Poetry Unit
Ghosts
I see them, drifting floating.
I catch them, glimpses of sullen and sunken souls.
I see it in the discarded sandwiches, I see it in the bloody scars of upturned hands, I see it in the fear of a bus drivers eyes peering into a guitar case, or a gun case, whatever it is called these days. I see it in my heart yet I am unseen.
I bounce through the light but all the while I am treading through the shadows.
We all close our eyes, for it is too much for one person alone to see.
I drive home from the store my arms cascading a waterfall of food,
I see a homeless man at the light, but I don’t have any money, so I look away, shamefully pretending he is invisible and in that moment we are all invisible, our humanity vanishes like dust into the wind, leaving empty bodies.
As I get an A in my classes, the world bleeds over and over from the gun wounds prolifically painting the unheard screams of my oppressed peers.
We’ve lost each other and now were losing ourselves.
My life is a bee hive of activity, but all I can think about is the distant memory of my parents’ divorce, or my divorce, whose was it? I can’t tell.
We are walking with ghosts but not dancing our ghost dances
We stupor in our cloudy pools of poisons and smokes, drowning and choking our writhing sorrows,
Our shameful lips sealed tight hold the cuts and the welts the starvation and the greed; hold the pain from father and son, from lover and friend, Leaving us alone in the inky darkness only inches from the understanding that will bring us light.
The problem is not with me it’s with us. The solution is not with me it’s with us.
Our souls are eroding
The condor circles into death, there are the shamans there is the ghost dance, I’m going somewhere we’re going somewhere. I am going over the mountains not blasting, and, maiming through them.
Forth from vapor the shadows descend, through the moist air they move, undulating, they carry, us fairy us away into the drumming mist.
Somewhere we’re dancing under moonlight in the glades and deep forests.
Somewhere in the canyons shadows our souls are alive and unveiled.
Somewhere over snow capped peaks we’re running, and flying, somewhere were moving across the earth and sky like the birds aloft on the wind, effortlessly circling into life’s essential purity.
Somewhere we’re learning how to speak again from the wolves, learning the whispers of silence the whispers of love the whispers of understanding, the whispers of truth.
Somewhere we are learning the intimacy of flame, how to coax how to care, how to kinder.
Somewhere we are learning the sacredness of water, how to share, how to cherish, how to create flowing crashing bounty in our gratitude.
Somewhere we are shining so bright we are scorched by our own radiance.
Growth as a Poet
Throughout the process of creating my poem I worked with core emotions and aspects of my life to fuel the common theme and powerful message that has thread itself through all of my drafts. In the early drafts of my poem I was in a place where I could feel the importance of portraying an experience of the hardships that I have observed and felt, as well as the beauty and the overpowering wonder of the magnificent world. As my poem progressed the perspective grew into a message that encompassed the theme of humanities ghosts and the way that we walk, crippled and veiled with them, blind to our own grace, power and beauty. My poem also transformed to hold a message of hope and appreciation of the beauty that is greater than the struggle. In my later drafts I unraveled these long pondered experiences into a piece that speaks my truth and the truth I see.
Both sections of my poem were relatively short at the beginning of my process. The transformation that I went through in creating my later drafts was that of embellishment. I took the skeleton of what I wanted to say and blew it up into a scene of vivid imagery and emotion. For example in my earlier drafts I had a segment of my poem that spoke to ignoring the important things in life, and functioning in fear. I portrayed this with a couple examples but as I continued I incorporated imagery to paint a picture with multiple poignant experiences that I thought conveyed my message of human truth. By using imagery, and a show not tell effect, I was able to strengthen the emotional message of my poem by sharing personal and universal experiences that awakened connection and feeling.
In the beginning of my process, the part of my poem that held a positive and hopeful tone, lacked in clarity. At first it was hard for me to show the transition from the pains to the possibility of human authenticity, without confusing my readers. I later revised my poem with a good transition focusing on the concept of going into death and darkness to find the place of beauty that thrives in all of us and all of us as a whole. I then continued on in the poem using the poetic device of repetition the word “Somewhere, “at the beginning of every stanza to show that we have not lost our magic. I added the transition and the repetition to give clarity to the message of the poem.
In the first stages of my poem I was trying to convey the dull oppression and depression that affects us through our mindless repetitive tasks and fearful obsession. In my first draft I used the second person in the beginning of the poem to convey a feeling that a voice of blind obedience is speaking to us. In the later drafts of my poem I was able to bring a more powerful feeling through, by removing this commanding voice and sparking empathy by showing the oppression. I changed the effect at the begging of my poem in order to give the whole poem a potent power with Euphony and Truth.
Globilization
Globalization op-ed and political cartoon reflection: During the globalization project we created an op-ed and a political cartoon that focused on a unique topic concerning the world system of globalization. We had to develop and argue a strong perspective on our topic and support it with evidence we collected over the weeks from reputable sources. the biggest take away that I revived from this project with is the knowledge that I constantly live my life in complex systems with very specific motives and goals. This gives me insight into my experiences and into the behaviors and systems of the world that I live in. When I started the cartoon process I conceptualized the idea that corporate globalization Siphons off resources from rural communities. the first draft that i created had this idea but was unclear messy and unrefined. As I went through the cartooning process I developed ideas of how to convey my message with clarity, and grab. When I pondered how I could make my cartoon have more of these aspects I realized I could draw a dried up lake that contained dead fish labeled as the things that corporate globalization is destroying. this helped bring clarity to my cartoon. I drew many copy's of my cartoon and focused on accurately depicting things like combines for instance. In the end the hard work paid off and I am very proud of the final product that i created. Op-ed writing is very different from the writing that I have done in the past. witting an op-ed was a unique experience because during I collected large amounts of research and then wrote something that was concise and persuasive but very well supported. In this Process I learned how to convey large amounts of knowledge and analysis very clearly without going to deep in and while keeping the reader engaged. The process of writing an op-ed was beneficial because it trained me to balance out my writing blending my natural ability for deep analysis and poetic language with punchy, clear and informative skills.
Nicholas Turco
The Desertification of Rural Communities
Mancos and its local businesses are desperately protesting the invasion of The Family Dollar. It’s as if they were in a battle for the last fresh water well in thousands of miles. For the drought of globalization has ravaged rural communities. It has left them barren, parched, and starving in its ominous wake. This drought is all around us; in our food, in our activities, in our education, in our values, and in our very relationship as community members.
Corporate Globalization creates poverty, disconnection, and disempowerment on many levels for rural communities.
In her thesis concerning rural extension studies, Jenifer Sumner defines Corporate globalization as, “a world system in which powerful, interconnected, stateless corporations nullify national boundaries and incorporate whole societies as cost-effective sites of production”( 2).
Corporate globalization undermines rural communities in an economic sense. It interferes with a community’s ability to sustain itself at a core level--just like a severe drought can eliminate the longevity of dependable water sources.
Agribusinesses replace small and medium farms with large industrial scale farms. This takes away a very core piece to a sustainable community or a community at all. Land that when cultivated by local farmers, creates development and a flow of goods, is decimated and its yields taken when in the hands of agribusinesses.
Industrial agricultural manufacturers create deals with farmers where they are tied to operating in cretin ways, Such as selling commodities for exportation (Sumner 9). In situations like this farmers do not grow food to feed their community or their family. In her book concerning social work practice and rural communities, Margie Boyd shares that, “In a typical U.S. agricultural transaction, farmers retain only nine cents of each dollar spent” (45). The debt that farmers find themselves swimming in after signing these deals forces them to exploit the land they once cared for far past its productivity in order to pay back loans (Sumner 11).
A similar effect is brought upon rural communities when chain stores like The Family Dollar invade. The interest of chain stores is not in alignment with that of local areas. The chain store is interested in growth, defined as the focus on greater amounts and profit (Boyd 56) while the local community is interested in development, defined as the focus on improving the quality of life (Boyd 56).
When mega stores are in place, communities are more influenced by global markets and their pressures. This means local governments are less empowered to address local needs and issues. Sense mega stores are focused not with an awareness of place; communities’ needs are neglected in this system. Furthermore land and people are abused on the corporation’s path to wealth. When chains vanish because they have drained communities dry of their resources they leave behind a desolate scene of poverty, and unemployment.
For rural communities, the drought of globalization is far more permeating then just in the economic sense. As a drought creates migration and separation for many species, corporate ideologies concerned about cost efficiency displace and stretch people far from their support systems.
Small schools in rural areas are receiving less funding. Students are being moved intentionally to larger urban and suburban schools.
This migration is detrimental to students’ individual attention and development, as well as their sense of belonging and empowerment. This is especially true for kids that are disabled or have special needs. It’s been well documented that local schools are vital in connecting a community (Sumner 29). Now families also need to deal with commuting their children farther and farther away. This becomes more of a burden as remaining resources are stretched thin.
The intensity of a drought and its lack of water create an environment of crisis, where tensions are constant and flight or fight becomes a way of life. The poverty and disempowerment that corporate powers have damaged rural communities with has instilled an environment of separation, fear and oppression.
For example, rural community’s whose means of agriculture and sustainability are gone often resort to tourism as a means of revenue. Jobs that spring up in the wake of tourism like bed and breakfasts, hotels, and bars, create dull, labor intensive, repetitive and often abusive jobs. These jobs are often thrust upon women and minorities, especially in communities whose backgrounds and values hold intense sexism and racism (Sumner 35).
Mental health issues are on the rise in rural communities including depression, anxiety, poor health, and substance abuse. Along with this issue there is increasingly less funding for mental health support.
As bleak as it may appear, there are strengths to be found in communities and means to catalyze them into action. As Margie Boyd explains, Community organizing is a powerful tool with witch communities can use against corporate powers and capitalist incentives (60). Community organizing includes educating people about their effects on where they shop and how that contributes to the whole. Buying local is an enormously effective way to stay the need of town and municipal governments to entice corporations with tax incentives (Boyd 63). Land trusts are a wonderful way to hold a common piece of land for people to use, while lessening the grasp to agribusiness. Most important of all, communities need to develop trust and interconnection of skills and values (Boyd 61). This entails a common goal of co- operation, compassion and understanding.
The ensuing battle of stopping the harm of corporate globalization has the same daunting prospect as quelling a ravaged land from a drought, and summoning many a healing rains; and in some ways it is. But like in a drought resilience and beauty can be found; as life learns how to adapt to its environment, and in the case of rural communities change it as well.
Word Count: 952
Works Cited
Sumner, Jennifer. “Living in the Age of Exclusion: “The Impact of Corporate Globalization on Rural Communities.” http://www.progressive-economics.ca/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jsumner.pdf University of Guelph, Guelph Ontario, pg.1, February 10, 2014.
Boyd, Margie. Community Political Economy and Community Empowerment: The Counting Relevance of Community Organizing for Social Work Practice in Rural Communities. Print.
The Desertification of Rural Communities
Mancos and its local businesses are desperately protesting the invasion of The Family Dollar. It’s as if they were in a battle for the last fresh water well in thousands of miles. For the drought of globalization has ravaged rural communities. It has left them barren, parched, and starving in its ominous wake. This drought is all around us; in our food, in our activities, in our education, in our values, and in our very relationship as community members.
Corporate Globalization creates poverty, disconnection, and disempowerment on many levels for rural communities.
In her thesis concerning rural extension studies, Jenifer Sumner defines Corporate globalization as, “a world system in which powerful, interconnected, stateless corporations nullify national boundaries and incorporate whole societies as cost-effective sites of production”( 2).
Corporate globalization undermines rural communities in an economic sense. It interferes with a community’s ability to sustain itself at a core level--just like a severe drought can eliminate the longevity of dependable water sources.
Agribusinesses replace small and medium farms with large industrial scale farms. This takes away a very core piece to a sustainable community or a community at all. Land that when cultivated by local farmers, creates development and a flow of goods, is decimated and its yields taken when in the hands of agribusinesses.
Industrial agricultural manufacturers create deals with farmers where they are tied to operating in cretin ways, Such as selling commodities for exportation (Sumner 9). In situations like this farmers do not grow food to feed their community or their family. In her book concerning social work practice and rural communities, Margie Boyd shares that, “In a typical U.S. agricultural transaction, farmers retain only nine cents of each dollar spent” (45). The debt that farmers find themselves swimming in after signing these deals forces them to exploit the land they once cared for far past its productivity in order to pay back loans (Sumner 11).
A similar effect is brought upon rural communities when chain stores like The Family Dollar invade. The interest of chain stores is not in alignment with that of local areas. The chain store is interested in growth, defined as the focus on greater amounts and profit (Boyd 56) while the local community is interested in development, defined as the focus on improving the quality of life (Boyd 56).
When mega stores are in place, communities are more influenced by global markets and their pressures. This means local governments are less empowered to address local needs and issues. Sense mega stores are focused not with an awareness of place; communities’ needs are neglected in this system. Furthermore land and people are abused on the corporation’s path to wealth. When chains vanish because they have drained communities dry of their resources they leave behind a desolate scene of poverty, and unemployment.
For rural communities, the drought of globalization is far more permeating then just in the economic sense. As a drought creates migration and separation for many species, corporate ideologies concerned about cost efficiency displace and stretch people far from their support systems.
Small schools in rural areas are receiving less funding. Students are being moved intentionally to larger urban and suburban schools.
This migration is detrimental to students’ individual attention and development, as well as their sense of belonging and empowerment. This is especially true for kids that are disabled or have special needs. It’s been well documented that local schools are vital in connecting a community (Sumner 29). Now families also need to deal with commuting their children farther and farther away. This becomes more of a burden as remaining resources are stretched thin.
The intensity of a drought and its lack of water create an environment of crisis, where tensions are constant and flight or fight becomes a way of life. The poverty and disempowerment that corporate powers have damaged rural communities with has instilled an environment of separation, fear and oppression.
For example, rural community’s whose means of agriculture and sustainability are gone often resort to tourism as a means of revenue. Jobs that spring up in the wake of tourism like bed and breakfasts, hotels, and bars, create dull, labor intensive, repetitive and often abusive jobs. These jobs are often thrust upon women and minorities, especially in communities whose backgrounds and values hold intense sexism and racism (Sumner 35).
Mental health issues are on the rise in rural communities including depression, anxiety, poor health, and substance abuse. Along with this issue there is increasingly less funding for mental health support.
As bleak as it may appear, there are strengths to be found in communities and means to catalyze them into action. As Margie Boyd explains, Community organizing is a powerful tool with witch communities can use against corporate powers and capitalist incentives (60). Community organizing includes educating people about their effects on where they shop and how that contributes to the whole. Buying local is an enormously effective way to stay the need of town and municipal governments to entice corporations with tax incentives (Boyd 63). Land trusts are a wonderful way to hold a common piece of land for people to use, while lessening the grasp to agribusiness. Most important of all, communities need to develop trust and interconnection of skills and values (Boyd 61). This entails a common goal of co- operation, compassion and understanding.
The ensuing battle of stopping the harm of corporate globalization has the same daunting prospect as quelling a ravaged land from a drought, and summoning many a healing rains; and in some ways it is. But like in a drought resilience and beauty can be found; as life learns how to adapt to its environment, and in the case of rural communities change it as well.
Word Count: 952
Works Cited
Sumner, Jennifer. “Living in the Age of Exclusion: “The Impact of Corporate Globalization on Rural Communities.” http://www.progressive-economics.ca/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/jsumner.pdf University of Guelph, Guelph Ontario, pg.1, February 10, 2014.
Boyd, Margie. Community Political Economy and Community Empowerment: The Counting Relevance of Community Organizing for Social Work Practice in Rural Communities. Print.
Happiness
Being Peace Reflection One Idea in the seminar that I found very interesting was the idea of being awake, or aware. We discussed how the American culture functions in a way where we are too worried about the doing of life. We discussed how our culture gets caught up in advertisement and images of perfection. In this I reflected that sometimes I think that we are afraid to be in touch with ourselves and with the present moment because we are afraid of what we might see. We may experience humans that feel lost and incomplete. In the discussion we also realized that the self perpetuating system of our culture gives the message to individuals that they must continue on in this hurricane of separation and distraction. However it seems when we stop that things are ok, and from here we can begin to grasp the wonder and connection of life. An Idea that relates to these values that samantha shared is that we need to be teaching values of kindness compassion, how to treat our bodies and those around us. Or learning systems should consist of teaching of relationship with the natural world and others. I find this to be a truth for me. I have two mindfulness trainings that I believe I am the best at practicing. I think that in these trainings are some of my greatest strengths and weaknesses. One of these,is the seventh training. This training speaks to the importance of living the present moment deeply and with awareness,focusing on the wonders in this world. In Being peace, Thich Nhat Hanh states “we will try not to lose ourselves in the dispersion or be carried away by regrets about the past,worries about the future,or craving anger,jealousy in the present...We are determined to learn the art of mindful living by touching the wondrous,refreshing,and healing elements that are inside and around us, and by nourishing the joy, peace,love,and understanding in ourselves,thus facilitating the work of transformation and healing in our consciousness.” I think I am someone that is very connected to many of the beauties of life. I am a very expansive thinker and feeler, and when I am in the right space I believe I experience the wonders of the world and in the soul as with expansion and joy and peace. However I can get very caught up in worries, and pressure.Sometimes I feel like I must fill a space of perfection that can not be fit into.Often other peoples opinions and feelings ring in my head and I lose touch of my voice and truth. Another practice that I think I understand is the fourth mindfulness training. This training says that to understand suffering and to look into our shadows is a very important part of the whole human being. Thich Nhat Hanh says “Aware that looking deeply into the nature of suffering can help us develop compassion and find ways out of suffering, we are determined not to avoid or close our eyes before suffering. I think that I am very adept at looking at suffering of many levels with compassion,empathy and an unwavering glance. However I also think that I have a fear in seeing the dark part of people or things. I can often be overwhelmed by the suffering and feel the suffering even more when I try to look at it. I believe that you must keep your heart wide open so you can feel and the feeling the true feeling will help you grow. Training five is in conflict with alot of the ways the US society works today. This teaching speaks to a different value system then western culture has. Thich Nhat Hanh explains this teaching by saying “Aware that true happiness is rooted in peace, solidity, freedom, and compassion,and not in wealth or fame, we are determined not to take as the aim of our life fame,profit,wealth,or sensual pleasure, nor to accumulate wealth while millions are hungry and dying. we are committed to living simply and sharing our time, energy,and material resources with those in need. America's Ideals do not match these teachings at all. In our capitalist society, we are taught that the most important thing is production and accomplishment. From the way we are often taught in school to the way we live out our adult lives we live in a greedy way that does not distribute resources well, oppresses many for the gain of a few and does not value the precious things like relationship, the soul and the natural world. Through this way of living we exhaust our resources and hurt our fellow human beings. this teaching also speaks to not putting poisons into our body that do not honor our bodies and conciseness.Here in America our food culture consists of toxic products and laws around the seed of the earth to gain profit. We are also in a time and a culture surrounded by people drowning themselves in drugs and alcohol.People have fallen into violence depression,and eating disorders because of the lack of care for each other and the consumption. The one way that western culture upholds this teaching is the value we have in freedom and free inquiry. In this way we uphold beautiful values of peoples independence,liberation and equality. I can connect the mindfulness teachings to some of the teachings from ancient celtic myths. For the celts the raven symbolizes the mysterious cycle of death and rebirth. The bird of yore speaks to the balance of the light and the dark as well as the beginnings and endings times of change and transition. The raven is gifted with clear vision of the mysterious forces of rebirth and healing. The mindfulness teachings and the celtic raven teachings show how it is important to look at the darkness and the suffering and gives us the grace compassion and to go deep into it and then through it. The raven is a symbol of clear sight and awareness with the many realms which relates to the teaching of being aware and in the moment. Another celtic symbol that relates to Buddhism is the threefold wisdom of the tree. The threefold wisdom of the tree: leaf wisdom of change ever releasing, branch wisdom of growth ever reaching, Root wisdom of endurance ever deepening.” These wisdoms relate to buddhism's beliefs in detachment and release, in the growth of the soul formed from love compassion,and empathy,and the endurance of love community and self discovery. The Celtic entwinement art symbolizes the interconnection of life which is also a major buddhist teaching. The mindfulness training that I could benefit the most from is the seventh mindfulness training which speaks to being aware to the present moment and to seeking the healing and wonderful forces in the world. I often feel overwhelmed by multiple expectations and a slew of voices. I can often get carried away. I try to fit myself into too small a space. I often find fear that others realities become mine. From practicing this mindfulness training I can tap into the part of myself that knows my truths, my struggles and can delight in the wonder and the joy as well as become part of the whole in my own creative way. |
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African Fiction Project
Out Among The Stars
When Karl left for the states, he gave his now retired motorcycle to my brother and I, for my brother was fascinated by it. Whenever Aina had a chance, he would watch how Karl treated it, how he oiled it, how he filled it with gas, how he cleaned it, He even got to ride it a couple times. My brother and I had spent the last year getting it back into use, learning what we could and salvaging what we needed, and today it was ready for a spin.
Aina and I loaded up what we thought we would need for a good day of adventure, and headed out of our village, the bike sputtering and puffing smoke as we went. We putted across the dry earth the wind blowing in our faces my brothers arms wrapped tightly around me, in the distance the heat waves danced like spirits bending and beckoning for us to follow. So we did. We just drove, often snaking our way through thorny foliage, and high grasses.
The sun beat down on us caressing our necks and glancing off the bikes rusty metal. We would often have to get off and push it across particularly rough terrain. Like this we arrived at the regional market. We hadn’t particularly intended to go to market but when the path became familiar we followed along gladly. Today the market was overflowing with mangos because they were in season; the smell of them permeated the air in a rich but tangy aroma. We picked out one that looked to be blossoming with ripeness, thanking the women who had sold them to us and continued on our journey.
It was now midday, and the heat was ominous. The land had flattened into an open expanse that carried on forever, unforgiving. We now had an intense need for shade but there was none around. “We need to turn back, Aina. We need to find shade,” I said urgently.
“Where,” Aina responded. Then I looked around; he was right, there was nothing to be seen but the dance of the heat waves and the open expanse of flat desert reaching out to the horizon, dotted occasionally by some harsh shrubbery or dessert grasses. I gulped, realizing how dry my throat had become. “What should we do then; head back toward what is known or continue on, counting on chance?” I asked.
“Keep following the dancers,”Aina replied. “There is something that we are diving into Ryan, you can feel it, just listen,” Aina replied as he stared off into the distance. I was usually the one that talked like this, not my brother, so whenever he spoke with his intuition, I took heed. I paused and felt the sun's intensity on my skin. I felt my sweat pool off of me, returning to the sacred springs from which it was born.
“Ok, have a drink of water though,” I handed my brother the water skin and took a swig after him. Then together we pushed on into the inferno, keeping our eyes on something only we could see. We pushed the bike now, for the seat had become too hot to sit on. Together my brother and I labored under the bike and the sun, our minds and bodies pushed and gazed in unison, our souls danced above us with the mirages. It had been a long time since I had felt this connection with Aina, not since we were very young before our parents had gotten a divorce and he had spent more time with our mother and I had spent more time with our father because of our respective ages. We had worked on the bike together, and that was our connection, but there had always been a tension between us because of our parent’s pain. We pushed the bike like this for a long time in silence, listening to the unspoken words that flowed between us.
Eventually we came to two desert pools nestled in the shade of a couple sweeping acacia trees that laid at the bottom of a dried up river gorge with steep banks. Here Aina and I took out the mango we bought at the market and ate it together, skin and all, juice dripping down our chins, forming blissful smiles on our faces. That was probably the best mango I had ever tasted, flavor exploding in my mouth, every bite my brother took as good as the one I did. When we had finished eating, we went over to the little pools and slipped into them, their warm waters, cooling our flaming bodies. I floated suspended in time, my heart stretched as wide as my arms. Aina and I played in the pools for a few more hours and then settled down for a nap. The sun had now reached a position where the heat was comforting, coaxing us into the dream world.
I awoke to my brother shaking me, the skies were dark and ominous and the scent of rain was heavy on the wind as it tore around us. “We need to get out of here,” he shrieked. As Aina said this, I realized that we were still at the bottom of the embankment of the river where the pools were. Thunderstorms were a rare occurrence, but when they came they could be torrential.
A bolt of lightning split the sky open and was followed by a rolling crash of thunder that reverberated through the very core of the earth. And from the tattered pieces of the sky the rain came pouring down. There was no second to wait, simply the hammering onslaught of rain that churned the earth to mud in seconds. Aina and I scrambled for the banks and tried desperately to climb them, but every time we would run and grab for them we would slip off and fall flat on our faces. Little rivers snaked their way around our feet. The gorge was bound to flash any second now! Just then I caught sight of a sturdy acacia root snacking out of the soil in a loop at the top of the embankment. “Over there,” I pointed, and Aina and I ran over. We each took turns jumping for the root, and in the end I grabbed hold of it first and hoisted myself up its slippery surface. I looked back down to where my brother was standing, a panicked look in his eyes. Idiot I thought, why had I just pulled myself up without thinking? Aina was shorter than me and it would be harder for him to get to the root. I reached my hand down as far as I could and yelled, “Jump! Quick!” All the while the rain continuously poured down, my brother tried once and slipped, twice and I could feel his fingers graze mine, and then with a final hurrah he threw himself up towards me, his fingers locking around my forearm. Not a moment too late had I hoisted him onto the bank when the water came crashing down. I couldn’t tell if it was from above, or upstream, or from the earth itself, but the gorge filled in a matter of seconds carrying away anything and everything with it in a white torrent.
We sat on the bank together, holding onto each other for dear life. We didn’t let go for a while until we realized how cold, it had become. The rain had stopped, but it seemed no lighter and no warmer. The suns’ orange rays now slanted across the earth creating long irregular shadows. The sky was still cloudy, but in the distance a faint rainbow arched above the still world. “I can’t believe it's almost night.” shuddered Ania “We’ve been out here for that long?”
“I guess so” I replied, “there is no way we are going to get back wandering through the night. We would get so turned around that we wouldn’t know where to find our own feet.”
“That’s true,” Aina said, “but we need to find a source of warmth or we’ll freeze out here. We could head over to those acacia trees and try to collect some wood for a fire.”
There were slim pickings for wood on the ground, and we had brought no tools for chopping anything down, so we salvaged what we could of the ground but, it was barely enough to get the fire started.
Aina stood with a look of triumph on his face. “I have an idea.” he grinned.
“I’m all ears,” I said. Aina then continued to tell me his brilliant plan. He would climb one of the trees and hang far out on the branch until, it broke. It was then my job to wait at the bottom of the tree to catch him and the falling branch. I stared at him incredulously, “Fine, but if you break your legs it is not my fault!” Aina was always the daring type, and he grinned. Aina and I then continued to carry out his excellent plan. The first time Aina almost killed us both. He came snapping from the branch, I caught him, and we tumbled in a heap of limb, and broken branches. Like this we learned that if I caught Aina then rolled, it would lessen the impact, and if he let go of the branch as he fell, it would lessen the scratches. All the while the sun dipped lower in the sky, and in this way we collected a good deal of branches. We then set about collecting once dry grasses that dotted the landscape. In the end, we stood over our pile of fire makings, shivering in our wet clothes, and were met with a new problem: how were we supposed to start the fire? We stood there for awhile in thought. Eventually, an idea popped into my head. “I know how to make a bow drill, but we will have to work fast in the dying light.”
Aina and I worked tirelessly. I selected a somewhat pliant branch and began to chisel two notches into either side of it. While Aina found a sturdy twig and worked it with another rock to form rounded points. Next we took a branch and split it in half along the motorcycles fender, which was lying in the mud at the side of the banks. With this more or less flat slab, we notched a little hole to start of the drill. Finally we used cow hide from our slingshots as the cord to finish of the bow. Last we took the once dry grasses and made a nest out of them for the sparks.
We strung the drill in the bow and took turns spinning it, pressing it hard into the wood with a notched rock. It took a while for the wood to warm up because of the rain, but before long it was smoking. We drilled and drilled until it was mesmerizing and our arms ached and our hands were sore, and then from out of the wood a little ember glowed to life. I took the grass nest that we had made and emptied a little bit of the motorcycles’ gasoline into it. Aina then gingerly placed the spark into the nest. The little spark slowly grew into a little flame awakening to the chance for life. I then bent over and blew into the nest sending more little sparks flying and enticing the flame to creep across the fuel and grass. I blew my breath of life into the fire, the life for me, the life for my brother, the life for our people, the life for our ancestors, the life for the land and the life for the flame, and before I knew it I was holding half a ball of fire. I then placed the nest into the structure Aina had made and poured a little more motorcycle gas on it, and before long we were standing next to a growing fire that’s warmth crept into our bones just as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared behind the horizon.
As the night fell we sat alone in the vastness of the world one little light that shone out in the sea of oblivion. On our backs, we could feel the cold, the fresh bitter bite of it and the quiet hum of the desert still and untouched. “Tell me a story,” Aina asked.
“Ok,” I replied and the story went like this…
"One day long ago, Zanahary [Creator God] asked the first man and woman if they would prefer to die like the moon or like a banana tree. The couple looked at each other in confusion until the woman asked, 'What does it mean to die like the moon?'
Zanahary replied, 'The moon is always reborn. Each month the moon starts out as a sliver and grows bigger. Then it gets smaller until one night it disappears. The next night it's a sliver again.'
The couple thought about this for a moment. The man asked, 'How does one die like a banana tree?'
'A banana tree sends off shoots. After the tree dies, the shoots continue to live, eventually growing into young trees,' answered Zanahary.
So if the couple didn't have children, they could live forever like the moon does. If they did have kids, they would give life to others like the banana tree does. The first couple thought about this choice, and they decided to die like a banana tree. Because of their decision, humans have only one lifetime on earth." [1]
After this story we fell asleep together, our bodies curved along the fire to stay warm. When we woke it was deathly cold. The fire had died down to embers and there was no more wood left in our stack. “Aina,” I am going to go look for grasses so we can keep this fire going. You stay here so I can call to you to find my way back,” I said shivering.
“Ok Ryan,” Aina said quietly, “but don’t go too far.” I took the last remaining stick and lit it in the fire to form a little makeshift torch and headed into the night. The darkness was all consuming; my flame was basically a joke. But still I poked on, opening my senses hoping to find something, but before long my flame had vanished. It was as black as pitch. So dark I couldn’t see my own had in front of my face. My heart beat fast, and I called out to my brother, “Aina,” I shouted, “Aina!” Nothing, there was no return from the void. My heart thudded in my chest, and I began to run, run towards where I thought I had come from. I ran in panic praying for my brother. Then I slammed into something, a hard force that knocked me down. I could barely breathe my hair stood on end. I reached out into the darkness, my heart racing. I felt something with my fingertips, something cold and alive. I screamed and so did someone else. “Hello,” I said into the darkness. A timid hello answered me back and my heart filled with relief. “Aina,” I said.
“Ryan,” he replied, and we fell into each other’s invisible brace. “I was terrified when you left and didn’t come back so I just started running,” Aina sobbed.
“The same happened to me as soon as I left”, we were both fools to put distance between each other in the beginning,” I said. Then we looked up into the sky and saw the clouds had parted. Above us was a sea of billions of stars, shining as bright as bonfires, but with all the awe and wonder of the universe.
For the rest of the night, we lay in the bone shattering cold looking up at the pure white brilliance in gratitude, and when the glowing orb of life broke over the horizon and touched our minute bodies that clung together for warmth, and crept up our limbs bringing forth the promise for our survival; we started Karl’s old motorcycle and rode into the rising sun as united brothers.
[1] Oluonye Mary N.”Cara in America. “: A Malagasy Folktale. Blogger.com, 9 Dec. 2009
When Karl left for the states, he gave his now retired motorcycle to my brother and I, for my brother was fascinated by it. Whenever Aina had a chance, he would watch how Karl treated it, how he oiled it, how he filled it with gas, how he cleaned it, He even got to ride it a couple times. My brother and I had spent the last year getting it back into use, learning what we could and salvaging what we needed, and today it was ready for a spin.
Aina and I loaded up what we thought we would need for a good day of adventure, and headed out of our village, the bike sputtering and puffing smoke as we went. We putted across the dry earth the wind blowing in our faces my brothers arms wrapped tightly around me, in the distance the heat waves danced like spirits bending and beckoning for us to follow. So we did. We just drove, often snaking our way through thorny foliage, and high grasses.
The sun beat down on us caressing our necks and glancing off the bikes rusty metal. We would often have to get off and push it across particularly rough terrain. Like this we arrived at the regional market. We hadn’t particularly intended to go to market but when the path became familiar we followed along gladly. Today the market was overflowing with mangos because they were in season; the smell of them permeated the air in a rich but tangy aroma. We picked out one that looked to be blossoming with ripeness, thanking the women who had sold them to us and continued on our journey.
It was now midday, and the heat was ominous. The land had flattened into an open expanse that carried on forever, unforgiving. We now had an intense need for shade but there was none around. “We need to turn back, Aina. We need to find shade,” I said urgently.
“Where,” Aina responded. Then I looked around; he was right, there was nothing to be seen but the dance of the heat waves and the open expanse of flat desert reaching out to the horizon, dotted occasionally by some harsh shrubbery or dessert grasses. I gulped, realizing how dry my throat had become. “What should we do then; head back toward what is known or continue on, counting on chance?” I asked.
“Keep following the dancers,”Aina replied. “There is something that we are diving into Ryan, you can feel it, just listen,” Aina replied as he stared off into the distance. I was usually the one that talked like this, not my brother, so whenever he spoke with his intuition, I took heed. I paused and felt the sun's intensity on my skin. I felt my sweat pool off of me, returning to the sacred springs from which it was born.
“Ok, have a drink of water though,” I handed my brother the water skin and took a swig after him. Then together we pushed on into the inferno, keeping our eyes on something only we could see. We pushed the bike now, for the seat had become too hot to sit on. Together my brother and I labored under the bike and the sun, our minds and bodies pushed and gazed in unison, our souls danced above us with the mirages. It had been a long time since I had felt this connection with Aina, not since we were very young before our parents had gotten a divorce and he had spent more time with our mother and I had spent more time with our father because of our respective ages. We had worked on the bike together, and that was our connection, but there had always been a tension between us because of our parent’s pain. We pushed the bike like this for a long time in silence, listening to the unspoken words that flowed between us.
Eventually we came to two desert pools nestled in the shade of a couple sweeping acacia trees that laid at the bottom of a dried up river gorge with steep banks. Here Aina and I took out the mango we bought at the market and ate it together, skin and all, juice dripping down our chins, forming blissful smiles on our faces. That was probably the best mango I had ever tasted, flavor exploding in my mouth, every bite my brother took as good as the one I did. When we had finished eating, we went over to the little pools and slipped into them, their warm waters, cooling our flaming bodies. I floated suspended in time, my heart stretched as wide as my arms. Aina and I played in the pools for a few more hours and then settled down for a nap. The sun had now reached a position where the heat was comforting, coaxing us into the dream world.
I awoke to my brother shaking me, the skies were dark and ominous and the scent of rain was heavy on the wind as it tore around us. “We need to get out of here,” he shrieked. As Aina said this, I realized that we were still at the bottom of the embankment of the river where the pools were. Thunderstorms were a rare occurrence, but when they came they could be torrential.
A bolt of lightning split the sky open and was followed by a rolling crash of thunder that reverberated through the very core of the earth. And from the tattered pieces of the sky the rain came pouring down. There was no second to wait, simply the hammering onslaught of rain that churned the earth to mud in seconds. Aina and I scrambled for the banks and tried desperately to climb them, but every time we would run and grab for them we would slip off and fall flat on our faces. Little rivers snaked their way around our feet. The gorge was bound to flash any second now! Just then I caught sight of a sturdy acacia root snacking out of the soil in a loop at the top of the embankment. “Over there,” I pointed, and Aina and I ran over. We each took turns jumping for the root, and in the end I grabbed hold of it first and hoisted myself up its slippery surface. I looked back down to where my brother was standing, a panicked look in his eyes. Idiot I thought, why had I just pulled myself up without thinking? Aina was shorter than me and it would be harder for him to get to the root. I reached my hand down as far as I could and yelled, “Jump! Quick!” All the while the rain continuously poured down, my brother tried once and slipped, twice and I could feel his fingers graze mine, and then with a final hurrah he threw himself up towards me, his fingers locking around my forearm. Not a moment too late had I hoisted him onto the bank when the water came crashing down. I couldn’t tell if it was from above, or upstream, or from the earth itself, but the gorge filled in a matter of seconds carrying away anything and everything with it in a white torrent.
We sat on the bank together, holding onto each other for dear life. We didn’t let go for a while until we realized how cold, it had become. The rain had stopped, but it seemed no lighter and no warmer. The suns’ orange rays now slanted across the earth creating long irregular shadows. The sky was still cloudy, but in the distance a faint rainbow arched above the still world. “I can’t believe it's almost night.” shuddered Ania “We’ve been out here for that long?”
“I guess so” I replied, “there is no way we are going to get back wandering through the night. We would get so turned around that we wouldn’t know where to find our own feet.”
“That’s true,” Aina said, “but we need to find a source of warmth or we’ll freeze out here. We could head over to those acacia trees and try to collect some wood for a fire.”
There were slim pickings for wood on the ground, and we had brought no tools for chopping anything down, so we salvaged what we could of the ground but, it was barely enough to get the fire started.
Aina stood with a look of triumph on his face. “I have an idea.” he grinned.
“I’m all ears,” I said. Aina then continued to tell me his brilliant plan. He would climb one of the trees and hang far out on the branch until, it broke. It was then my job to wait at the bottom of the tree to catch him and the falling branch. I stared at him incredulously, “Fine, but if you break your legs it is not my fault!” Aina was always the daring type, and he grinned. Aina and I then continued to carry out his excellent plan. The first time Aina almost killed us both. He came snapping from the branch, I caught him, and we tumbled in a heap of limb, and broken branches. Like this we learned that if I caught Aina then rolled, it would lessen the impact, and if he let go of the branch as he fell, it would lessen the scratches. All the while the sun dipped lower in the sky, and in this way we collected a good deal of branches. We then set about collecting once dry grasses that dotted the landscape. In the end, we stood over our pile of fire makings, shivering in our wet clothes, and were met with a new problem: how were we supposed to start the fire? We stood there for awhile in thought. Eventually, an idea popped into my head. “I know how to make a bow drill, but we will have to work fast in the dying light.”
Aina and I worked tirelessly. I selected a somewhat pliant branch and began to chisel two notches into either side of it. While Aina found a sturdy twig and worked it with another rock to form rounded points. Next we took a branch and split it in half along the motorcycles fender, which was lying in the mud at the side of the banks. With this more or less flat slab, we notched a little hole to start of the drill. Finally we used cow hide from our slingshots as the cord to finish of the bow. Last we took the once dry grasses and made a nest out of them for the sparks.
We strung the drill in the bow and took turns spinning it, pressing it hard into the wood with a notched rock. It took a while for the wood to warm up because of the rain, but before long it was smoking. We drilled and drilled until it was mesmerizing and our arms ached and our hands were sore, and then from out of the wood a little ember glowed to life. I took the grass nest that we had made and emptied a little bit of the motorcycles’ gasoline into it. Aina then gingerly placed the spark into the nest. The little spark slowly grew into a little flame awakening to the chance for life. I then bent over and blew into the nest sending more little sparks flying and enticing the flame to creep across the fuel and grass. I blew my breath of life into the fire, the life for me, the life for my brother, the life for our people, the life for our ancestors, the life for the land and the life for the flame, and before I knew it I was holding half a ball of fire. I then placed the nest into the structure Aina had made and poured a little more motorcycle gas on it, and before long we were standing next to a growing fire that’s warmth crept into our bones just as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared behind the horizon.
As the night fell we sat alone in the vastness of the world one little light that shone out in the sea of oblivion. On our backs, we could feel the cold, the fresh bitter bite of it and the quiet hum of the desert still and untouched. “Tell me a story,” Aina asked.
“Ok,” I replied and the story went like this…
"One day long ago, Zanahary [Creator God] asked the first man and woman if they would prefer to die like the moon or like a banana tree. The couple looked at each other in confusion until the woman asked, 'What does it mean to die like the moon?'
Zanahary replied, 'The moon is always reborn. Each month the moon starts out as a sliver and grows bigger. Then it gets smaller until one night it disappears. The next night it's a sliver again.'
The couple thought about this for a moment. The man asked, 'How does one die like a banana tree?'
'A banana tree sends off shoots. After the tree dies, the shoots continue to live, eventually growing into young trees,' answered Zanahary.
So if the couple didn't have children, they could live forever like the moon does. If they did have kids, they would give life to others like the banana tree does. The first couple thought about this choice, and they decided to die like a banana tree. Because of their decision, humans have only one lifetime on earth." [1]
After this story we fell asleep together, our bodies curved along the fire to stay warm. When we woke it was deathly cold. The fire had died down to embers and there was no more wood left in our stack. “Aina,” I am going to go look for grasses so we can keep this fire going. You stay here so I can call to you to find my way back,” I said shivering.
“Ok Ryan,” Aina said quietly, “but don’t go too far.” I took the last remaining stick and lit it in the fire to form a little makeshift torch and headed into the night. The darkness was all consuming; my flame was basically a joke. But still I poked on, opening my senses hoping to find something, but before long my flame had vanished. It was as black as pitch. So dark I couldn’t see my own had in front of my face. My heart beat fast, and I called out to my brother, “Aina,” I shouted, “Aina!” Nothing, there was no return from the void. My heart thudded in my chest, and I began to run, run towards where I thought I had come from. I ran in panic praying for my brother. Then I slammed into something, a hard force that knocked me down. I could barely breathe my hair stood on end. I reached out into the darkness, my heart racing. I felt something with my fingertips, something cold and alive. I screamed and so did someone else. “Hello,” I said into the darkness. A timid hello answered me back and my heart filled with relief. “Aina,” I said.
“Ryan,” he replied, and we fell into each other’s invisible brace. “I was terrified when you left and didn’t come back so I just started running,” Aina sobbed.
“The same happened to me as soon as I left”, we were both fools to put distance between each other in the beginning,” I said. Then we looked up into the sky and saw the clouds had parted. Above us was a sea of billions of stars, shining as bright as bonfires, but with all the awe and wonder of the universe.
For the rest of the night, we lay in the bone shattering cold looking up at the pure white brilliance in gratitude, and when the glowing orb of life broke over the horizon and touched our minute bodies that clung together for warmth, and crept up our limbs bringing forth the promise for our survival; we started Karl’s old motorcycle and rode into the rising sun as united brothers.
[1] Oluonye Mary N.”Cara in America. “: A Malagasy Folktale. Blogger.com, 9 Dec. 2009
Reflection: To start of the African Fiction Project we launched into a deep and extensive research process to find out as much as we could in the time we had, about our chosen country in Africa. I got the privilege to Interview good a family friend of ours, Karl. Who has spent many years living with the Mahafaly, a tribe in western Madagascar. Interviewing Karl was a powerful experience. I learned a great deal and gleaned insight that I would not have bean able to obtain spending my time on the internet alone. I believe that through this I was able to write a story that was personal and connected to me while holding a sense of place in Madagascar. However even before the research process we read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Half Of A Yellow Sun and Chinua Achebe's Things fall Apart. chalk full of human experience, culture, and potent history that has shaped the fabrics of our lives both books were an epic learning experience.
The literary strength that I am the strongest at is "showing not telling." My story uses vivid descriptions to form an image in the readers mind. Here is an example. "A bolt of lighting split the sky and was followed by a rolling crash of thunder, that reverberated through the very core of the earth, and from the tattered pieces of the sky, the rain came pouring down. There was no second to wait, simply the hammering onslaught of rain that turned the earth to mud in seconds."
The literary element that I had the most difficulties with was "integration of history." This was hard for me because I wanted to write a story that focused on a very small and personal experience in someone's life. I was able to overcome the lack of historical reference by integrating pieces of culture and infustruture to my story. In my story there is a part where the older brother tells his younger brother a Malagasy folk tale. I also show how there is minimal light pollution in Madagascar and how fires are the main source of warmth in the rural areas. witch connects to the history of Madagascar that led to its energy looking as such.
In places of my story I revised my writing, so that some of my longer and descriptive sentences also held a puncturing clarity and power. This enabled my story to be descriptive but less wish washy, and more striking. I tried to revise my story so there were no wasted words. Another very important revision I made to my story was meticulous grammar proofing. I know this is more of an edit but it helped my story a great deal. In the past I have always had an issue with spelling and grammar, and editing my story for this with Sara enabled for refinement and beautiful work.
I chose to do an interpretive dance with Benjamin and use three advanced literary elements in my story. The interpretive dance was a wonderful experience for Benjamin and I to collaborate and present. One of the literary elements I incorporated was a Myth. Here is the Malagasy folktale that I used.
"One day long ago, Zanahary [Creator God] asked the first man and woman if they would prefer to die like the moon or like a banana tree. The couple looked at each other in confusion until the woman asked, 'What does it mean to die like the moon?'
Zanahary replied, 'The moon is always reborn. Each month the moon starts out as a sliver and grows bigger. Then it gets smaller until one night it disappears. The next night it's a sliver again.'
The couple thought about this for a moment. The man asked, 'How does one die like a banana tree?'
'A banana tree sends off shoots. After the tree dies, the shoots continue to live, eventually growing into young trees,' answered Zanahary.
So if the couple didn't have children, they could live forever like the moon does. If they did have kids, they would give life to others like the banana tree does. The first couple thought about this choice, and they decided to die like a banana tree. Because of their decision, humans have only one lifetime on earth."
-From Madagascar, by Mary N. Oluonye
The literary strength that I am the strongest at is "showing not telling." My story uses vivid descriptions to form an image in the readers mind. Here is an example. "A bolt of lighting split the sky and was followed by a rolling crash of thunder, that reverberated through the very core of the earth, and from the tattered pieces of the sky, the rain came pouring down. There was no second to wait, simply the hammering onslaught of rain that turned the earth to mud in seconds."
The literary element that I had the most difficulties with was "integration of history." This was hard for me because I wanted to write a story that focused on a very small and personal experience in someone's life. I was able to overcome the lack of historical reference by integrating pieces of culture and infustruture to my story. In my story there is a part where the older brother tells his younger brother a Malagasy folk tale. I also show how there is minimal light pollution in Madagascar and how fires are the main source of warmth in the rural areas. witch connects to the history of Madagascar that led to its energy looking as such.
In places of my story I revised my writing, so that some of my longer and descriptive sentences also held a puncturing clarity and power. This enabled my story to be descriptive but less wish washy, and more striking. I tried to revise my story so there were no wasted words. Another very important revision I made to my story was meticulous grammar proofing. I know this is more of an edit but it helped my story a great deal. In the past I have always had an issue with spelling and grammar, and editing my story for this with Sara enabled for refinement and beautiful work.
I chose to do an interpretive dance with Benjamin and use three advanced literary elements in my story. The interpretive dance was a wonderful experience for Benjamin and I to collaborate and present. One of the literary elements I incorporated was a Myth. Here is the Malagasy folktale that I used.
"One day long ago, Zanahary [Creator God] asked the first man and woman if they would prefer to die like the moon or like a banana tree. The couple looked at each other in confusion until the woman asked, 'What does it mean to die like the moon?'
Zanahary replied, 'The moon is always reborn. Each month the moon starts out as a sliver and grows bigger. Then it gets smaller until one night it disappears. The next night it's a sliver again.'
The couple thought about this for a moment. The man asked, 'How does one die like a banana tree?'
'A banana tree sends off shoots. After the tree dies, the shoots continue to live, eventually growing into young trees,' answered Zanahary.
So if the couple didn't have children, they could live forever like the moon does. If they did have kids, they would give life to others like the banana tree does. The first couple thought about this choice, and they decided to die like a banana tree. Because of their decision, humans have only one lifetime on earth."
-From Madagascar, by Mary N. Oluonye