" Joshua, hearing the shear determination in my voice, says "ok then twinde (let's go)". I grabbed him hard, turning him around and deeply look him in the eyes and say, "Don't you dare let me fail!" Mind wins, although Body gave it a go at taking control, it did have a second wind in it after all.
Day 6...on top of the world
We take 2 hours to reach Gillman's Peak, the "almost" of the peaks, the second highest point in Africa, and all my emotions flowed out of me. I felt such a shear sense of accomplishment that tears and every emotion known to man came out at once. I (almost) did it! All of this caught on the video camera I brought to capture such beautiful moments. People were coming over to me wondering what the heck was wrong. "I made it! I made it!" I shouted. One person came over and shot that to Hell. "No you almost made it, the true peak is up there" Up there was another hour. So off to stand on top of the world we go. Mind was in full control and Body knew it would share in this glorious story if we made it so it complied (ahh, the male ego). One hour later, cameras rolling, I stand on top of Africa, yes I made it. All the months of preparation, all the annoying count downs, all the metaphors came down to this one very important moment in the battle between what your mind is capable of and how much you can push yourself beyond what you thought were your limits. Uhuru Peak, the Highest Most Awesome Place to have a dream come true.
Day 7...The Certificate
The day before, I made sure I had everything packed and ready to complete our descent to Mweka Village to receive my Certification that I summited the great mountain. This 3 hour trek took us an exciting 2 hours (surprising because Day 6 we hiked a total of 14+ hours). Anyway when we reach the bottom, my tour company was waiting and giving congrats and I received my certificate and felt like I won the Nobel Prize for Not Giving Up.
So this trek to the top didn't go as planned, I had no idea I would get so close and feel that way, but it lends itself to a great and wonderful story that I am sure I will annoy you with for the rest of your lives. But don't yell at me too much, after all I will at least be alive to tell it.
The Bank Bailout
It always amazes me the hypocrisies the flow from Washington especially those on the Right. They clamor in groups against Obama talking about his strategies will lead to a bigger government. Obama is in a sense advocating that Big Gov get more involved in the lives of the average American, not so much to intrude, but more to make sure we have the tool necessary to live a prosperous life. This current situation with Big Gov, leads us to bailout the large corporations when for so long we were made to feel guilty that we were losing our houses and it was our fault for buying too much house (that they say we couldn't afford). For nearly two years while the CEOs of these companies were getting richer and the gap between them and their employees were widening, they were looking down their noses at our mismanagement of our personal funds (most of which was going to rising property taxes, gas bills, rising utilities, and food soring out of control). So now the Big Biz calls upon their leader GWB to cash in on their favors he promised seven years ago when he ran for the job the first time, saying that he would be the President for Big Biz, lowering their taxes and easing the regulations, i.e. the FCC.
There is an argument that states that had the government stepped int o help the markets, there would not have been a Great Depression and that helping the largest Corporations will trickle down to the common man. It is true that these companies need people to work in them, they do not run themselves. But a lot of these companies have been send there work force overseas to cut expenses, while their products and services have on average increased. And of course while their CEOs get richer and richer the middle class is quickly fading away.
Living in third world countries (on purpose), I saw the devastation of a non-existing middle class. The gap between the haves and the have not is so great in places like Ghana that the common person essentially has neither the ability to advance, nor the power to change his lot. When businesses rule the government and greed is the law of the land, the nation is doomed. Bailout the people, suspend taxes for a year so we can keep all of our money, and we, the Great People of the United States will revive and stimulate this economy like never before.
DS
There is an argument that states that had the government stepped int o help the markets, there would not have been a Great Depression and that helping the largest Corporations will trickle down to the common man. It is true that these companies need people to work in them, they do not run themselves. But a lot of these companies have been send there work force overseas to cut expenses, while their products and services have on average increased. And of course while their CEOs get richer and richer the middle class is quickly fading away.
Living in third world countries (on purpose), I saw the devastation of a non-existing middle class. The gap between the haves and the have not is so great in places like Ghana that the common person essentially has neither the ability to advance, nor the power to change his lot. When businesses rule the government and greed is the law of the land, the nation is doomed. Bailout the people, suspend taxes for a year so we can keep all of our money, and we, the Great People of the United States will revive and stimulate this economy like never before.
DS
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Welcome into my Randomness
This blog has been created to organize some of my random thoughts and feelings that I believe should be shared. Friends and family alike (and occasionally the local talk radio) get my rants about a myriads of subject matter and I think that most, if not all should be archived (for future reference, Kal, because I am right 9 times out of 9).
Anyway, I am kidding,I am not always right and would welcome the challenging of my opinions (and sources, and motives, etc.). With what is going on currently in this country and the world, I believe that healthy discussions should take place. In this space, I will not censure my thought nor yours, if you so choose to participate. Some of what I will place in here is quite old, but feel free to comment of those too, because I have several articles and posting everywhere, I want to put them all in one place.
Not all things I write in this thing will be important, some of it I must admit will be down right stupid in certain contexts, and I may post the occasional "what happened to me today" blog, because you know I get board too sometimes. If you can tolerate me and my crazy mind, I think we will enjoy the space we share here quite well.
Tell a friend to get in on the debates! I dare you...
DSlack
Anyway, I am kidding,I am not always right and would welcome the challenging of my opinions (and sources, and motives, etc.). With what is going on currently in this country and the world, I believe that healthy discussions should take place. In this space, I will not censure my thought nor yours, if you so choose to participate. Some of what I will place in here is quite old, but feel free to comment of those too, because I have several articles and posting everywhere, I want to put them all in one place.
Not all things I write in this thing will be important, some of it I must admit will be down right stupid in certain contexts, and I may post the occasional "what happened to me today" blog, because you know I get board too sometimes. If you can tolerate me and my crazy mind, I think we will enjoy the space we share here quite well.
Tell a friend to get in on the debates! I dare you...
DSlack
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