Flag of Ghana

It is not all golden on the Gold Coast, as colonial Ghana was known, but it’s not bad either.

Felix Ofosu Dompreh and Naa Ayeley Okine, my two dancer friends, are proud of the peace and stability of their country and they talk about it in a way that doesn’t occur to us—as a special circumstance to be treasured, not a state of affairs to be taken for granted. It was nice to hear.

Ghanaians are proud of their peaceful land. Proud of their friendship with the U.S.; proud of their education system, quite likely the best in the region; proud of President Obama’s choice of Ghana for his first trip to sub-Saharan Africa as president.

A few lines from the President’s speech: “And I have come here, to Ghana, for a simple reason: the 21st century will be shaped by what happens not just in Rome or Moscow or Washington, but by what happens in Accra as well….

 Time and again, Ghanaians have chosen Constitutional rule over autocracy, and shown a democratic spirit that allows the energy of your people to break through. We see that in leaders who accept defeat graciously, and victors who resist calls to wield power against the opposition….

 Fifty-two years ago, the eyes of the world were on Ghana. And a young preacher named Martin Luther King traveled here, to Accra, to watch the Union Jack come down and the Ghanaian flag go up. This was before the march on Washington or the success of the civil rights movement in my country.”  (I’ve excerpted some other phrases and paragraphs from that speech at the end of this blog.)

Noyam Dance Company

My time in Ghana was very short, intended to make acquaintance with the local contemporary dance world AND to get yet one more passport stamp. Felix, Naa and their friends made the time informative and most enjoyable from a dance and a social  perspective.

Out the taxi window

We had agreed to meet on my first evening in Accra at the Alliance Française for a concert. It was most agreeable as events at French cultural centers across Africa usually are. A mix of ex-pats—mostly French, middle-class Africans, and artists of all shades; friends greeting one another in the velvet humidity of a typical tropical evening; a lively beer terrace—exclamations and embraces all in French.

And the music—the very intriguing, very African sound launching Togbui Ehadzila Dela Botri’s new album, Naa Ayele, described in the promo as ‘a dramatic fusion of contemporary highlife/kpanlogo, zouk and salsa rhythms harmonized to create a new sound and  promoting Ghanaian rhythms.’

The music of an African evening

After the concert Felix and friends drove me by the monument-filled heart of the city while searching for my hotel which, in spite of what the on-line promo claimed, was actually in a rather obscure corner of the city.  Nothing about travel is quite as pleasurable as driving or walking about a new city with newly-made friends just sharing stories and laughter.

At the rehearsal, Noyam Dance Company

I took a cab the next morning out to the University of Ghana for a Noyam Dance Company rehearsal and to see one of their smaller pieces performed. The dancers are quite excellent, the new work in rehearsal looks like it will develop into something interesting and piece they performed for me was engagingly choreographed and danced with grace and energy. The work does have an American look to it, based perhaps on Ailey although I am not familiar enough with his work to say that with confidence.

Naa and Felix

We all talked for awhile in the studio and the issues would sound familiar in any American dance studio—shortages of space to create and rehearse, money, places to show the work… These dancers have traveled a fair amount individually, whether to the States, Europe or in some cases to lengthy residencies in Japan and the company has performed at least once in the States. While there isn’t a lot of financial support available Noyam is under the umbrella of the University which provides space and at least some opportunities as long as you are a student.

Drive-in restaurants, African-style

In the afternoon four of us headed for the beach. A perfect time it was. The talk was good: politics (one friend had volunteered on Barack Obama’s campaign while studying/visiting in the States), their ethnic/cultural backgrounds, food, dance, life.

Reaching the beach

The food was beautiful.

Yes, it is fish

The beach was the perfect place to while away a lazy afternoon happily chatting over new tastes and good beer.

ME. GHANA.

These lovely Ghanaian beaches were also the last familiar glimpse of their homeland to the victims of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

A sad scene for many

The company was fascinating.

Friends

My desire to feel at home in the WORLD is slowly being achieved, country by country, meal by meal, bus ride by bus ride, friend by friend.

At home in Ghana

Tidbits of information, mostly culled from Wikipedia, follow along with photos. They are in no particular order and have no particular relationship to each other.

Before and after dinner

Fact: The Gold Coast, as colonial era Ghana was known, became the first sub-Saharan African nation to achieve independence from the UK. On March 6 1957 at 12am, Kwame Nkrumah declared Ghana “free forever”.

Important public building, monument?

Fact: Ghana is one of the world’s largest gold and cocoa producers.

Good building

Fact: Ghana was part of the Ashanti Empire, one of the most powerful pre-colonial states in Africa.

Says it all…

Fact: John Atta Mills is the current president.

Fact: Ghana is ranked as a Lower-Middle Income Economy by the World Bank.

Fact: Ghana lies just north of the equator.

Carside service

The main ethnic group is Akan; 69% of the people are classified as Christian; English is the official language.

Ghana made it into the quarter final stage in the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Yay, Ghana.

Really?

Ghana enjoys a mostly free press.

University of Ghana near dance studios

Ghana had a 71.7% literacy rate in 2007 for males and 58.3% for females.

Evening’s over

According to my friends, Ghana has the best education system in the region and many students come from elsewhere, especially Nigeria, to study here.

U.S.-Ghana-Friends

Things I especially like from the President’s speech:   Now let me be clear: Africa is not the crude caricature of a continent at war. But for far too many Africans, conflict is a part of life, as constant as the sun. There are wars over land and wars over resources. And it is still far too easy for those without conscience to manipulate whole communities into fighting among faiths and tribes.

 These conflicts are a millstone around Africa’s neck. We all have many identities – of tribe and ethnicity; of religion and nationality. But defining oneself in opposition to someone who belongs to a different tribe, or who worships a different prophet, has no place in the 21st century. Africa’s diversity should be a source of strength, not a cause for division.

 That is why we must stand up to inhumanity in our midst. It is never justifiable to target innocents in the name of ideology. It is the death sentence of a society to force children to kill in wars. It is the ultimate mark of criminality and cowardice to condemn women to relentless and systematic rape. We must bear witness to the value of every child in Darfur and the dignity of every woman in Congo. No faith or culture should condone the outrages against them.

 As I said earlier, Africa’s future is up to Africans.

 The people of Africa are ready to claim that future. In my country, African-Americans – including so many recent immigrants – have thrived in every sector of society. We have done so despite a difficult past, and we have drawn strength from our African heritage. With strong institutions and a strong will, I know that Africans can live their dreams in Nairobi and Lagos; in Kigali and Kinshasa; in Harare and right here in Accra….

Freedom is your inheritance. Now, it is your responsibility to build upon freedom’s foundation. And if you do, we will look back years from now to places like Accra and say that this was the time when the promise was realized – this was the moment when prosperity was forged; pain was overcome; and a new era of progress began. This can be the time when we witness the triumph of justice once more. Thank you.”

SMELL HEAR SEE TOUCH TASTE

African night–tail lights and noise

All at once, pleasant and repulsive, appealing and annoying. Too much. Want more. Probably everyone who has written about Africa has included descriptions of the sensory assault that takes place from smoky gray dawn through the thick black night. Especially in the crazy busy cities of West Africa.

Daytime traffic and fast food

Smells of dust, exhaust, sweat, roasting meat, impromptu toilet, baking bread, clothes dried too slowly, overripe mangoes ease and ooze around a hullabaloo  of horns, clamor of vendors, never-ceasing roar of generators, quarreling shouting blessing greeting protesting humanity.

Music and Africa cannot be separated.

In and out, over and under, a musical phrase of Afro-pop, a drum beat of Afro-traditional, will sweeten the moment and always lure you back.

Spoon/fork

You touch each other in tightly packed vehicles; you touch the sticky white pounded yam ball, the spoon/fork of everyday eating, as you pull it apart to scoop up hot meaty stew. You feel the sweat that is always running tickling salting your skin.

Handsome dancers

Seeing the turmoil that is Accra, Lomé, Cotonou, Lagos without the aid of the other senses would be a disappointing experience since the cities’ beauties are not easily beheld—not with expectations of grand buildings and lush green spaces. For beauty, you must see the people, and Africans in general are strikingly handsome. Spending time in Africa confirms the suspicion that white people are the least impressive in appearance of all of the races and groupings and categories of humanity.  The truth is Africans and Asians make the rest of us ‘pale’ in comparison.

Shopping

Markets are where it all happens and they occupy every side street, roadway, public space. They are African eye candy. Of course every city has at least one giant mall and luxury shops exist in rich Euro/African neighborhoods but nothing of interest happens there as they are identical in every city in the world. Just extra large/extra pricey duty free shops that have escaped their airport confines.

And lunch

The markets on the other hand are same different odd ordinary enticing exhausting across Africa (and Asia too). Never never never dull. There is always warm meat hanging somewhere and stacks of tires dominating whole streets. But the cloth of many colors and circles squares dots flowers gilt embroidery that most women and men still wear sell sew is the background scenery of all activity.

Mangoes–the best

And then there are the cleverly arranged stacks of mangos and tomatoes and gum and shampoo and shoes in Technicolor bits and pieces occupying every nook and cranny, the very opposite of ‘big box’ stores so beloved of Americans.

Bread store

About taste. The favorite sense of most travelers. I am a foodie failure…mostly subsisting on bread. I can vouch for the soft yeasty sweetish bread of Nigeria and the Philippines and the good solid bread of central Europe and, best of all, the baguettes of France but beyond that I cannot comment. Four of the senses must suffice.

Nice picture inside art center

ACCRA to LAGOS by BUS

Sunday morning, 4:30am a short intense working trip begins. Reviewing grant applications in Durham, North Carolina; meeting some dancers and arts administrators in Accra, Ghana; buses to Lomé, Togo and Cotonou, Benin. Time with a most intriguing dance artist in Lagos, Nigeria.

Keeping a smallish combo backpack/suitcase lightly packed no matter the demands of that extra pair of jeans to go along. But I am leaving my Kindle at home. I do not like it. There must be room for books even if more clothes are jettisoned. A new Icelandic murder mystery—or two. A biography of Alexander Hamilton or my book club novel. The mix should keep me amused on sleepless nights.

Biggest decision. No computer. Just me and my Droid.  Who have never really bonded. So back to the days when I spent much of my time on the road in coffee shops writing…by hand…with a notebook…and a pen. Remember that? It was most pleasurable, especially at sidewalk cafes, especially with café au laits, especially  with cigarettes…especially in Paris? Never mind. That was then, this is now. No cigarettes, no Paris. Will Accra have a Starbucks?

It is my birthday today. I am celebrating with a new bed. Where I will spend a third of the rest of my life I suppose.

Where dreams of travel begin

I had a perfectly reasonable double bed with a double-bed mattress and double-bed springs. It even had history. The bed once belonged to my friend Gordon. It was, in fact, his childhood bedroom set with covered wagon carvings and a wagon wheel headboard. I painted it black to draw attention away from those childish decorations but now that I think of it, the wagon wheel probably lent itself to the dreams of the precocious little boy who once inhabited the bed—and much later to the aging wanderer that is me.

I have been feeling like a good friend just departed. Eleven years I spent in that bed. Sleeping well. Not well. Middle of the night detective novels. Restless leg syndrome. Burrowing in on cold mornings.  Not so many places, people or things more intimate than a bed.

However…today I move on. A new bed. A birthday gift from my brother and two sons.  We started out a few days ago with a foam bed…a less expensive version of Tempur-pedic. Hated that. Like sleeping on a futon or a softish board that retained heat. Felt dead, inanimate, impassive. It is back at the store.

NOW, I have a brand new normal king-size bed. All clean and shiny and springy—no dust mites—those little hairless tarantula-like creatures that supposedly inhabit all of our beds, couches, chairs, pillows……………eeeeek!

This transition reminds me of other beds of which I have been fond. My first bed for example. Minnesota cabin. And a mom who firmly believed that all little girls need their own room, bed and privacy, and bought a new bed for me when money was ever so scarce. Thin mattress, stiff springs, and a brown faux-oak headboard so tinny that it clanged if you barely touched it. My tiny room with the squeaky bed was my refuge in a small crowded house with four people, two or three dogs and various lambs or birds or ducks depending on who needed shelter at what time of year. I loved that room and that bed. Where I dreamed of books and cities.

Then there was the marriage bed. It was okay.

And all of the beds in all of the apartments and hotels all over my world. Boards covered by thin mats in Egypt and the Philippines. Big king feather bed with many-thread-count sheets watching a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy marathon because the conference I was attending in Chicago was so unutterably boring. Beds with blankets reeking of cigarette smoke in 1-star Paris hotels. Beds in my friends’ Manhattan apartments where the dogs curled up near my head all night. Mattress on the floor in Ouagadougou observed in the night by a big fat spider. Mattress that smelled ever so faintly of pee in a cute attic room in Suceava.

And I suppose eventually the death bed.

Spices from Tunis

March Madness would be Global DanceFest, a California visitor, dust and pollen storms, rearranging my apartment for a new king-size bed and a better writing space AND changing my blog categories. If all of this goes ahead (or away in the case of the storms) as planned by my April birthday a new writing life will be in place.

How many times have I said that? Okay. Many.

The women in black at GDF

Global DanceFest has been an artistically innovative and personally satisfying 12-year program presenting original artists from around the world in Albuquerque New Mexico. The spring/summer brochure listing many of those artists can be downloaded at vsartsnm.org/pdf/VSA_Season_2012_Program.pdf.  Now we move on to Journeys: a Global Celebration of Dance and Discourse in September 2012, a smaller, more focused program.

Radhouane El Meddeb

Meanwhile our last Global DanceFest has brought friends from North Africa dancing to couscous-making and coffee. Radhouane El Meddeb (1^st visit) represents a long-term commitment to bring new artists to Albuquerque and Hafiz Dhaou to maintaining long dance relationships (3^rd trip).

Hafiz Dhoau and Aicha M’Barek

AND THEIR BABIES.

AXIS from Oakland returns next week restating North Fourth Art Center’s mission of showcasing the creative excellence of artists of all abilities. And finally in April, Wally Cardona will present the grand finale performance, Tool is Loot, which will surely prove to be an original, unusual and brilliant work by this NYC artist with NEW MEXICO roots. GDF has been an adventure…a good one…time to move on.

California son came out for a weekend. Whatever one says about extended families nothing is quite as good for moms and/or dads as time with their very own kids, the original nuclear family!

mom and the boys

While home Scott discovered Marble Brewery where, unlike in San Diego, you can bring your own food and guzzle their beer. And I made blue-gray lumpy (blueberries and sour cream) pancakes that were, nonetheless, delicious.

Scott and Sara (the ‘baby’ of the family)

Dust and pollen–spring in New Mexico. Weather here appeals to many because of the endless sun. I prefer clouds and rain—Hilo, Hawaii being my idea of the perfect climate—but here I am. And there are those magic moments such as when you go to bed one night and the trees are stark dark branches and you awake to spring green coloring over the gray.

See some new green back there

The pollen is to be expected of course but the dust storms are an evil of this dry land. The wind blew so hard yesterday that there are small dunes across the porch.

AND THE BLOG. Why is it so hard to do what I want with this blog. It is surely the epitome of a love-hate relationship. How liberating to have a place of my very own to write whatever I want and have it be instantly published if I so choose. How terrifying to want it to be well-written and interesting and never find the time to make it so.

Cathy

Cathy Zimmerman, Ken Foster, Laura Faure, Joan Frosch, Philip Bither, Vivian Phillips, Shay Wafer and Marjorie Neset—The Africa Contemporary Dance Consortium (TACAC) U.S. representatives—all arts professionals in some fashion: administrators of centers and festivals—big and small, urban and almost rural; writers; curators; scholars.

Gregory and Phillip

The link that brings us all to a meeting in Johannesburg, Gauteng Province, South Africa is our common desire to understand, in deep and personal ways, what it is to make art in a place far from our familiar U.S. territory. And, as importantly, to develop authentic friendships with artists from this continent, that weave through our personal and professional lives in profound and joyful threads.

Shay

Three of TACAC’s African affiliates join us for this meeting: Boyzie Cekwana, Gregory Maqoma and Nelisiwe Xaba, all South African artists of intelligence, originality and talent. Affiliates from Congo/DRC, Mozambique and Kenya were absent in person but offered thoughtful input via Cathy Zimmerman.

Laura

It is a long way here—14 to 30+ hours depending on your starting point. We arrive jet-lagged, immediately leaping  into the striking and stimulating new work we have come far to see. Which activates sufficient adrenaline to get us through those first hours and days!

In our informal but intense meetings we address issues both resolvable and not! It is truthful to say that our motives for being here are pure.

Joan

In other words it really is about friendship and deepening our understanding of each others’ cultures and work—no rewards of prestige or money accompany these relationships.

Vivian

Of course we hope that our coming together will result in increased exchanges of art and ideas between African artists and our U.S. communities and, ultimately, between artists from both continents traveling, making and sharing work and becoming friends and ambassadors in a rapidly expanding global community.

Ken, just arrived.

A little later.

But there is something more we talk about at our meetings and over subsequent coffees and lunches—what is it about these particular friendships that make them so important?

Definitely a deeply-held, but frequently unacknowledged, desire to cross cultural lines, proving to ourselves and others that we really do share a common humanity.

Certainly a level of admiration for African friends’ determination to make work that is artistically powerful and original—and that also addresses issues of personal, community and global concern.

Certainly a level of admiration for African friends’ determination to make work that is artistically powerful and original—and that also addresses issues of personal, community and global concern.

Always pursuing our curiosity about how environment manifests itself in artistic creation?

We all share fun and laughter, wine and food—and our friendships deepen—and we all renew our commitment to dance and global citizenship.

Once in awhile we sleep.

History and politics and protest should be, can be, always will be at the heart of meaningful art—including dance. This week at Dance Umbrella, the traditional Reed Dance is reconsidered, Julius Caesar revisited and Chief Maqoma remembered. Remarkable!

Near Market Theatre

Dance Umbrella has nurtured, encouraged and presented the best of South African contemporary dance since 1989 as well as hosting important international companies. Through  the most tumultuous years one can imagine for any country the festival has continued to showcase the internationally acclaimed talents of South African dance, make South Africans proud of their dancing sons and daughter and open the eyes of the world to this pool of innovation and originality in dance. Congratulations to everyone!

Nelisiwe Xaba

UNCLES AND ANGELS: The festival opened with Nelisiwe Xaba and Mocke J Van Veuren and an interactive dance/video work titled Uncles & Angels. Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of Xaba’s work would not have expected this piece to be about pudgy celestials and their kindly old uncles. And in that sense she did not surprise!

According to Xaba, Uncles and Angels “explores questions of chastity, virginity testing, purity, and tradition…” focusing on the traditional Reed Dance as practiced for both tourist dollars and political gain in KwaZulu-Natal and Swaziland. Uncles and Angels is a dance of protest about girls and the antiquated rites that encourage sexual predators and an unrealistic approach to one of South Africa’s main social issues, the prevalence of HIV/AIDS.

Neli

Xaba does dance like an angel, albeit a slightly wicked one. She is an elegant feminist whose powerful presence is extended and magnified through the stunning videography of Van Veuren.

Gregory Maqoma

EXIT/EXIST: Gregory Maqoma is never afraid to tell stories, both personal and political. And in so doing he dances a fine line of literality versus abstraction. Everyone has an information threshold… “Too much information” has become a common phrase. For some pure abstraction is preferable. However Exit/Exist is NOT an abstraction to be viewed through a purely personal or a determinedly detached lens. It is a story about somebody and something to which the viewer should pay attention.

Exit/Exist is the historical and familial tale of Chief Maqoma, Gregory Maqoma’s ancestor. While the theatrical accoutrements of storytelling are all about, they never overwhelm the strong, pure, beautiful dance and music of Gregory and his collaborators.

Chief Maqoma and the Xhosa nation battled the English over land and cattle, wanting their existence to be about more than simply existing. The Chief’s fight for freedom for his people moved the cause forward then and now his descendent, a dancer, continues the struggle to make all African voices heard.

The music performed by the group, Complete, feels like it represents decades or even centuries of voices raised in hope and protest.

I hope Gregory Maqoma never stops being the dancer in his dances. I can see him at 75, still completely mesmerizing in these remarkable solos with music as the equal partner to the dance—the story never overwhelming but never missing either.

QAPHELA CAESAR! Is a big dashing dance opera of which Julius Caesar would surely have approved.  It was performed in the Old Stock Exchange Market Hall which gave it just the right aura of self-importance (in a good way!) and encouraged hectic over-the-top behavior and emoting.

Jay Pather, director and choreographer, is making a political statement as well as revisiting this classic tale as an always great framework for creative storytelling. He says, “My interest lies in the tension between the ‘Caesar’ and ‘Brutus’ characters, representing the good fight of the past and the political expediency of the present…”

Qaphela Caesar is full of confusion and contradiction but one is always curious about the next evolution of character and setting and action—never taking anything for granted based on previous familiarity with the story.

One test of any work is whether it engages you in spite of jet lag. I can attest to the fact that these three pieces easily overcame any tendency to lag. EXCELLENT FIRST WEEKEND.

Only 112 to go

Lesotho: Country #84 on my world tour. Remember the rules (to count a country as having been visited) are that you must have read at least the Wikipedia description of what your new passport stamp represents; travel around on that country’s surface roads or streets or tracks or paths for a few hours; eat something local (like the Lay’s potato chips from an authentic Lesotho service station where you also use the facilities); and take photos.

Road to Lesotho

It is not that hard although it does take some time and money. But along the way you will likely have the experiences that stay around in your memory long after any particular flight, hotel or special cuisine has faded into oblivion.

Left early!

Yesterday, Lawrence Kwinda, who owns and operates Kwinda Tours and has become a friend over our trips to Johannesburg and Dance Umbrella, drove me to Maseru, a most undistinguished town, just across the border in the Kingdom of Lesotho, a peculiar little enclave totally within South African borders.

Rainy morning road trip. YES

It was a 14-hour day mostly in the car, snacking on road food, and viewing many miles of South African and a couple of hours of Lesotho countryside. A day not so different from any of my 12-15 hour drives to San Diego or Minnesota.

Please be patient…

Except that my passport is now just a little weightier and, Lawrence being a prolific historian, ethnographer and storyteller, I am far more engaged in and knowledgeable about the past and present of South African people and places.

In the car–through the countryside

The drive from Johannesburg to Lesotho is pleasant, the scenery mid-America-like with flat or gently rolling cornfields and cattle ranges. We crossed the Vaal River and the adjoining Transvaal countryside and Lawrence pointed out markers of Afrikaner history which are prominent in this part of the country. While wisely not throwing away an often painful past, South Africans are busily locating and studying the original South Africa of the Xhosa, Zulu, Swazi, Ndebele, etc. When these accounts are fully incorporated into the already thoroughly documented Dutch/ British/Afrikaans narration and the stories of this last astonishing century then the magnificent tapestry that is South Africa will be complete. It’s not at all dissimilar from what we are doing in the States at the insistence of Native Americans whose history is finally on the road to being acknowledged and appreciated.

Sometimes it’s all a blur

Even if one has a general interest in history, what makes it all immediate is connecting a friend or acquaintance or family member or hero with a time and place—linking past and present. In this case, Lawrence, but also through one of the artists here—more about that later.

Lawrence–grand storyteller and historian

The history that became real to me was that of the Lemba tribe or Black Jews of South Africa of which Lawrence is a member. The Lemba have traditions completely unlike any other African tribes or ethnic groups and similar to many aspects of Jewish culture. I only had the vaguest of knowledge of this and now suddenly I know someone from this most mysterious and fascinating of people. If you’re curious here’s a good link: African Lemba Tribe – eNotes.com

Golden Gate National Park

The almost six hour drive to Lesotho was packed with Lawrence’s stories of his life and times, becoming a successful entrepreneur while exploring his own background and celebrating the political and social changes in South Africa. Doesn’t get any better than a road trip with road food (potato chips and yogurt drinks) and good stories.

Into Lesotho

The little piece of Lesotho we managed to experience consisted of the miles between one check point and the next which was in the city of Maseru. While we enjoyed the assortment of green hills, rocky outcroppings and modest red cliffs, the real sights of the Kingdom were obviously in those distant mountain ranges. That is always the problem isn’t it? So many inviting skylines, so little time.

And just on the other side lies………

Lesotho is a poor country with a huge HIV/AIDS problem and the disparities between it and its huge rich neighbor on all sides, South Africa, is apparent the minute the border is crossed. It seems the big attraction in Maseru is gambling with the main cultural attractions being casinos!  Since it was Sunday the Visitors’ Center was closed as were the nearby restaurants so our visit to Maseru was short.

Maseru

Back home through Bloemfontein and a look at its quiet Sunday streets and into Johannesburg, tired but happy. A new stamp in the passport, good stories and feeling of being a little more connected to the land of South Africa.

Outside of Bloemfontein, commemorating the horses of a particular battle/war

Looking for George…as in Clooney…airport…get it?

LAST NIGHT: I spent last night with a very pleasant Chinese man. We shared two meals and slept for seven hours only inches apart. Our communication was fairly typical for encounters of this kind: we exchanged the basic pleasantries early on and then had a brief, slightly more intimate, exchange upon our leave-taking. I did not detect any sociopathic tendencies during our hours together, only an endearing trait that makes him a real sleep-mate—he sleeps with his head covered. I am rather looking forward to tonight. Another night, another man—or woman as the case may be. Meals, intimate exchanges, sleep. Alas this did not happen—three seat configuration in this very nice Airbus, shared by a German couple who spoke—German!  The closeness, the intimacy—all gone.

George wasn’t here either.

LOOKING FOR GEORGE: Life on the road…me and George. I keep searching for him…in every airport…in all the world…hoping that there he’ll be—right over there in that waiting area or standing in line at Security or picking up a yogurt and a Herald Tribune at that kiosk. And maybe, just maybe, tonight I’ll be with him. Although with a million frequent flyer miles I don’t suppose he’s traveling economy class! Damn, seems I missed him altogether on this trip.

Frankfurters in Frankfurt

WIENIE TOURIST: I’m in the cozy restaurant overlooking the runway at the Frankfurt airport, eating FRANKFURTERS as one should while here. This airport is the only place I go in Germany so…and when in Germany one should …. But the frankfurters look and taste like the most ordinary of American wienies and the potato salad is quite oily but also sweetish and tart and rather nice in its own Germanic way. I had to go through fairly rigorous security twice to have these frankfurters– with large mean women manning the posts. But then I land in at the Oliver Tambo Airport in Johannesburg which is clearly one of the nicest airports in the world so all is well.

There’s always one more blog to write

ABOUT LAST NIGHT: I really should say a little more about last night’s companion. Because he is taking over the world you know. From Beijing –in Houston to open a new business—a welding business. His firm distributes welding supplies and he is very excited about the potential of Houston and all of Texas out there welding away with Chinese equipment. But now he is on his way to Barcelona to check up on one of their Spanish distributors. AND he has been in 70 countries, almost all in which his company has business interests.  He was very impressed by my 83. No one else is ever awed by that number because most Americans have no clue about how many countries there are in the world. So at the moment I’m okay with the Chinese at the top in the new world order. (Not really but it could be worse—as in Republicans)  

The world is still SOMEBODY’S OYSTER…Whose?

AND IN THE NEWS…: I spent 48 hours before I left without turning on TV because I couldn’t. I had Direct TV suspend my service! So by the time I saw Anderson Cooper on the airport TV last night I felt very happy…for a minute…until I realized he was still talking about how Whitney Houston died. Hey America, the Chinese are taking over the world, there are strikes and economies going down in Europe, women are running some countries and doing as well as men (maybe better), people are starving and fighting and dying and the ocean is rising and Anderson Cooper is still talking about Whitney Houston. I WILL BE OKAY WITHOUT CABLE. Read newspapers everyone. And watch “The Good Wife” on your computer. IN JOZIE now…Jozie is how the real Johannesburgers refer to their city. I love it here—in Jozie. 

Ladies who lunch…and talk dance in Jozie

My grandfather Ole Floren’s trunk on the voyage from Norway to South Dakota, Cameroonian woman, map of New Zealand, mango from the Philippines, stone from Alaska

We live in a global village, work in a global economy, worry about global warming and try to be worthy of global citizenship. The underpinnings of the present political struggle between the far right/Tea Party and the rest of us is fear of this big new world in its many-colored guises. It is understandable to some degree…I cannot accept that a woman wants to be one of many wives or live her community life in an ugly black shroud, I do not understand the manipulations and shenanigans of New Mexico’s state budgeters much less those of the U.S. or the world and I truly fear the rising waters of global warming.

There are choices about how to deal with this unease, this fear. One is to pretend these issues do not exist and to try to elect government decision-makers that promise to make it all go away. Bring jobs home to America—except for the people making your cheap Wal-Mart junk, keep those “foreigners” out, speak English only, burn more coal/bomb for oil. The underlying message being “I’m scared of NOW, of doing something different.”

The other choice is to get out there, explore the village: walk its streets, shop in its stores, meet the neighbors—acquire global citizenship. Whoever you are you can get your passport stamped through books, film, food, travel and meeting the new neighbors. There is no excuse for limiting your experience to your street corner.

Google ‘global citizenship’ and there is founding father, Thomas Paine, who described his notion of being a global citizen thusly: My country is the world, and my religion is to do good.

 Now even though Paine was responsible for much of what was written defining freedom, he was eventually rejected because of the abiding American insistence that no beliefs are valid outside of the precept of an all-powerful god who can give anyone behaving badly a pass if only they repent. We can thank a few people over the centuries like Paine that the global religion, for which fundamentalists of all faiths long  and for which they are willing to kill, has not yet become a reality.

I am about to reread “The Global Soul” by Pico Iyer because it so profoundly influenced my desire to visit every country in the world. I first read it 10 or so years—or about 60 countries ago. I had not yet started to feel like a global soul. Now I think I do. I know some neighborhoods in this sprawling confusing village well and some hardly at all. But I increasingly understand how a home can be created on any of its streets and it will always be a place that mixes the known with the unknown, the safe with the unsafe, and the familiar with the unfamiliar in surprising and pleasing ways.

My favorite word is global, I produce a festival called Global DanceFest and I approve this message.

Next to food…on a scale of life’s necessities. From a postcard by Soizick Meister