In The Apology, Part I it was an apology to a very amazing young lady named Dominique who’s here in Africa to go through a teaching program at Iris Ministries, but she’s also lending a volunteer hand in helping out on the documentary film. To say what we’ve seen has been challenging would be a gross understatement. Most of us could not imagine the amount of poverty we’ve been exposed to. Even the word, “poverty” Isn’t strong enough to describe what I’ve seen in the last month in Africa, but espically at the place they call, The Dump.
As I was a little adopted boy around the age of three or four, someone took this amazing picture of me with my new family. It's a classic black and white photo with my mom and dad dressed to the nines. My dad and I wore traditional dark suits (a matching tiny one for me) of the mid 60’s with skinny ties, sports coat, and either a dickey (fake hanker chief and a real one for my father) protruding from our sport coat pockets. My mother wore a business, yet casual, white button down coat that was form fitting and respectful in a June Cleaver kind of way. Her dress was a flowered colored pattern and even though the photo is black and white, because I have a photography background (thank you V.Bernucci HS photo teacher) I know the color was green and white, plus you can see the leaves. The photo has a sense of expectation and privilege as if we were The Cleavers living in Mayberry R.F.D (what does RFD stand for anyway?).
I know I am mixing T.V. shows here, but sense there were no people of color, unlike my mother’s dress, or my high school photo teacher, I didn’t need a photography class to realize they were white and I wasn't. But, did it matter to me? Seriously it didn't, I felt like our family was like that, and by the looks of this picture so did my parents. There is a sense of confidence coming from that photo saying, "our refrigerator will not go empty, there is an opportunity at a job (or at creating an actual business as both did)", even for two high school educated African-Americans in the mid-60’s, if you worked hard or as my generation calls it today, “Legalized Hustlin,” you had a chance at success. And that's just what they did with two seperate business Ideas that they planned to come together as one.
Shaft and Superfly with no crime attached, my Mom was Pam Grier with no gun, no mini-skirt, but a plan…a business plan that would create an opportunity that still bares fruit today; Shaft, that was pops, who had a separate business plan, it wasn’t stocks, it wasn’t bonds, it was better…it was property, as much as he could gobble up as if the properties were criminals being arrested by a leather jacket wearing detective named John Shaft, and they were awesome, trust me when I tell you this. And with my head tilted to the side with my Kojak Telly Savalis hat on I expected nothing less. I had a sense of privilege to my look as if to say, “Please, don’t mess with us, we are the epitome of a renaissance family”, our own Harlem Renaissance on the west coast, doves up, rims spinning, sun shining, “You know it.” We were in the sense of hip hop magazines today…Straight Ballin! At least that’s how I saw it, my dad and mom who are in heaven would, and probably are, not agreeing with my version of how I saw things, but hey this is my story in my own little T.V. show world. (Love you mom, love you dad)
It was awesome and I knew nothing else and actually thought this was normal and not just experienced by only 1/3 of the world, and I certainly didn’t know that it was only experienced by maybe ten to fifteen percent (being gracious) of people who looked like me in the 60’s (check your unemployment numbers). Why, a variety of reasons, labor skills, hope, aspirations, education, opportunity, hopelessness, disappointment, and absolute racism that was real, just not in my little Leave it to Beaver world, at least not for a long time. I had no idea that advertisers were not cattering to me in commercials, advertisements, and magazines, I just didn't notice it because we had all the things that were advertised. I think I actually wondered why there was a Jet or an Ebony magainze for black people. As a matter of fact, reading those periodicals clued me into what was really going on. And my major attitude in this picture said, “I expect this type of living for the rest of my life.” Yes, I’ve gained some knowledge since this picture, things have not gone exactly as my parents experienced and I am not that naïve anymore, or am I ? Maybe my expectations are the same because I still dream of having my head tilted to the side as if I was driving a Cadillac with Pam Grier next to me, today or back in the 60’s, Pam is still smokin hot, wearing a leather Shaft Jacket (I actually own one, “Brett, you didn’t take it did you?” (Brett and Kendhall, The real Pam Grier and Shaft in my life).
But no amount of confidence, leather Shaft coats, Pam Grier, or afro sheen and leopard skin mini skirts would prepare them, or me for what I saw while driving down into “The Dump.” That kid with his confidence so high in that picture would be shocked and devistated by what he saw as a grown man never having witnessed such horrible poor conditions in his entire life. And, to be passing person after person, as we went into the bowels of this place, who looked like me, the kid in that picture, was just plain gut wrenching as the car went lower and lower into pure and utter poverty that you couldn’t even production design for a movie, it would be too overwhelming.
The description your about to read is what brought out all the anger in me that was poorly directed towards Dominique which prompted the apology. But you must go on this ride to The Dump of hell to experience it with me. I honestly am grateful for the experience of seeing it, but Lord knows I wish I would not have the possibility of writing about it (but thank God I can), which would mean that this amount of poverty would not exist, but instead happy families in front of their houses taking pictures like my family did and all looking renaissance like. In other words, I wish I could write about families that looked like mine, felt like mine, and were as successful as mine, but now I would be living in Mayberry RFD, or with The Cleavers, for that is just not the reality of the majority of this planet, just our little corner of the world. The trash for all of Maputo, Mozambique goes in this area called The Dump.
It’s supposed to be a land fill, and my friend Norberto (a worker for Iris) says it’s actually improved but it’s hard to tell as the gray barbed wire wall seems to go on for a mile down the road on my right as it protrudes into infinity as far as I can see. The sot has warn on the wall so much that it seems as if taggers (spray paint vandals) had marked the wall with some type of colorless permanent spray can of primer color, or a film crew production designer had added marks to it so it looked worse, as if it needed to. As we pulled up to the entrance, and the people who live at The Dump saw our cinematographer (Andy) with the camera in his hand, they vehemently shook their fingers for us to stop filming as they hit the truck we were riding in and things felt a little bit unsafe. Like, back up and "get the H" out of unsafe.
I remained as calm as possible as Norberto, who got out of the car, knew this was going to happen because he told me that many film crews and photographers had come here and exploited them for photos as the people who lived there dug food out of The Dump and ate it. They actually saw their pictures in magazines later on that were discarded in The Dump and had blamed Iris Ministries and Norberto, who is from Maputo, for this incident. But in no time Norberto had explained to them what the real deal was behind him bringing us to view and record on film The Dump and that he had nothing to do with the other incident.
I must admit that I feared for Norberto who is a wiry, dark skin handsome twenty something young man (think Taye Diggs) who has much poise about him in the midst of what could have been an ugly situation where it felt like if it we were in Los Angeles, there would have been an altercation unless someone knew how to handle themselves…and thank God he knew how. For as I prepared myself to actually get out of the car it’s just one of many moments in my life where I went (working with Mr.Dogg Pound), am I actually here…and involved in this?
As we drove and proceeded past the gray barb wired wall we could see thirty football fields of land fill trash as we drove down, as if in Norbertos car we were in a submarine, moving our way towards the depths of the bottom of pure garbage and trash to us, an opportunity at food or commerce for the people who lived there. Here is the definition of what a landfill is supposed to be.
Web definitions for landfill
A method for final disposal of solid waste on land. The refuse is spread and compacted and a cover of soil applied so that effects on the environment (including public health and safety) are minimized. Under current regulations, landfills are required to have liners and leachate treatment systems to prevent contamination of ground water and surface waters.
Trust me when I say that the mere fact that I am telling you that we drove down into the land fill means that it wasn’t done in a proper manner. As we continued into the garbage as if Charlton Heston himself, in his Moses outfit, had parted the Red Sea as the walls of garbage being held up by God’s breath as they got taller and taller.
Finally we got to the bottom of what was two to three floors of garbage and made a right turn as cement block house after house was right next to the dump on the other side of a make shift street of garbage. When we finally pulled up to what looked like a shed type structure that had three large branches of a tree as the door entrance with no door, there was an Iris ministries sign hanging above the structure. I honestly thought, “Why would they put a storage unit down here?” But as I exited the car I heard the worship music coming out of this so called building as hundreds of voices sang familiar songs in a different language as it finally hit me that Iris ministries had set up a church right where the people live, in the dump and the ministry was actually in full swing when we arrived late for church. Mama Heidi, that’s what we all call her (see www.irismin.org), was already inside preaching, I could hear her speaking Portuguese inside the structure.
I stood for a moment as the stench woofed over my nose and my feet were frozen as if I was getting them bronzed in front of the Chinese Man theatre in Hollywood, but this clay under my feet was an imprint of garbage and not a star on the walk of fame. I held my composure for about twenty seconds as I took about five steps towards the entrance and paused. Norberto walked around to the other side of the car to put his hand on my shoulder as I stood and stared into a sea of people in the foreground and a never ending converging line into infinity of garbage that just never ended horizontally to my left or right, and vertically from my feet to the sky. Needless to say the tears were streaming down my face as child after child greeted me with a smile that I was not able to respond to right away.
Norberto comforted me by telling me that I am doing ok and that the first time he came with Mama Heidi that he immediately got sick to his stomach, “Your doing good” he told me, “It’s okay,” as he just said a prayer in my ear that seemed to calm me down. It reminded me of the scene from Glory with Denzel Washington being whipped for leaving the barracks. When the whip first hit him he was tough, but as the lashed kept coming he slowly drifted off as one tear, then another, followed by pain hit his soul and buckled his knees.
I asked The Lord to give me the best composure I could muster up. And for me that was to find a kid I could love, hold hands with, sit with, etc. And God delivered a very small boy who just came up to me smiling as I grabbed his hand. It was as if this little boy, who lived there, was guiding me through the doors of the church and saying, “It’s okay, It’s okay.” He took me to the left of the congregation as I found a space on the floor on top of some matts that some men graciously moved over to make room for me. The little boy and I sat down together as he continually smiled and played with my hand in his. Mama Heidi was handing out communion on a small plastic plate when she got to me and gave me the plate and asked me to hand it out to everyone in my area. “Good, I have something to do now.” After that was completed, and there was bread and grape juice left, the little boy started to eat the remainder of the plate and just smiled. He was so funny just smiling and smiling. I actually cracked a smile, then a laugh, and he laughed as well. And there you have the one thing that I must report on for sure. The people of Maputo, and all of Mozambique, no matter how poor, no matter if they live in the dump, or just outside the walls of the dump have an amazing resilience for anything that life brings their way. And like this little boy they are a happy people who have nothing and still praise God, still smile, and just like my families picture, have much hope in the midst of nothing, and when I say nothing, I mean nothing. It looks nothing like my families photo that I described, and yet their spirit might even surpass that photo. Norberto is proof of it, did he come from The Dump, no, but trust me when I tell you that he came from the streets of Maputo and his life by no means was easy at all against the toughest standards you could find in the USA, it couldn’t hold a candle to how he grew up. But by the Grace of God there he goes preaching, playing guitar, praising The Lord, and putting his hand on my shoulder as tear after tear come down my cheek and he tells me, “It’s okay, your doing good, your doing good.”
Is this meant to make you feel bad, no. It’s to give you a sense of how 2/3’s of the world really lives, it’s to get you to realized how God gives you the absolute privilege of being privileged, not for just living in the good old USA, but to be living anywhere besides the 2/3’s of the earth where poverty is as common as a cold. It’s to get you to be thankful, grateful, and maybe, just maybe, like I have the privilege of doing, thank you Lord, of seeing what I’ve seen in another area of the world, and maybe doing something to help just the little boy who’s grabbing your hand in a garbage dump and smiling, thank God for that little hand and that little boy who deserves an apology for even having to live like he does. But hope is in the air as wave after wave of worship songs are sung by people who live in The Dump, and I am thankful for being able to worship with them in the best church I’ve ever been to in my life, the church by The Dump. Thank God I had a chance to have church with them and communion, it was truly overwhelming and amazing all at the same time, I am privileged and honored to be in their midst on this Sunday morning of God’s pure worship.
Peace and Blessings
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Monday, June 4, 2007
The Apology, Part 1
Apologies can be a tricky manuever, even the definition is not clear. And you don't want to give one that sounds like a reversal of blame. But here are a few definitions below.
a·pol·o·gy (n)
1. a written or spoken statement expressing remorse for something
2. an inferior or bad example of something (humorous)
3. a formal defense or justification of something
Encarta® World English Dictionary
I mean is it -
1. A statement expressing remorse
2. A Bad example of something
3. A defense.
In my case, as I apologized to my friend Dominique, a worker here at Iris Ministries in Africa, after and incident that I caused, it may have been all three of the above as the reason an apology was needed. I had committed a bad example and it was not humorous but more of a form of defense for what was going on in my life at the moment while experiencing Africa in a way I’ve never had to experience any place, person, or thing in my life before. As I was making this expression of frustration, that I would later regret and have to apologize for, I felt as if I was having some out of body experience at the wrong place and the wrong time as my mouth could not stop saying what I was saying to her which was silly in the first place.
Dominique is over here in Africa giving her life’s work to helping the people of Mozambique and finding out things about life for herself, she has amazing patience and kindness in the midst of a devastating poor society. And at an airport all she asked me to do was watch a few of her, and a co-workers bags, as they wanted to get something to eat before our flight from Pemba to Maputo (see Mozambique cities). Of course, I refused and turned it into an bad opportunity to wound someone due to my lack of ability to process all that I saw earlier that day that made me sad, angry and a host of other emotions that I took out on Domonique.
She did exactly what I tell young ladies in my youth group at church to do, just walk away, and she did just that with a smile and a pure heart and only with a twinge of pain revealed to me. But deep down inside I know I wounded her as she has been busy in her own life processing what we’ve seen in the last few weeks of a long journey for her and a two month stay for me. I think it was especially painful because I represented myself as a leader of youth at my church.
However, as I explained to her, during the initial stages of my apology, God has not moved all the refrigerators and stoves in my life yet to clean out the dirt and dust from behind them; Africa has had a hand in making me realize that due to my lack of ways to express myself positively about what I’ve seen that I need to move those refrigerators and stoves and clean, or at least hire a maid (therapy).
But an apology is what was required and done. I actually apologized to Domonique in front of her friend, Catherine, who witnessed the incident as well and probably lost some amount of trust in me. But Dominique was gracious in excepting it as Catherine watched me give it in front of her. I tell young men all the time that a woman’s trust is a terrible thing to take advantage of, and once you loose that trust it’s almost impossible, humanly speaking, to make it return or at least gain it back in certain areas of their heart. It could take years and years before that area is healed. And that’s not to say they won’t forgive you, they will, but women really don’t forget anything like men do as we try and push the bad memories around in our brain so we don’t find them, you know like behind a refrigerator or stove.
So, Is the definition correct? It is according to the dictionary, but God’s definition needs his grace and mercy to really be truly apologetic and completely healed of a lot of transgressions that occur during your life. You need to really be humble in God’s kingdom to be able to apologize. And you need to have grace and mercy in God’s kingdom to be able to truly accept an apology and eventually fully reconcile, even when the situation is surrounding a set of luggage and a meal. Here are some tips to begin that process.
1. Pray about your apology and why you are apologizing, admit the true reason to yourself and maybe the person you are apologizing to.
2. Think of a way to talk to the person in a neutral setting, not in the place where the transgression took place.
3. Pray for timing
Lines from the Movie, "Walk The Line," by Academy Award winning actress, Reese Witherspoon-
“One, don’t ever propose to a woman by waking her up and telling her you had a nightmare!
Two, I am on the bus with a eight stinking men.
Three, now’s not the time and it ain’t never gone be the time, it’s not even quarter to the time.”
The point is really pray and think through who your apologizing to, when you are giving your apology, and why you are truly making an apology. I believe if you do this The Lord will bless you and give you a peace past all understanding that will express to Him your true heart and not your reactionary one. That’s what happens when emotions run high in the land of your ancestors as you see people who look like you, and all of your family, suffering the way I’ve seen them suffer in a country that I am just not familiar with even though we look alike.
Guy Cehvreu, who wrote a book, which I recommend, called “Turnings, the kingdom of God and the western world,” talks about visiting Mozambique and being so overwhelmed by his experience that on a first class fight he didn’t know how to process the attention to service by the stewardess. He ended up telling her about his experiences while in Mozambique and it effected her so much she started crying.
That’s what’s taken place within me, I was broken by what I saw in Maputo, Mozambique and couldn’t process it properly because it was all coming to fast and it was way to painful. This is what I saw as my friend Nuerberto pulled up in front of a gray barbed wire wall that was twenty feet high with garbage on the outside called “The Dump.”
Cont. in “The Apology Part II”
a·pol·o·gy (n)
1. a written or spoken statement expressing remorse for something
2. an inferior or bad example of something (humorous)
3. a formal defense or justification of something
Encarta® World English Dictionary
I mean is it -
1. A statement expressing remorse
2. A Bad example of something
3. A defense.
In my case, as I apologized to my friend Dominique, a worker here at Iris Ministries in Africa, after and incident that I caused, it may have been all three of the above as the reason an apology was needed. I had committed a bad example and it was not humorous but more of a form of defense for what was going on in my life at the moment while experiencing Africa in a way I’ve never had to experience any place, person, or thing in my life before. As I was making this expression of frustration, that I would later regret and have to apologize for, I felt as if I was having some out of body experience at the wrong place and the wrong time as my mouth could not stop saying what I was saying to her which was silly in the first place.
Dominique is over here in Africa giving her life’s work to helping the people of Mozambique and finding out things about life for herself, she has amazing patience and kindness in the midst of a devastating poor society. And at an airport all she asked me to do was watch a few of her, and a co-workers bags, as they wanted to get something to eat before our flight from Pemba to Maputo (see Mozambique cities). Of course, I refused and turned it into an bad opportunity to wound someone due to my lack of ability to process all that I saw earlier that day that made me sad, angry and a host of other emotions that I took out on Domonique.
She did exactly what I tell young ladies in my youth group at church to do, just walk away, and she did just that with a smile and a pure heart and only with a twinge of pain revealed to me. But deep down inside I know I wounded her as she has been busy in her own life processing what we’ve seen in the last few weeks of a long journey for her and a two month stay for me. I think it was especially painful because I represented myself as a leader of youth at my church.
However, as I explained to her, during the initial stages of my apology, God has not moved all the refrigerators and stoves in my life yet to clean out the dirt and dust from behind them; Africa has had a hand in making me realize that due to my lack of ways to express myself positively about what I’ve seen that I need to move those refrigerators and stoves and clean, or at least hire a maid (therapy).
But an apology is what was required and done. I actually apologized to Domonique in front of her friend, Catherine, who witnessed the incident as well and probably lost some amount of trust in me. But Dominique was gracious in excepting it as Catherine watched me give it in front of her. I tell young men all the time that a woman’s trust is a terrible thing to take advantage of, and once you loose that trust it’s almost impossible, humanly speaking, to make it return or at least gain it back in certain areas of their heart. It could take years and years before that area is healed. And that’s not to say they won’t forgive you, they will, but women really don’t forget anything like men do as we try and push the bad memories around in our brain so we don’t find them, you know like behind a refrigerator or stove.
So, Is the definition correct? It is according to the dictionary, but God’s definition needs his grace and mercy to really be truly apologetic and completely healed of a lot of transgressions that occur during your life. You need to really be humble in God’s kingdom to be able to apologize. And you need to have grace and mercy in God’s kingdom to be able to truly accept an apology and eventually fully reconcile, even when the situation is surrounding a set of luggage and a meal. Here are some tips to begin that process.
1. Pray about your apology and why you are apologizing, admit the true reason to yourself and maybe the person you are apologizing to.
2. Think of a way to talk to the person in a neutral setting, not in the place where the transgression took place.
3. Pray for timing
Lines from the Movie, "Walk The Line," by Academy Award winning actress, Reese Witherspoon-
“One, don’t ever propose to a woman by waking her up and telling her you had a nightmare!
Two, I am on the bus with a eight stinking men.
Three, now’s not the time and it ain’t never gone be the time, it’s not even quarter to the time.”
The point is really pray and think through who your apologizing to, when you are giving your apology, and why you are truly making an apology. I believe if you do this The Lord will bless you and give you a peace past all understanding that will express to Him your true heart and not your reactionary one. That’s what happens when emotions run high in the land of your ancestors as you see people who look like you, and all of your family, suffering the way I’ve seen them suffer in a country that I am just not familiar with even though we look alike.
Guy Cehvreu, who wrote a book, which I recommend, called “Turnings, the kingdom of God and the western world,” talks about visiting Mozambique and being so overwhelmed by his experience that on a first class fight he didn’t know how to process the attention to service by the stewardess. He ended up telling her about his experiences while in Mozambique and it effected her so much she started crying.
That’s what’s taken place within me, I was broken by what I saw in Maputo, Mozambique and couldn’t process it properly because it was all coming to fast and it was way to painful. This is what I saw as my friend Nuerberto pulled up in front of a gray barbed wire wall that was twenty feet high with garbage on the outside called “The Dump.”
Cont. in “The Apology Part II”
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
African Basketball
What African Basketball? The main sport of course is football (soccer). I didn't appreciate the true meaning of the word football until I saw a 10 year old kid equivalent to the skill level of my middle son Malcolm in basketball.
Now Malcolm is my awesome middle son (all my sons have many gifts. ☺) who's skill level of basketball is compatible to that of a possible blue chipper right now. He does amazing things with the ball that I can't do now, nor was I doing at 11 years old and I am a good player even at my age. He's already had many opportunities to play at a high level with fourteen and fifteen year old boys due to his skill, understanding of the game, and his height at 5'7 1/2 " with a pediatrics prediction of growing to be between 6' 5" or 6' 8"; he's tutored a few times a week by two ex-nba players who say he might have a shot, an opportunity, God Willing, to advance. Of course, Malcolm's opportunity, like the gifts of my other sons is high because they live in America and can be easily seen by many people who can offer many exchanges for their talents.
But watching my new friend, who is about the same height and age as Malcolm, dribble the ball with his feet like Malcolm dribbles the ball with his hands was amazing. He was playing in this exterior overhang that looks like it’s an outdoor banquet hall for parties. For now it’s a soccer field that wasn't very big and no room to really maneuver around and negotiate corners with four players on each side (8 kids). And yet this long string bean was taking the ball and literally turning right, turning left, backing up into the alternate goal to dribble through his opponents again and again until it looked like he was toying with them...and he was!
The interesting thing was that right outside this banquet hall was a basketball court in dirt that was perfect regulation height to shoot on...know one was near it. Gifts are a funny thing because you can abuse a gift and loose an opportunity as many of my high school track and field teammates did and not receive full ride scholarships like I did, or use it for good not only for yourself but for other people by traveling around and giving clinics and speaking like in Chariots of Fire one of my favorite movies. I pictured all of my sons coming to Mozambique to Iris Ministries to utilize their individual gifts not only the physical ones but the spiritual ones as well.
Morgan, who was just tested as reading at 10th and 11th grade levels could read English to the smaller children his age and below in their daily classrooms, Marvin would probably be in the orphanage taking care of small babies as he has an amazing heart for that; he would also be joining the musicians as he is learning to read music and play the drums, Malcolm...well, that empty basketball court would be turned into his own dirt stadium for he cannot help but to play basketball everywhere he goes, his Mozambique clinic would be packed with kids and he would also learn the language as he loves to mock voices of people; they would laugh at him so much and he would smile in that smile that he has that would light up a village while he spun the ball on his finger in the sunset of the African light with red clay between his toes while shooting a jump shot, or a drop step move (left and right), or a hook shot, or a lay-up (left and right), or a jab step to clear his opponent (cycling through the pros call it), and then just having rice and beans with all his new African friends after he was through. And, he would spend the rest of his time drawing his beautiful interpretive drawings as he begins to express himself just as much as he would with the basketball while also writing down in his diary the daily activities because he has such a gift for writing as well.
I pray this Michael Jordan of football in Mozambique will someday have the same opportunities to use his gifts just like my sons do. Please pray that Mozambique's government does the right thing for a people that are happy no matter what their circumstances. And as much as I am touched, broken, crying, not eating because I don't want to eat in front of kids who have nothing, trust me, they are happy and are better off then they've ever been in this orphanage that cares. But outside these walls, as one boy told me after I gave him money for books.
"I didn't by the books yesterday because the banditos would have beat up a little boy like me."
But, I truly believe in all causes that God starts and sees through for at least they are not at war, at least they have some living standards that they work hard for to maintain, at least no matter what they are happy. :)
Pray for Mozambique
Pray for the red clay between my toes ☺
Pray for Iris Ministries
Pray for Africa
Pray for a united Africa
Pray that it’s not a pipe dream
Pray for faith (yours and mine)
Pray for God’s mercy and grace which he freely gives
Pray for my sons (and their mom)
Pray for your sons and daughters
Pray for my football friend (The Michael Jordan of Mozambique)
Now Malcolm is my awesome middle son (all my sons have many gifts. ☺) who's skill level of basketball is compatible to that of a possible blue chipper right now. He does amazing things with the ball that I can't do now, nor was I doing at 11 years old and I am a good player even at my age. He's already had many opportunities to play at a high level with fourteen and fifteen year old boys due to his skill, understanding of the game, and his height at 5'7 1/2 " with a pediatrics prediction of growing to be between 6' 5" or 6' 8"; he's tutored a few times a week by two ex-nba players who say he might have a shot, an opportunity, God Willing, to advance. Of course, Malcolm's opportunity, like the gifts of my other sons is high because they live in America and can be easily seen by many people who can offer many exchanges for their talents.
But watching my new friend, who is about the same height and age as Malcolm, dribble the ball with his feet like Malcolm dribbles the ball with his hands was amazing. He was playing in this exterior overhang that looks like it’s an outdoor banquet hall for parties. For now it’s a soccer field that wasn't very big and no room to really maneuver around and negotiate corners with four players on each side (8 kids). And yet this long string bean was taking the ball and literally turning right, turning left, backing up into the alternate goal to dribble through his opponents again and again until it looked like he was toying with them...and he was!
The interesting thing was that right outside this banquet hall was a basketball court in dirt that was perfect regulation height to shoot on...know one was near it. Gifts are a funny thing because you can abuse a gift and loose an opportunity as many of my high school track and field teammates did and not receive full ride scholarships like I did, or use it for good not only for yourself but for other people by traveling around and giving clinics and speaking like in Chariots of Fire one of my favorite movies. I pictured all of my sons coming to Mozambique to Iris Ministries to utilize their individual gifts not only the physical ones but the spiritual ones as well.
Morgan, who was just tested as reading at 10th and 11th grade levels could read English to the smaller children his age and below in their daily classrooms, Marvin would probably be in the orphanage taking care of small babies as he has an amazing heart for that; he would also be joining the musicians as he is learning to read music and play the drums, Malcolm...well, that empty basketball court would be turned into his own dirt stadium for he cannot help but to play basketball everywhere he goes, his Mozambique clinic would be packed with kids and he would also learn the language as he loves to mock voices of people; they would laugh at him so much and he would smile in that smile that he has that would light up a village while he spun the ball on his finger in the sunset of the African light with red clay between his toes while shooting a jump shot, or a drop step move (left and right), or a hook shot, or a lay-up (left and right), or a jab step to clear his opponent (cycling through the pros call it), and then just having rice and beans with all his new African friends after he was through. And, he would spend the rest of his time drawing his beautiful interpretive drawings as he begins to express himself just as much as he would with the basketball while also writing down in his diary the daily activities because he has such a gift for writing as well.
I pray this Michael Jordan of football in Mozambique will someday have the same opportunities to use his gifts just like my sons do. Please pray that Mozambique's government does the right thing for a people that are happy no matter what their circumstances. And as much as I am touched, broken, crying, not eating because I don't want to eat in front of kids who have nothing, trust me, they are happy and are better off then they've ever been in this orphanage that cares. But outside these walls, as one boy told me after I gave him money for books.
"I didn't by the books yesterday because the banditos would have beat up a little boy like me."
But, I truly believe in all causes that God starts and sees through for at least they are not at war, at least they have some living standards that they work hard for to maintain, at least no matter what they are happy. :)
Pray for Mozambique
Pray for the red clay between my toes ☺
Pray for Iris Ministries
Pray for Africa
Pray for a united Africa
Pray that it’s not a pipe dream
Pray for faith (yours and mine)
Pray for God’s mercy and grace which he freely gives
Pray for my sons (and their mom)
Pray for your sons and daughters
Pray for my football friend (The Michael Jordan of Mozambique)
Monday, May 28, 2007
Imagine
Imagine
It’s a Kirk Franklin Song (famous contemporary hip/hop/gospel/rap star in the christian music world and Pop world as well).
“Imagine me being free trusting you totally”
“I admit it was hard to see being in love with someone like me, being strong and not letting people break me down”,
“you wont get the joy this time of doing that.”
Just a few lyrics from an amazing song that I listen to over, and over, and over. Imagine it. I imagine this country of Mozambique, and all of Africa, without poverty. No, imagine this country without colonization, then without revolution for change to get their own country back, then with being the richest mineral enhanced country in the world:
1. Diamonds
2. Oil
3. Sugar
4. Tin(a small piece of tin is in every cell phone, why does Africa have to have most of it, the next Diamond issue to tear
apart this continent)
5. It’s people (my ancestors) and their expressive nature of complete and utter happiness in the midst of poverty…no matter
what is a major export (ask the United States)
But as I watched a sunset fall in the background behind the Indian Ocean in one of the biggest bays in the World, while mesmerized by kids playing in the foreground in red clay dirt that that you could pick up and make a clay model with I thought of me as a little boy who’s ancestors wouldn’t be exported across the middle passage and my feet hitting that red
clay dirt and oozing between my toes as I run after my village mates. That’s what I dreamed about as I gazed at “Orange Boy” playing.
“Orange Boy” is a kid with an Orange Shirt whom has connected with me and me with him. A worker here at Iris Ministries told me he wasn’t, well…”playing with a full deck” meaning he thought he was a little off in the head. I thought, because this is just how I think in an emotional state during my first visit to my ancestral continent, “Who is !@#$playing with a full deck in this #$%% continent or country.” Is it the crooked local politicians, the crooked local government, the desperate crooked crooks who would rob me out of desperation due to the crooked local government and local politicians? Anyway, back to “Orange Boy.” He’s not off, he needed a hug, he needed to lean on someone, he wants to learn how to work a computer. I swear, I could just open this Stupid Apple (Mac) up and there he would appear. He did not write in yesterdays blog Because he just doesn’t say much. His shirt is dirty but it’s so orange and red (from the Dirt) that it actually looks like it’s a part of the shirt. I am sure he attaches to a lot of people who might show him interest upon every visitation by some American team of missionaries coming to help, and thank God he does, and thank God they come. However, I am not just an average missionary. I am black, a standout among them( meaning that a lot of US aren’t on these teams A FACT). And I am not on a missionary assignment, but I really am, I am on a documentary crew. As a matter of fact, I am producing this documentary. It’s more than a mission for me, it’s a return to a certain part of my ancestry for the first time, which would be emotional
for anyone, a shocking investigation and self-examination of colonialism, revolution, forgiveness, redemption, and
acceptance that is just so fresh in this country that it’s frightening. Take Mozambique’s time line. Four hundred years of Portuguese…then
1975-revolution
1991-Civil War
1994-End of civil War
1995-Forgiveness for the Civil War (villages that were at war saying they did atrocities to each other, talking, healing, loving
each other)
Today-the fastest turn around of any country in Africa after a civil war.
Meaning, they could have gone right back to civil war after the cease fire if it weren’t for the forgiveness. Is that a direct cause of God in this country and missionaries coming. I think so and so does the gentleman I spoke to in Geneva who was part of that reconciliation (won’t mention his name) that he wants no credit for being a part of. And does Orange Boy care? It’s amazing how happy “Orange Boy” is. Except for one problem, Imagine him being beat right in front of you because you knew that his father was jealous of his attention to some black American coming in with his damn computer. Imagine me coming back to my room in tears wishing I could have did or said something but knowing that would have made it worse. That has nothing to do with any government local or otherwise. And what can I do about it? I don’t know, be careful to not interfere in his upbringing, meet him at different times when his fathers at work, I don’t know really. I will just have to use my imagination and pray. Another day in Pemba, Another Orange Sunset, another time of watching Orange Boy play in the red clay of an amazing country, and another lesson for me as I discover Mozambique and Africa in my ancestral land of rich red clay dirt between my toes as I walk around not as a kid, but as a grown man watching Orange Boy.
It’s a Kirk Franklin Song (famous contemporary hip/hop/gospel/rap star in the christian music world and Pop world as well).
“Imagine me being free trusting you totally”
“I admit it was hard to see being in love with someone like me, being strong and not letting people break me down”,
“you wont get the joy this time of doing that.”
Just a few lyrics from an amazing song that I listen to over, and over, and over. Imagine it. I imagine this country of Mozambique, and all of Africa, without poverty. No, imagine this country without colonization, then without revolution for change to get their own country back, then with being the richest mineral enhanced country in the world:
1. Diamonds
2. Oil
3. Sugar
4. Tin(a small piece of tin is in every cell phone, why does Africa have to have most of it, the next Diamond issue to tear
apart this continent)
5. It’s people (my ancestors) and their expressive nature of complete and utter happiness in the midst of poverty…no matter
what is a major export (ask the United States)
But as I watched a sunset fall in the background behind the Indian Ocean in one of the biggest bays in the World, while mesmerized by kids playing in the foreground in red clay dirt that that you could pick up and make a clay model with I thought of me as a little boy who’s ancestors wouldn’t be exported across the middle passage and my feet hitting that red
clay dirt and oozing between my toes as I run after my village mates. That’s what I dreamed about as I gazed at “Orange Boy” playing.
“Orange Boy” is a kid with an Orange Shirt whom has connected with me and me with him. A worker here at Iris Ministries told me he wasn’t, well…”playing with a full deck” meaning he thought he was a little off in the head. I thought, because this is just how I think in an emotional state during my first visit to my ancestral continent, “Who is !@#$playing with a full deck in this #$%% continent or country.” Is it the crooked local politicians, the crooked local government, the desperate crooked crooks who would rob me out of desperation due to the crooked local government and local politicians? Anyway, back to “Orange Boy.” He’s not off, he needed a hug, he needed to lean on someone, he wants to learn how to work a computer. I swear, I could just open this Stupid Apple (Mac) up and there he would appear. He did not write in yesterdays blog Because he just doesn’t say much. His shirt is dirty but it’s so orange and red (from the Dirt) that it actually looks like it’s a part of the shirt. I am sure he attaches to a lot of people who might show him interest upon every visitation by some American team of missionaries coming to help, and thank God he does, and thank God they come. However, I am not just an average missionary. I am black, a standout among them( meaning that a lot of US aren’t on these teams A FACT). And I am not on a missionary assignment, but I really am, I am on a documentary crew. As a matter of fact, I am producing this documentary. It’s more than a mission for me, it’s a return to a certain part of my ancestry for the first time, which would be emotional
for anyone, a shocking investigation and self-examination of colonialism, revolution, forgiveness, redemption, and
acceptance that is just so fresh in this country that it’s frightening. Take Mozambique’s time line. Four hundred years of Portuguese…then
1975-revolution
1991-Civil War
1994-End of civil War
1995-Forgiveness for the Civil War (villages that were at war saying they did atrocities to each other, talking, healing, loving
each other)
Today-the fastest turn around of any country in Africa after a civil war.
Meaning, they could have gone right back to civil war after the cease fire if it weren’t for the forgiveness. Is that a direct cause of God in this country and missionaries coming. I think so and so does the gentleman I spoke to in Geneva who was part of that reconciliation (won’t mention his name) that he wants no credit for being a part of. And does Orange Boy care? It’s amazing how happy “Orange Boy” is. Except for one problem, Imagine him being beat right in front of you because you knew that his father was jealous of his attention to some black American coming in with his damn computer. Imagine me coming back to my room in tears wishing I could have did or said something but knowing that would have made it worse. That has nothing to do with any government local or otherwise. And what can I do about it? I don’t know, be careful to not interfere in his upbringing, meet him at different times when his fathers at work, I don’t know really. I will just have to use my imagination and pray. Another day in Pemba, Another Orange Sunset, another time of watching Orange Boy play in the red clay of an amazing country, and another lesson for me as I discover Mozambique and Africa in my ancestral land of rich red clay dirt between my toes as I walk around not as a kid, but as a grown man watching Orange Boy.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
My Friends from Mozambique
This is a blog of my friends from Mozambique, I will try and put a picture on this blog either now or in the future. I was at a wedding today, they were Neto and aacha , it was a beautiful wedding and my friends were nice.
Vlademer John-
Hi to American People
Osane-
I want to go to America
Rumero-
I want to go to America just like Osane above
John-
I don't want to go to America, I want to go to Canada. Yeah Canada.
Eto-
Hi people in America, i am in Pemba, Mozambique
Daniel-
Hi people in America, how are you doing.
Will-
I want to send my heart and spirit for Jesus for people in America from Pemba, Mozambique
Blue-
I want to travel to America.
So, these are all my friends in Pemba, Mozambique. Please post hello's back to them so I can show them.
Vlademer John-
Hi to American People
Osane-
I want to go to America
Rumero-
I want to go to America just like Osane above
John-
I don't want to go to America, I want to go to Canada. Yeah Canada.
Eto-
Hi people in America, i am in Pemba, Mozambique
Daniel-
Hi people in America, how are you doing.
Will-
I want to send my heart and spirit for Jesus for people in America from Pemba, Mozambique
Blue-
I want to travel to America.
So, these are all my friends in Pemba, Mozambique. Please post hello's back to them so I can show them.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Africa:411
How many times do you pick up a phone and get local or state information. You don’t even give it a second thought? It goes like this.
Int: Your House Anywhere USA
A young man, 30 something, let’s call him Billy, walks briskly to the phone intending on calling the 411 operator to search for his best friend he hasn’t seen in over 40 years, but he thinks he knows the city he’s living in.
Billy dials 411 to get some information
411 Operator
Hello, state and city please
Billy
Yes, Muskogee, Oklahoma, Jed Green
411 Operator
Residence or Business?
Billy
Residence mam
411 Operator
Hold for the number please.
Billy
Thank you operator…I haven’t spoken to him in ov…
The operator punches the button to the automated reply as if she doesn’t care what reason he has to call his best friend
That scenario takes place all day and night in the USA not in Africa. As my friend Kit Karson is frustrated for not being able to do the above simple thing while in Africa. While in South Africa we are nine hours by car and forty-five minutes by plane from Mozambique, our final destination for the documentary. He’s absolutely fed up for not being able to really get an answer about something that seems so simple, information, the 411 (see mary j bilges first album…yeah, yeah)
What he’s not taking into account is that it’s not the United Sates of Africa; it’s Mozambique…a separate country all together with their own way of doing things. And as those of you know who have visited Africa and had any kind of interaction you must adapt to Africa time. Now is that code for, “There !@#$ is slow.” It could be depending on your attitude, your tone, whether they really understand you or not (cause they speak 11 languages, while we barley speak the one were supposed to), and are you just plain impatient or patient? If your not patient, you gonna have a hard time here and end up frustrated. Is it a reflection on my friend Kit, um, um, not at all because I understand his dilemma. Is it a bad reflection on Africa? No. Why?
Here’s why, they didn’t import people, then send them to the south to work, build up economic wealth which allowed the United States to form a constitution signed by a plethora of dignitaries and future presidents, then take that economic power built on the backs of these stolen people to allow more states to join the union. Africa didn’t then in divisive turmoil (civil war) over those slaves, not wanting that economic force to loose it’s grip and not allow other states to join the union free it’s slaves to be free in a society with forty acres and a mule (never got it), then turn around and wait until the 60’s to really set them legally free with laws and amendments like Brown vs. Board of Education, The Voting Rights law, and boycott after boycott, and blood spill after blood spill. No, Africa didn’t do that.
Africa was only colonized by every nation except us (because we built our colony with them), separated and not allowed to grow and build into one union under one content, then revolutionized country by country, land taken from non original owners who say there African, or Afrikaan, or forced others to learn a language because of colonization. All of these countries rich in minerals, rich in life, and rich in culture, changed and not given a chance to grow, changed, not allowed to learn, changed, not allowed to learn from each other to form a union (nor a 411 info line). So, what does this that have to do with 411. The information my friend was trying to get, or couldn’t get, was a bi-product of the degradation of this content on it’s simplest form. And maybe, just maybe they had the info to give him…and maybe they didn’t want to. The last time info was given, a country was taken, lives were changed, and my ancestors became African-Americans hitting the shores of Virginia, hitting the shores of New York on Wall Street, stand against the wall and be sold to people named Jefferson and Washington (yeah, look it up) Wall street, really, think about it. A wall, A street, slaves for sale…economic power symbol. Come on !!!.
I know how could a simple phone call evoke so much, and am I right in my writing, am I correct in my evaluation of an entire content and another country? I don’t know, you look it up I did my research, I have my footnotes, get your own and disprove it. Maybe you should dial 411. I am out to Mozambique, remember to be patient in Africa. ☺
Peace and Chicken Grease (shout out to KC in Little Rock) This ain’t no Revolution, it’s a Revelation, read the book in the Book of all Books.
Int: Your House Anywhere USA
A young man, 30 something, let’s call him Billy, walks briskly to the phone intending on calling the 411 operator to search for his best friend he hasn’t seen in over 40 years, but he thinks he knows the city he’s living in.
Billy dials 411 to get some information
411 Operator
Hello, state and city please
Billy
Yes, Muskogee, Oklahoma, Jed Green
411 Operator
Residence or Business?
Billy
Residence mam
411 Operator
Hold for the number please.
Billy
Thank you operator…I haven’t spoken to him in ov…
The operator punches the button to the automated reply as if she doesn’t care what reason he has to call his best friend
That scenario takes place all day and night in the USA not in Africa. As my friend Kit Karson is frustrated for not being able to do the above simple thing while in Africa. While in South Africa we are nine hours by car and forty-five minutes by plane from Mozambique, our final destination for the documentary. He’s absolutely fed up for not being able to really get an answer about something that seems so simple, information, the 411 (see mary j bilges first album…yeah, yeah)
What he’s not taking into account is that it’s not the United Sates of Africa; it’s Mozambique…a separate country all together with their own way of doing things. And as those of you know who have visited Africa and had any kind of interaction you must adapt to Africa time. Now is that code for, “There !@#$ is slow.” It could be depending on your attitude, your tone, whether they really understand you or not (cause they speak 11 languages, while we barley speak the one were supposed to), and are you just plain impatient or patient? If your not patient, you gonna have a hard time here and end up frustrated. Is it a reflection on my friend Kit, um, um, not at all because I understand his dilemma. Is it a bad reflection on Africa? No. Why?
Here’s why, they didn’t import people, then send them to the south to work, build up economic wealth which allowed the United States to form a constitution signed by a plethora of dignitaries and future presidents, then take that economic power built on the backs of these stolen people to allow more states to join the union. Africa didn’t then in divisive turmoil (civil war) over those slaves, not wanting that economic force to loose it’s grip and not allow other states to join the union free it’s slaves to be free in a society with forty acres and a mule (never got it), then turn around and wait until the 60’s to really set them legally free with laws and amendments like Brown vs. Board of Education, The Voting Rights law, and boycott after boycott, and blood spill after blood spill. No, Africa didn’t do that.
Africa was only colonized by every nation except us (because we built our colony with them), separated and not allowed to grow and build into one union under one content, then revolutionized country by country, land taken from non original owners who say there African, or Afrikaan, or forced others to learn a language because of colonization. All of these countries rich in minerals, rich in life, and rich in culture, changed and not given a chance to grow, changed, not allowed to learn, changed, not allowed to learn from each other to form a union (nor a 411 info line). So, what does this that have to do with 411. The information my friend was trying to get, or couldn’t get, was a bi-product of the degradation of this content on it’s simplest form. And maybe, just maybe they had the info to give him…and maybe they didn’t want to. The last time info was given, a country was taken, lives were changed, and my ancestors became African-Americans hitting the shores of Virginia, hitting the shores of New York on Wall Street, stand against the wall and be sold to people named Jefferson and Washington (yeah, look it up) Wall street, really, think about it. A wall, A street, slaves for sale…economic power symbol. Come on !!!.
I know how could a simple phone call evoke so much, and am I right in my writing, am I correct in my evaluation of an entire content and another country? I don’t know, you look it up I did my research, I have my footnotes, get your own and disprove it. Maybe you should dial 411. I am out to Mozambique, remember to be patient in Africa. ☺
Peace and Chicken Grease (shout out to KC in Little Rock) This ain’t no Revolution, it’s a Revelation, read the book in the Book of all Books.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Africa, Jazz, and a Parka
Tonight was a treat as my friend Kgomotso (Go Mot So ) took myself and my good friend, Kit Karson, Cannes Film Festival best picture award winner for a movie called Paris, Texas ( "I had to brag"), out to what was going to be Soweto but the traffic would have been to much for us to take that journey.
Also, we needed to print some invitation papers to cross the border tomorrow, or Friday, into Mozambique at Kgomotso's office. She is a producer as well and has an amazing office in an industrial area that is perfect for a production company. Wouldn't you know it, right down the street, after we finished our work, 15 min of downloading, printing, and copying, laughing, and making calls at 11:30 P.M., was a jazz supper club that had an amazing straight ahead jazz group that was like being in The Blue Note Cafe in New York or The Baked Potato in Los Angeles. But here's the real deal hollyfiend, and don't doubt me when I say this will literally knock you out but people let me be the first to tell you that...
"IT'S FREEZING IN AFRICA"
Al Gore must be right about this global warming situation. Besides, how many times have we heard comedian, after comedian makes jokes about the heat in Africa.
"Man, it's Africa Hot,"
"You don't need a frying pan in Africa, Just throw it on the side of the road and watch it cook !"
I don't get it, I come from Switzerland and wore some shorts, a t-shirt, and my sandles. I get off the plane in Africa and I feel like I am in Chicago for the first time when I was shooting an R.Kelly Video. I mean the hawk was not only out but it was like bombing on my uncovered head with temperatures in the 30's and 40's taking no prisoners who foolishly didn't bring a hat. The documenatary I am working on in Mozambique told us to prepare for the winter but it would be close to 85 or 90 degrees. Well, I am here to tell you that if your coming to "The Mother Land" with some shorts...you better head to REI and pick up some thermals and a blanket.
However, the music, culture, and artistry make up for the cold in South Africa. And you have to say South Africa because you can't just say Africa. Considering their are different countries on the content of Africa you must be specific. Kit kept talking on the phone to his friends back in the states and was saying, " Uh, that's right, Yeah, I am in Africa." Kgomotso kept correcting him under her breath as if he was a gringo in Mexico trying to say "Por favor" in spanish (did I spell that right, don't comment on it if I didn't).
Some of you asked for pictures, and it's not like I am not taking them, and I will start sending some but I tell you it's hard to look out of your window and see any differnce between this and say, Chatsworth, California ( decelent valley town in southern california ). I know it sounds crazy, but if it wasn't for the compound like houses (large adobe fences surrounding the house), the weird bird sounds( ka ka, ka ka, ka, ka), no it's not like I am Imus saying I am in jungle watching the people run around and chase zebra's, but their are just weird bird sounds that Kgomotso even said she doesn't know what they are? And when someone who was born here says, "I don;t know what that is," you should shut your window and duck down. But seriously, it looks like a mountain, It looks like a tree, It looks like a street? Maybe I watched Lion King one to many times. But know this, bring your parka know matter what they tell you the weather will be, and get that Al Gore book. Maybe he has a section on Africa...Burrr.
Also, we needed to print some invitation papers to cross the border tomorrow, or Friday, into Mozambique at Kgomotso's office. She is a producer as well and has an amazing office in an industrial area that is perfect for a production company. Wouldn't you know it, right down the street, after we finished our work, 15 min of downloading, printing, and copying, laughing, and making calls at 11:30 P.M., was a jazz supper club that had an amazing straight ahead jazz group that was like being in The Blue Note Cafe in New York or The Baked Potato in Los Angeles. But here's the real deal hollyfiend, and don't doubt me when I say this will literally knock you out but people let me be the first to tell you that...
"IT'S FREEZING IN AFRICA"
Al Gore must be right about this global warming situation. Besides, how many times have we heard comedian, after comedian makes jokes about the heat in Africa.
"Man, it's Africa Hot,"
"You don't need a frying pan in Africa, Just throw it on the side of the road and watch it cook !"
I don't get it, I come from Switzerland and wore some shorts, a t-shirt, and my sandles. I get off the plane in Africa and I feel like I am in Chicago for the first time when I was shooting an R.Kelly Video. I mean the hawk was not only out but it was like bombing on my uncovered head with temperatures in the 30's and 40's taking no prisoners who foolishly didn't bring a hat. The documenatary I am working on in Mozambique told us to prepare for the winter but it would be close to 85 or 90 degrees. Well, I am here to tell you that if your coming to "The Mother Land" with some shorts...you better head to REI and pick up some thermals and a blanket.
However, the music, culture, and artistry make up for the cold in South Africa. And you have to say South Africa because you can't just say Africa. Considering their are different countries on the content of Africa you must be specific. Kit kept talking on the phone to his friends back in the states and was saying, " Uh, that's right, Yeah, I am in Africa." Kgomotso kept correcting him under her breath as if he was a gringo in Mexico trying to say "Por favor" in spanish (did I spell that right, don't comment on it if I didn't).
Some of you asked for pictures, and it's not like I am not taking them, and I will start sending some but I tell you it's hard to look out of your window and see any differnce between this and say, Chatsworth, California ( decelent valley town in southern california ). I know it sounds crazy, but if it wasn't for the compound like houses (large adobe fences surrounding the house), the weird bird sounds( ka ka, ka ka, ka, ka), no it's not like I am Imus saying I am in jungle watching the people run around and chase zebra's, but their are just weird bird sounds that Kgomotso even said she doesn't know what they are? And when someone who was born here says, "I don;t know what that is," you should shut your window and duck down. But seriously, it looks like a mountain, It looks like a tree, It looks like a street? Maybe I watched Lion King one to many times. But know this, bring your parka know matter what they tell you the weather will be, and get that Al Gore book. Maybe he has a section on Africa...Burrr.
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