Dancing to the Beat of Your Own (African) Drum

"As a person dances so the drums are beaten for them"
- An Igbo Proverb

Happy 31st Birthday to Me! Photo taken by my 4 year old son

A friend of mine once told me, "Joanne, you're a different bird. You're the type who wears mismatched socks."  I smiled and scrunched up my toes underneath the kitchen table on the cold tile floor.  Little did he realise that on my right foot was a pink tie-dye sock and on my other right foot was a blue sock.  Wearing mismatched socks for me has always brought a smile to my face reminding me how futile our efforts as adults are to make sure that we "have everything together."  Life is a dance.  Why not make it a colourful one?

Back in 2007, when my family and I had just returned to Bermuda from Jerusalem I had this to say about dancing:

Learning to dance with tired feet

Treasured words rarely spoken

Hopeful dreams gently felt

Learning again my heart to open

- Joanne Ball-Burgess April 2007

"Right now I am ready for a change of pace whether that may be to obtain my Master's degree, get a teaching job or to start  thinking about child number three (Don't worry guys, I'm not pregnant!) During this past month I've felt that my feet are just about to leave
the diving board..."
- My journal entry from April 2008

Without looking back my feet soared from life's diving board into the waters named 'Unknown'. As I emerged splashes that sounded like the daydreams of a little girl echoed in my head. The thousands of microscopic water droplets flew up into the air as  shapeless liquid and landed on earth as tangible forms: published books, composed songs, smiling school children and new hopes for a new generation of writers.

Two years later my feet were no longer tired but someone had put the song on repeat for way too long...

"The dance is monotones but my feet are still moving…existing I smile as I secretly stumble onto the stage (I hope that no one saw me trip)"

- Joanne Ball-Burgess October 3, 2010

It was time to leave Bermuda... my ears were now tired from hearing the same song; "Change, change it will never come.  Life on the Rock is how it's always been done"- The Lizard & the Rock. So once again my feet began to jig and I did the gombey dance all the way to Nairobi.

Nowadays my feet are still moving and so is the ground beneath it.  Life feels dynamic and once again I am standing on the edge of the metaphoric diving board.  So one Friday I was shocked to open The Standard Newspaper to see this:

The Pulse is featured in the Standard Newspaper. It has has information on Nairobi fashion (think Saved by the Bell in 2012)  and has tabloid tendencies

WTH? I guess that's the price for dancing to your own drum beat

Can someone please explain the jokes in these captions?  I don't get it.  I know that my friends and I had a great time at the Drum Jam Festival.  When we arrived we were surprised to see everyone sitting and clapping like Brits at an opera while passionate drummers gave all they had on stage.  I figured that the drums were playing just for me and so I did what came natural and didn't pay attention to the lurking photographers.  In the background my children were playing and watching their mother act like a teenager.

Speaking of dance, I'm learning some of the traditional tribal dances this year.  I guess it is possible to dance to the beat of your own drum while simultaneously learning a new dance:)  I'll keep you posted on my progress.

In the meantime;

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger

May you never take one single breath for granted

God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance

- Mark D. Sanders and Tia Sillers

R.I.P. Whitney Houston.  Dance on in another place.

Billboards & the Girl Next Door

Advertisements, commercialism, images of beautiful people and things that we don't have. It's all around us. I have a fascination with advertisements and their power to influence consumers and ultimately challenge our beliefs  about happiness. I usually find myself analysing the ads that I see on a given day trying to reinterpret what the images are saying to me, or more often screaming at me. Check out one of my favourite documentaries on this subject at Media Education Foundation.

Fast Internet Advertisement

When we arrived in Nairobi after what seemed like an eternity on the airplane we were picked up by gracious friends and drove 20 minutes to our new home. My sons were still talking about how much they missed Bermuda and how much they would not enjoy being in Kenya until suddenly, only a few minutes from our house they saw this billboard below:

Drogba in a Samsung Ad

The reaction was immediate; " Oh look there's Drogba! Mommy we love this place...We like Kenya better than Bermuda because in Bermuda they don't have posters of Drogba." Normally I would challenge them to consider why their feelings had changed so quickly but in a haze of jet lag I just relaxed. Thankful for this poster we headed closer to our new neighbourhood.

DSTV Ad

Insurance ad
"For Every life changing moment"

In the coming days and weeks I would come across many more posters. Every time I saw a billboard the reaction was the same: I felt empowered.

Dettol Add. Boys playing football.
 Both football and Dettol are equally popular in Kenya

Then it finally occurred to me that for the first time in my life I was looking at billboards that looked like me 99% of the time. Even in our tiny island of Bermuda the default advertisement image is a young, white woman with blond hair and blue eyes who has the same waist size as a 12 year old. These billboards showed images of beautifully ordinary looking black people; women with full figures and grandparents with missing teeth and wrinkly smiles. Even the "young and beautiful" models with long weave comforted me as "the girl next door" rather than a taunting airbrushed beauty contest that I had already lost.

"You're Beautiful When You Smile"

 Speaking of "the girl next door" here is a Dentyne ad.This picture gloriously magnifies everyone's sister and mother for their own natural beauty. On the other hand it can also perpetuate the age old belief that women (especially black women) should always be smiling-even when they are doing housework. Otherwise they probably have an attitude. What do you think? Am I still beautiful when I don't feel like smiling?

Extraordinary Banking for Extraordinary People

If this ad to the right represents an extraordinary person then who is the ordinary guy in the chair?  Perhaps the novelty is in his extraordinary posture or maybe he is about to come up with the solution for world peace...we're waiting...

Open Happiness

This Coca Cola ad reminds me of my friend Tamika every time I see it. As much as this ad looks like "the girl next door" for Bermudians, most Kenyans do not look like her. Lighter toned skin, loose flowing curls that she grew rather than bought...perhaps this picture does for Kenyans what looking at a Cosmopolitan Magazine does for me. Overall this fun billboard image gets the black muzungu vote. Two thumbs up!!

Brookside Yogurt ad

OK so what do the readers think about this image above ? Look at the postures of the teen girl and the teen boy. He is looking down at her endearingly while she seems oblivious to his gaze. What about the woman to the left? She looks like she's about to go for a jog but simultaneously looks indulgent (hey that's how I look when I'm eating chocolate). And what about the man? Is he trying to show off his flabs? I mean abs?

Even Coca Cola tried hard to be culturally sensitive by displaying a black Santa for Christmas:)

In the midst of all of the celebration of the ordinary and billboards that actually resemble the people in your neighbourhood was this advertisement. A sad reminder that we still have not gotten over the effects of colonialism, oppression and its impact on our image of beauty. Keep in mind that these pictures were being taken while driving so a part of this image has been mistakenly cut off. Here is a billboard advertising for a skin lightening cream to take care of blemishes.

 I have no problem with the Asian beauty that they selected for this picture. What bothers me, however is that there are 4 pictures of this woman on this billboard, The first is the same girl with a darker complexion and obvious blemishes. Her head is tilted downward. As the pictures of the woman increase in size and the blemishes become less visible, her complexion also lightens and her gaze becomes more confident. The moral of the story? Lighter is better. Darker is less attractive and needs to be fixed. Artist, Ebony Patterson explores the causes and effects of skin bleaching in her artwork. Sadly, this practise has made it's way back to the African continent as well. Check out more artwork from Ebony here.

Images, commercials and advertisements are everywhere screaming for our attention and calling us to become unsatisfied with the way we look or what we own. But as I told my 4 year old when he asked me what a commercial is I told him, "Commercials tell people what to buy but people always have the choice whether to buy something or not." Let's take a moment to buy into the unique beauty that we see in people every day.

Thanks for traveling with me on my journey through Nairobi today. Catch you next time!

I bless the rains down in Africa (as long as it doesn't cause a flood)

For the past 3 weeks I've been in the middle of writing two new stories as well as facilatating entrepeneurship training with young, ambitious Kenyan entrepeneures at the m:lab. I guess that you could say that my writing capacity has been full. While preparing for the training it occurred to me in a fresh and new way that had I lerned much more than I had set out to learn when I embarked upon publishing "The Lizard & the Rock" back on 2009. Society doesn't usually classify writers as entrepenuers but perhaps this classification needs to be revisited.

Thinking back to the fall of 2009 there were several responsibilities that I was juggling besides the entrepenuer hat. Trying to earn a Master's degree and having to step out of class several times because the project manager was calling from California saying that the printers in China did not properly understand the instructions to ship the books on the particular date and now we were behind schedule. I remember sitting in class in a whirlwind listening to the professor speak about how to best align an organization while responding to two texts; "Hey honey the organic, spelt, pasta is in the fridge next to the grass fed meat sauce...hey Ralph let's look at another plan to get the books here in time for Christmas...." Rewind further back to August; corresponding with the editor on the last sections of the book and all of a sudden sharp pains are shooting through my lower abdomen. A trip to the hospital would reveal the loss of  ptential wrapped up in the makins of a human being.

Fast forward a year later when the second publication and the musical CD hit the shelves just in time for Christmas and the recession. I  have now graduated. I have a Master's degree. I have learned from the challenges of the first book and discovered new ones with the change in market climate. I feel that by virtue of maintaining my sanity  however I have also mastered life. I look at the successful black women between the ages of 40-50 and  wonder what stories they have not shared with the rest of us because of the painful and amazing moments encased between the pages of their own life story.

As  I look forward to "Christmas in Africa" and sort of feel sorry for the goose that will soon be Chritmas dinner and the rabbits that have graced our table as "chicken" I think about past Christmas years where all was exciting and moving quickly. This year will be different. This year things will be much slower, less commercialized and without extended family and close friends who know and love us well. On our table will be a representation of the places we've been and the friendships that we've made: Casava pie, Palestianian rice for stuffing, the goose from outside, mango and guava sauce, sweet potato pie and various Israeli salads. Perhaps this year I will take time to unwrap pleasant memories of the past and thank them for the gift of life's processes that have brought me to this present moment.  And look, I already received my first eary Christmas present:).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Fe11OlMiz8

A Chat with Debbie

Recently I was asked my my author friend Debbie to do a second interview with her. Weekly she interviews authors and posts the interviews on her blog. Bellow is the link for my interview with Debbie.
Enjoy!

http://debbierigaud.com/debbie-rigaud-blog/?p=786

Ordinary is my Muse

A small section of our Garden. Planted by the non-gardener me:)

Masai bracelets and Silly Bands

Monday Morning: As the Nairobi sun beams through the Jacaranda trees it beckons me to be enveloped by its newness. Already my children are awake, getting dressed, playing and finding breakfast to eat (who ate all those chocolate chip cookies?).  I say hello to the gardeners who help us to take care of the grounds and the animals and thank the guards who have worked all night while my dreams soared past the African sky. They say to me, “There is no difference between you and me. If I take you to my village they will say that you are my sister.” “I am your sister,” I think to myself as smile back and prepare for the day.

 Wednesday: On my way to sub at a school. We are unable to drive up the road as police are motioning for us to go the other way.  We try to drive up the road anyway and notice that there is a large crowd of people walking and running in our direction. Stones are being thrown and it looks like something has been set on fire in the distance. The angry, yet helpful protesters tell us to wind up our windows and drive in the opposite direction. I think back to the other 3 demonstrations we either caused or were in the middle of while in Jerusalem and the huge red bricks that were being thrown at the cars in one instance at those who were breaking the Sabbath by driving their cars. But I digress.  Only later that day would we find out that the protest was in response to police who had murdered an innocent boy on the assumption that he was a thug.

       Herein lies a story that resonates with most Westerners. This typical media-driven sensationalism about the continent of Africa sadly frames our worldview of the Motherland. How I struggled to write this knowing that our experience here is characterized by other mundane excitements and ordinary miracles unrecognizable to the above written narrative.

            Saturday: We are going to the open market to buy our fruits and vegetables. We drive past several malls and many grocery stores on the way to the busy, mud floor bazaar. Perhaps it’s because we want the “African” rural experience that we venture where the trash looms outside and the monkeys are ever grateful for the abundance of food. Or maybe it’s because the produce is four times cheaper than the stores or maybe it’s because this is where Quincy can buy all of his exotic fruits and sprout the seeds later in preparation for his next project. Whatever the reason, we hold a certain romance with this place. Here we connect the faces to those who grow the food. Such a treasure was rare in our own consumerist, home culture. I see a monkey scamper by.  The children ask for shillings to buy sugar cane and maze, “Ninatoka maze tadfathali,” Zahari says with a big grin on his face. He is quite proud of himself as he bites into the blackened, golden kernels.

Rift Valley

Rural House in Limuru

"Want to buy a chicken? I also slaughter it for you"

"Look Mom I made a volcano!"

More artwork made of clay

Sunday School

At the Market after the Christmas Play

When Stars hide

When stars hide beneath the clouds those on earth can see

Cracked silhouettes, jagged edges fading glow-what once was brilliance.

When stars dangle in the ray of the sun their glow becomes what once was glory

Dangling in the beauty of a vast element, Venus is no longer the morning star.

When stars begin to wave across the blackened night with a trail of brightness we marvel at this wonder before us.

While we wonder and marvel, this star will quickly be no more.

What is this glimmering feature that hangs in the sky, encompassing rainbow’s blush?

While all of them light up the sky with midnight’s orchestra, only some starlight songs are called by name.

While thousands of illuminations dangle and dance along galaxy’s stage, the curtain of time will soon conclude this theatrical production.

By Joanne Ball-Burgess

           

           

How to be an Expert on Africa?

I’ve been laughing hysterically while reading the book, “How to Write About Africa” by Binyavanga Waninaina. This little, literary masterpiece takes a satirical look at the way westerners view Africa. Waninaina says in his book that when referring to Africa broad generalizations are good, hence the reference to the whole continent rather than the particular country where I am living. If you remember, at the commencement of this blog I stated emphatically that I am in no way an expert on Africa however today I feel differently about my position as a spokes person for the continent having lived here now for 3 months. As a newly self-affirmed expert, I think that it would be a good idea to share the laughable wisdom that I have acquired in my ascension to Africa-Yoda status.

Here is my own highly subjective list of expert advice on Kenya.

1.      Ugali (looks like stiff cornmeal) -you must eat it. You can eat it with lunch. You can eat it with dinner. You can even eat it with rice but you must eat it-otherwise you really haven’t eaten.

2.      The term “black muzungu” (muzungu means foreigner) is an oxymoron. Those who find themselves in this category live in an ethereal world.

3.      If you are a black muzungu (ethereal, oxymoronic category mentioned above) and in the distance you see a missionary approaching, immediately let him know that you are a Westerner and he will assume that you do not need to be evangelized by virtue of your birthplace. White people in African do not need to be evangelized.

4.      In addition to employing house help, a driver, a nanny a guard and a gardener you must also employ a middle-aged gecko to keep the mosquito population inside the house to a minimum. You must agree to house the gecko and feed it for the agreement to work. At any time if the neighbor’s house acquires more mosquitoes the gecko may abandon his place of employment in search of bigger and better work opportunities.

5.      No matter how much the urge impresses upon you, refrain from breaking out in your best known traditional African dance (hands and legs flailing wildly in the opposite direction) if you happen to be in a club and you suddenly hear a 2010 World Cup song. The Kenyans will most likely be doing the Dougie http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dougie.

6.      Speaking of dance, I have come to discover that salsa is the national dance of Nairobi and Indian chapatti and chicken pilau are the national dishes following closely behind (the) ugali.

7.      The barometer for how well you drive is measured by the number of Matatos (crazy van drivers) you can enrage on any given day. Quincy has perfected this art. You must ask him how to acquire matato-enraging Yoda status.

8.       Do not move to Nairobi if you are looking to express your blackness by wearing an afro, twists, cornrows or any hairstyle that resembles Kathleen Cleaver, Lauryn Hill or Erykah Badu. Wearing a wig is the professional hairstyle of choice-even if it appears to be on backwards or sideways during the mid week.

9.      When asked about your life in Kenya, immediately mention Al-Shabaab, grenade slinging Africans (nice broad generalization), and contraband sugar by Somali pirates. This will keep frememies, in-laws and other unwanted guest from visiting.  

10.  Do not let your friends or relatives know that in Kenya you have access to more, free, blackberry apps than in Bermuda. This would immediately cause a mass exodus of Bermudians to the Motherland.

Beauty and the Bees: Trip to Masai Land

Quincy has been embarking on some wonderful new adventures here in the Motherland but like I said...this is not that blog:). Once a week he teaches beekeeping in a Masai community in the Rift Valley for an organization called MIDI. I went along mainly as the photographer but also because every time I travel to the Rift Valley a sense of calm envelopes me as if every part of my being agrees with me standing in this place.  I feel as if I have come home. So in between job searches and  continuous writing work from home, we jumped into the car to meet the friends who would take us to the Masai Comminuty.

An hour later we were traveling on a dirt path of loose, bumpy rocks with steep hills and narrow turns. Once in a while (6 of us in total)  we would need to jump out of the car to help to push it over the rocks. I was beginning to feel that eye shadow and sandals were not a necessary part of this adventure and hoped that my organic deodorant would hold up for the entire day.

When we finally arrived, covered in dust and quite shaken up from the bumpy voyage, we were greeted by Mat, the coordinator for MIDI in this area and several Masai people. We first had tea (Thank you British Empire. Nothing like tea on a hot day in a village), talked about the day, what Quincy would be doing, and then began the beekeeping course. By this time we were all dripping with sweat as the tea was hot and so was the air.

Soon many Masai people began to gather where Quincy was speaking. By way of a translator he taught the basics of beekeeping and explained how it is important not to cut down the trees so that the bees will have sufficient nectar sources. Many of the Masai people began to laugh saying, "This man thinks that we are going to be beekeepers?" I asked Amos, who had been translating for Quincy, what they were saying then said to him, "Please tell the people that they already know how to take care of animals so beekeeping will be easy for them. Quincy taught a bunch of people back home in Bermuda how to do beekeeping and they did not even know how to take care of animals such as you guys do. You can do it." Amos gasped and said, "They don't even know how to take care of goats and cows? Ha! Then we can do beekeeping!"

 He relayed the message in Masai to everyone as more laughter erupted at the thought of a group of people who don't even know how to take care of animals." At this point more people became interested and some went home. Pretty soon those who were interested were bringing out more beehives and frames, sharing honeycomb and asking questions.

While we watched the beekeeping in motion, the Masai women began to ask Amos if I was black, to which I replied, "Of course I'm black". The reply was, "Then why do you not speak any African languages?" Sadness came over me as I recalled the story of Bermuda's slavery in about 2 minutes (the fast version). "Oh we see! You used to be black but now you're white!"  I actually told them that over 400 years ago we were Africans but now we are not Africans which translates to the previous sensence in Masai.

In the midst of trying to figure out my race and the confusion with why I don't speak any African languages, the Masai women began to hold my had and we exchanged bracelets. We asked each other about our families (Joyce in the picture has 9 children) and smiled at each other. As we stood watching the continuation of the beekeeping class from a distance we remained holding hands. They told me that I looked like their family then decided that I look like a Moran (another Masai group who paint their hair with red dye). After the class was over, Quincy planted a bunch of mango trees and we ate lunch. Yummy beef stew with potatoes, onions and tomoatoes.

On the way home we saw several gazelle and had to jump out of the car several times to push it over the rocks-again. Ahh, back to Nairobi, where the potholes suddenly didn't seem as bothersome...