Poem in Jamaican Creole

The Song of the Yaad Man

Jus a while ago mi neva know Jamaica,
but now unu know sey a desso mi wan fi de ya
mi look pon di gullyside an di garrison,
mi reason wit di country man an di kingstonian
mi no blind to di sufferation
across the nation,
no job no deh, politician say wha dem say,
some fraid fi lef dem yaad, some say time get to hard
but
fi mi people dem, we live like one
Inna one likle district in St. Ann,
500 a
FI MI…
bredas and sistas, mada and fadas.

Dem show mi how fi dig hole fi mi yam,
So likle more wi can nyaam.
Broaden mi ches wit dasheen,
“Yu Juk one two mango from di tree?”
Mi raasklaat…How yu mean?!
mi naa to tell no lie, mi buk up inna di bad mind dem,
but wi no wan none a dem, wit fi dem gun, knife and ‘lass
some jankro dem no born, dem hatch

but who mek fi dem ya time inna Jamaica?
Gunmen? Bruce? JPS? Mi raaaa…..
Sum people dem love fi point finga and blame,
But wi mus look inside a each one a wi,
Raise up Jamaica and take way di shame,

Mi dun know but mi learn some ting
And mi no response fi dem people deh,
A fi mi life mi can lead, make dem stay
Empower di yute dem, gi education to who lack,
One love, live good, rispek

Mi kom from foreign but mi is a yaad man now, mi no business if yu no overstand,
Jus don’t bother tell me:
“Jamaica? That is NOT!”
me no business ka,
rock stone a riva bottom dun know how sun hot

World Cup

World Cup fever has hit! And we've got an enticing matchup with USA vs. Ghana in the first round of the knockout stage. I've always enjoyed watching the World Cup but it took on new meaning to me when I was living in Ghana.

Worked in Ghana in '05 and was there when they qualified for the first time. One of my good friends was a former player heavily involved with football development in the country. "Coach Malik" had played for Ghana in the Olympics a few times and was the only well-traveled Ghanaian I had met.

Everywhere we went young men greeted him as "Coach Malik" and he asked about their latest performance and talked random football. It seemed to happen EVERYWHERE. We went to several games around Kumasi and we always got VIP seating. VIP seating meant you got to sit and get shade, completely invaluable in the hot equatorial sun.

I was doing research for an ethnomusicology program and was out in rural Ashanti Region attending a religious ceremony. This was some deep bush. Mud-hut, water on head from local river, witch doctor kind of bush. This place had electricity for about 2 hours every evening and even this wasn't consistent.

I'll never forget watching this religious ceremony. People were so serious about it and it had your typical serene religious ceremony vibe. All of the sudden some barefoot kid runs into the area screaming a dialect I didn't understand. Suddenly everyone puts down their drums, the head stops chanting and people jump up and down in jubilation.

I cheered hard for Ghana in the last cup as a result. Coach Malik even gave me a call and said the largest manufacturing plants and mines would shut down for the days of Ghana's games to ensure everyone had electricity to watch or listen to the games. Absolutely psyched they got through.

This year...the matchup I didnt want! I'm so happy for US football and bummed that Ghana doesn't have Essien. I'll have to wave my US flag but I wouldn't be disappointed if Ghana gets through.

Parade Market: Kingston

As we say in Jamaica; a real thing.

Laos

Luang Namtha, Laos: January 2007

“Just make sure you don’t get hurt, the nearest adequate medical facilities are in Thailand and an airlift is quite expensive”. Tom's advice seemed almost parental.
I smiled wryly.
“I’m not joking, most of the medical facilities up here barely have soap.”
I knew Tom wasn’t kidding. He had provided nothing but good advice to me here. Tom was a native Laotian but spent most of his life in the US. I had met him by chance in the small city of Luang Namtha. He was spending his annual vacation with his family in the capital Vientiane. He explained that he often needed a vacation within a vacation; the life in Vientiane was vastly different than the countryside he grew in. He told me he enjoyed the simplicity of northern countryside as well as the reminder of how far Laos needed to come. From Vientiane Laos seemed to be growing like many other developing nations. But in the north the needs of Laos were greatly defined: unpaved roads unusable during the rainy season, children in rice fields rather than schools and live mine remnants of the Vietnamese war.

Tom worked in education and much of his time outside the US involved improving the Laos school system. Over the last few days he had narrated Laos at great lengths, from the birth of civilization on the Mekong to the current administrations grapples with corruption and incompetence. I was happy to meet him early in my trip as I’d underestimated the knowledge of English in Laos. I had entered Laos through southwest China and had found enough Mandarin speaking immigrants and tradesmen to reach easily. However, I did not look forward to education on Laos through the Mandarin language and Tom seemed the perfect guide.
I had rented a motorbike and intended to do a three day swing through the northeast corner of Laos. I had heard of a few noteworthy cities and decided to take my time reaching them, enjoying the freedom of a motorbike. While Tom and I explored the vicinity of Luang Namtha, Tom taught me a few key phrases in Laos but acted mostly as a lingual crutch.

I set off on my bike early in the morning. The road was decently paved and nearly deserted. In my first two hours I passed exactly one truck, it’s bed overloaded with people. The road carved through lush mountains, peaks rising at a sharp angle. Scattered settlements sat along the road, most of them having extended agricultural fields adjacent to them. About a half hour from reaching the nearest town I spotted a man and a women fussing with a motorcycle. Although I have very minimal knowledge of motorycycles, I stopped to see if they needed a hand. The man spoke in a thick Russian accent,
“We have run out of gas.”
We spoke for a while. He periodically stopped and translated in Thai to his wife. He explained he had been living in Thailand for the last 10 year and he and his wife were on holiday. They had rented the motorcycle in Thailand and were on their way back. He said their lack of Laos had made their experience frustrating and preferred their future holidays in Thailand.
“It just really limits our activities. And like now. How am I supposed to convince someone here to help a white man and a Thai women!”
He explained that Laotians weren’t particularly fond of Thais though could be sympathetic to Russians in light of their Cold War support(Laos today remains communist). I offered to siphon some gas into his tank. He seemed delighted but our joy was stopped short by our lack of siphoning tube. We searched through our bags and found nothing. After much discussion we decided only one logical solution: go the nearest home and ask for a tube.

His wife stayed with the bike and our things and we set out to the nearest home. I had just passed some homes a few miles back so I backtracked in that direction. We reached a very modest house with a thatched roof. The man started negotiations in Thai. This reached nowhere. He threw up his hands,
“the languages have some similarities giving you the impression you can use parts interchangeably, but as you see, you can’t."
We then spent the next 10 minutes miming the act of siphoning. Her yard was littered with various piles of trash. Some piles were plastics, wrappers and other highway litter. Other piles were organic and looked something like compost piles. We soon found a straw on the ground and indicated that we sought something like that, only longer. The womens face suddenly beamed; she understood exactly what we needed. She went in her house and returned with a hose perfectly suited for the job. We thanked her profusely(That is one Laos phrase I had mastered). The Russian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife. He motioned for her to take it and now it was her turn to unleash thank you’s. As we headed back to the bike the Russian must have sensed my curiousity,
“In my years I have found that an exchange is much more beneficial and kind than monetary donations…Look how far away this place is. She could really benefit from that knife. If someone gives her money, what is she going to buy? Next time she goes into town she’ll buy some new gadget she’s never seen? And plus, if I give her money she will just go on expecting money everytime.”
I thought, “Well now she’s going to expect quality Russian knife all the time.” I declined to comment as we hopped on the bike. He sounded awfully presumptuous and supposing though I could see his points. If anything I gave him credit for thinking so deeply about it although it looked like he had gotten himself into similar situations as this one before.

Chinese Cartoons

Chinese Cartoons
I have recently begun to create some Chinese cartoons. Although Chinese characters have roots in "pictograms"(pictures), most characters are phono-semantic compounds. This means one element suggests the meaning, the other pronunciation.

Chinese often view characters as just that, characters. They hold little artistic merit aside from the Roman equivalent of penmanship. However, I am not a Chinese, rather I use it as a second language. So I have created a series of cartoons using Chinese characters, I hope you enjoy them.

This first cartoon is the Chinese character 胆子, the pronunciation is dan zi. This character means roughly "strength" or "bravery". This year will mark the 20th anniversary of June 4th 1989, when the streets of Tiananmen Square ran red...


Cartoon II:
This is the Chinese character "gai" which mean "to change" or "reform". In this cartoon, "改 gai" is rewriting the rules "Hu kou zhi du", which refers to the Maoist system of organizing households as either rural or urban. This can be somewhat analogous to an apartheid systems. This system has negative side effects, especially due to the large numbers of countryside people who move to urban areas, yet have lower quality education, housing and health opportunities.

MUSIC

I love music. It could possibly be my favorite form of art. The self expression with music can be fused with the group dynamic of several musicians. In the ideal circumstances music can be a seamless expression of several individuals art. Music also has the potential to be combined with poetry. This both combines the power of the words chosen with the instrument of the human voice. I have chosen some songs that I believe to represent the power of music.

1. Espresso- Taraf de Metropulitana
Music of the Balkan Gypsies, this track explodes with the meanest accordian solo I've ever heard. Fast chord and tempo changes along with flawless playing makes this piece a powerful one.
2. Hong Kong Mambo- Tito Puente and His Orchestra
Afro-Latin sound. Heavy rhythms with beautiful melodies played with instruments possessing unique and pleasing timbre.
3. Paradiso- Konono Nr. 1
Rhythm! Straight from the heart of Africa, this piece has spectacular improvisation and enormous energy.
4. Congo Man - Ernest Ranglin
Blending jazz and reggae. This guy is a must hear!
5. The Gumbo Variations- Frank Zappa
Groove based improvisation. Changes in tempo add a lot of energy. Great instrumentation for a unique sound.
6. Cars Trucks and Buses- Phish
This jazz tune has always been one of my favorites. Tight playing combined with tension and release energy carries this song.
7. I Wanna ride you- Medeski Martin and Wood
Bass and drums with some smooth organ playing.
8. Backdrifts- Radiohead
Electronic music showcasing complex sound layers and digital sound.
9. Chamelon- Herbie Hancock
This has one of my all time favorite basslines. Keyboard layers from Herbie Hancock show an innovative range for the time of recording.
10. Taka Sarava-Silvia Torres
She has a beautiful voice that carries this Latin tune. Brazilian Bahia style.

You can download these as a .zip file here...

Sichuan, China: Part I

成都- Chengdu, China: September 2006

I had been stuck for two months in one of the poorest and polluted provinces in China. I sorely needed a vacation. The air in my residence of Yuncheng was sour with coal. Mass amounts were collected and burned from nearby factories. The air remained a stale yellow tint and obstructed all the nightly stars. A thin layer of black film was present on everything. People didn’t dare sit on any benches without a piece of cardboard between them. After I played basketball my hands would look as if I had finished working in the mines myself. I had attained a bicycle and subsequently stopped riding because the air was hard to breath and irritated my throat. I constantly swept my floor, collecting little piles of black dust, even though I never had my windows open and my house seemed reasonably sealed. I had never seen any wild life except two different species of birds, and even they were rare.

You know those masks you see depicting air pollution in China? They are seriously worn, though not to such an exaggerated way as you might imagine. Students would wear removable sleeves to wrap their forearms. This would prevent the coal dust from the desk from staining their clothes. When I hung my clothes to dry, they frequently needed to be batted off to remove the excess dust. I despised the coal. I tried to think it was various other factors that were making the air quality so bad. It had to be some other air pollutant combined with it…but is that any better? Either way, I decided I needed to get out.

I traveled down to Sichuan, a province renowned for its cultural flavor and spicy food. Geographically it lay on the edge of the Tibetan plateau and I had heard from several friends it had some amazing landscapes. I took the 16.5 hour train ride to the capital of Chengdu. Chengdu was a larger, better organized and cleaner city than Yuncheng. The peoples skin looked darker and they spoke with a different accent, making it near impossible for me to understand. It was still a big city, judged clean only in comparison to Yuncheng and hardly the scenic undisturbed area I was seeking. However, I’d have to stop over here to coordinate transportation to the more remote areas.

I spent the night seeking out some of the world famous Sichuan cuisine. I figured this was the place to get it. I spent a few hours roaming around various cook shops. It was still difficult for me to read any of the menus; my knowledge of Chinese characters was minimal. I didn’t want a huge restaurant; rather I wanted a hole in the wall kind of place. I came upon a restaurant that was sparsely decorated but very clean. It was packed full of Chinese. I figured a small place at capacity had to be a good sign. I took a seat across from a man much older than I and took the menu. The waitress came over and I asked her what the best thing was.

Basically what next happened was a mess of confusion and hilarity that became typical until my knowledge of Chinese improved. When I soon realized I couldn’t understand them I told them my usual “I am not Chinese, I’m American. I only speak a little Chinese” line and they laughed in disbelief. As usual, the laughing turned serious when they realized I wasn’t joking, I actually couldn’t understand what they were saying. They couldn’t grasp that I was not actually Chinese. I mean, I looked Chinese. I spoke some Chinese. But here I was with a plea for help on my face saying “ting bu dong”(I don’t understand) to just about every question coming my way.

However, hand gestures are a very useful tool and I soon agreed on some type of food. I sat there and joked with the man across the table from me who mostly just stared at me, asked me an impossible question, then laughed repeatedly. I ended up getting a mushroom soup that was very spicy and contained an impossible variety of mushrooms. Thin ones, fat ones, brown ones, white ones, far exceeding the variety of mushrooms I previously had thought possible. I was hungry though and it was satisfying. And this was certainly not the only time I sat down to eat in China and the food was bizarre. I mean, how often do you sit down and you’re eating frogs, snakes, dog or pig penis?

I finished up at the restaurant and walked the streets of Chengdu. My hotel was close to the Nan River. There wasn’t exactly a river walk, nor was the water in pristine conditions, but it provided a venue for people to hang out. I saw couples hugging on the railings, mahjong boards busy with gambling, young families walking and old men smoking cigarettes.

Suddenly I began to feel very strange. The night lights seemed to be pulsating and wavering. The rivers flow became increasingly fluid. The feeling of a new, strange place swept over me. This was not the China I had begun to adapt to. This was a bigger city, with different people speaking a different language. For that matter, this was a far cry from my home of America. This city was foreign to me, but the country felt increasingly comfortable. But it all felt a little strange compared to America. So where was I now? And what the hell was I doing?

I wandered around the streets of Chengdu that night. I enjoyed the smells of outdoor cooking markets, the sounds of horns busy in the streets and the faces of the people that passed me by. I thought about my experience here in China. I never thought of being in such a foreign place and being racially disguised so well. Unlike African countries where I was instantly greeted with locked, gazing eyes, here my presence went unnoticed. Yet my eyes were also locked and gazing at the people and the fact its presence went unnoticed felt strange.

Yet I enjoyed it. Cultural standards that Chinese would let pass with a noticeable foreigner I was held accountable for. It helped me learn what Chinese really expect in behavior and manners. Once people know you are a foreigner you are treated differently. Not even necessarily negative, but you have a different standard. So I enjoyed passing under the radar, especially that night in Chengdu.