Mérida (and my near death experience.....sorry Mom)

Holy Crap. I just got back from the most phenomenal, yet terrifying vacation of my entire life.

We (me and 8 other girls) spent 5 days in Merida, a BEAUTIFUL city set in the Andes Mountains in western Venezuela. I'm officially in love. There is nothing more heart warming (despite freezing weather) than seeing mountains in every direction, every corner, and every glance. The mountains are your way in and out, and successfully locked me into the most beautiful paradise I could ever imagine. I've never known a more calm, humbling, overwhelming, breath-taking city in my life, and I'll forever be reaching into the back of my mind for memories of this place and these people.

 (and of course)

So anyway, our days were filled with some pretty great activities, from horseback riding (in the mountains), to salsa clubs, impressive restaurants, and.....*sigh*...canyoning. (http://www.arassari.com/e3-canyo.html)
I'll be honest, I'm still a little traumatized over this shit. I couldn't go rafting because of scheduling issues, so I opted for this instead with 3 of the other girls, and I'm pretty sure the guide hates me now because I was scared the entire time. We started out with a mile hike up the mountain. Ok cool. I can do that. We're good. We finally get down into the valley and reach the river: time to LITERALLY strip down to your underwear and put on a wet suit. A bit awkward being in my underwear in front of a random Venezuelan tour guide, 3 other girls, and goats, but ok fine. I'll go with it.

Our only way of moving through the mountain was via the river. The rocks under the water were extremely slippery so helmets were definitely necessary at this point. We move through the (fast moving) river for about a half mile until we reach waterfall number 1. 

I wish I had a picture of this mess. When I say that I nearly fainted...I NEARLY FAINTED. My harness is on, the guide has already hooked the ropes up so there's no backing out now. The waterfall is intense, but there's no other way down so suck it up Janae, SUCK IT THE HECK UP. You're going down this waterfall whether you want to or not. At this point, I had nothing better to do but sit on a rock for a second, pray, tear up for a minute, and do it.

I ease over the edge of the cliff, I look down....hell no. Hernaldo (guide) is telling me to relax and just take it easy, I look forward, sloooooooowly ease down. Please God no, PLEASE. I can't do it. Cannot. I move down a little more, gripping the harness as tight as I possibly can. Ok, I'm finally doing it. It's happening. I start moving down, loosening the rope a little bit at the time. Keep your head down. I start feeling water beating down on my helmet.......shit. Looking down at my feet, the water is crashing down harder than you could ever imagine. I'm finally behind the waterfall, against the wall. Not too bad, right? I start breathing normally again, I'm inching down a little bit at a time until I reach the bottom. The water is beating harder now but it's almost over and I'm still alive.

Here's where this story gets drastic. I reach the bottom and my feet hit the water, and before I can look over at the wall, I get pulled under the current. Yes, I'm now caught under the waterfall, water is beating on me and holding me down and forget trying to swim or breath under water at this point. I'm officially dead wrong for this entire thing. DEAD ASS WRONG. So I'm coming up for air after a few seconds, I try to reach for the wall but the current pulls me back down again. I can hear one of the girls telling me to reach to the left, but I have NO strength left. I can hardly lift my arms anymore. I can't push my legs anymore. I can't breathe anymore. I go under one last time and I swear to God, I had that dramatic moment in a movie when your life flashes before your eyes and you think to yourself  "ok ...I'm definitely gonna die right now". I totally had that moment.

I honestly have now idea how it happened, but I managed to calm myself down for longer than 3 seconds and breathe so I could move again. I moved over to the opposite side of the water and finally reached the rocks where I proceeded to cough up a lung, curse the Gods, search for a lost contact lens, and burp up salty water. The best part? There were 2 more waterfalls left.

Like I said, I was dead ass wrong. 

Standard.

You never realize how isolated you are until you encounter what’s outside of your view. My mind, my ears, my eyes and sensibilities have been, to say the least, consumed with the Afro-Venezuelan experience since I’ve been here. I’m fortunate enough to spend every second of everyday surrounded by people who look exactly me and have many things in common with me. I’m the norm here. I’m the standard. I’m regular. I’m ideal, and it’s extremely new for me. Needless to say, I’ve gotten very comfortable in this environment. 

I spent last weekend in Caracas (the capital, and much larger than Higuerote), and once again, I felt that shock. That feeling of being the minority, and being different in the most obvious of ways, came back with full force. Caracas is not only much larger, it’s 2 hours from the bulk of the Afro-Venezuelan population, and the Western influence (forget what you’ve heard) is just as obvious as my brown skin. While I enjoyed the nicer restaurants, the waiters who could *sort of* understand my English, and the chance to visit the largest mall in all of South America, I had all of these things at my comfort’s expense. Caracas really is another world. And I honestly found myself wondering if the young pale-faced Venezuelan teens in goth attire ever stopped to think about the people in Higuerote. If they had ever been there. If they knew what it meant to be afrodescendiente, or if they even cared. Perhaps from a nice hotel in Caracas it’s easy to lose sight of Barlovento and think of other things instead, but I found myself always going back to that. Back to our neighborhood, the young guys who run the bodega on our street who have been in Higuerote for all of their lives, the IUB students who have a totally different view of Venezuela than those of Caracas. 

Don’t get me wrong, Caracas is a fun place. Great clubs, a great subway system, a lot more developed and modern, sure. I guess I just realized, even if on a small scale, just how “out of sight and out of mind” the Afro-Venezuelan population really is. The only black people I saw in Caracas were pushing ice-cream trucks or cleaning streets. Meanwhile, whenever Higuerote is even mentioned, the response is “Why are you studying there?”, “Why not in Caracas?”. Not that I didn’t expect that in some respects, because I absolutely did. Perhaps I’ve just realized that the beauty and significance of this land isn’t appreciated by all, and it only makes me want to stay immersed here, where I’m ideal.

Cacao and the makings of you.

Just when I find myself slipping into the mundane pattern of being a college student (did I REALLY just say that?), Venezuela gives me a little reminder if what’s sitting right beneath my feet. Smells, sounds, dances, phrases, food…all working together to keep me afloat and looking for more, and it’s working so well. 

We’ve been lucky enough to have Professor Antonio D. Tillis, professor of African and African American Studies at Dartmouth College, visiting with us for the past week. We’ve been showing him the university, community, and larger parts of the Barlovento region, as he plans to create a study abroad program similar to this one at Dartmouth. He’s also a very good friend of Professor Jordan (our program director), so I’ve enjoyed getting to know him and (of course) seeking career advice and networking. I’ve had the chance to ask him a BILLION questions about international development, micro-finance initiatives in African and Latin America, and obviously exchanging travel stories. To put it plainly, this man is awesome. I love being in the company of accomplished, knowledgeable individuals, especially if we share similar interests. He also gave me some great connections and information about opportunities in Brazil for next year. I won’t speak on it all yet, but I definitely have new plans of action to consider. 

This weekend we visited a family owned cacao plantation called La Ceiba, where we not only received a thorough history of cacao/chocolate production in Venezuela, global markets, and current movements for local chocolate production, but we also learned how they produce their own chocolate step by step (amazing), got a run through of traditional afro-venezuelan instruments (Uncle Marc, you would’ve died), AND they fed us. Easily the most delicious carne, arroz, plátanos, and obscure molasses/lime drink my mouth has ever had. Cue the stomach growls and someone pass me my fat pants.

 

 Alejandro (age 4)

 Cacao seeds (white, and brown after being cooked)

 TELL ME my camera isn't on point.

I loved every second of this experience. I loved learning that it takes between 3-5 years from the planting of a seed to the cutting of the ripe cacao fruit. I loved learning that cacao farmers are also expert banana growers, I loved learning how to tell when a fruit is ready to be cut from the tree, I loved learning how to split a cacao open with a machete in less than 2 seconds, I loved learning the taste of ripe cacao seeds (they literally taste like mango and look like brains), I loved sipping alcohol made with chocolate and playing tambores with a full belly. I loved it all and I want to go back already. I still haven’t figured out how I’ll fit all of this pure chocolate in my suitcase when it’s time to come home.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (because cameras weren’t allowed past security =/).

Excuse my mini vacation! A combination of exhaustion, homework, and a finicky wireless set up has set me back a couple of week. But we’re back! Purging commence.

In 3 days I will have been here for 1 month. I’ve yet to find the lost days and nights that somehow got me here so fast, but I’m enjoying my progression. I feel like my mind has stretched beyond the limits that I thought were once there, and I’m also seeing the same kind of growth in my colleagues/fellow students/roommates/ friends, and it’s refreshing. I read somewhere that it takes a human being approximately 21 days to form a habit or become fully accustomed to a new setting. As I’m reaching for the 4 week mark, I can absolutely agree. Venezuela is home (as if I needed another one?).

So let’s go back. I left off giving some information about the Afro-Venezuelan sensibility and pushes for political and social inclusion. Since that post, I’ve had the opportunity to do a lot of reading. I’ve had my eyes on everything from UN Reports, dissertations, newspapers, speeches, etc. and I have much more to go. When I first began this blog, I expressed that while I had much to say and feel about my own sensibilities as an African American, I had no idea how to begin educating myself about the Afro-Venezuelan identity. Well my time here has afforded me the chance to spend 4 months engrossed in all things afrovenezolano, and my goodness, what an eye opener. While I knew that I would be walking into a huge bundle of information and experiences and ideas that have existed before my understanding of them, I wasn’t prepared for the ways in which afro-venezolanidad is tied so concretely to Venezuela’s political hoo-haa. Essentially, you cannot understand the history of afro-venezuelan identity and sensibility without understanding the history of the Bolivarian Revolution, current VZ politics, Chavista policies, UN/UNESCO influence (or a lack thereof), and for the sake of full inclusion, the nature of the African Diaspora as a whole. Luckily, I get to stick my hand in all of it. I can’t push my glasses up far enough!

I’m also noticing improvements in my Spanish speaking/writing skills. By no means have I escaped that wonderful “Oh she’s CLEARLY American” accent. But I’m getting there. Things come more easily, and I’m able to express myself in more complex ways without having to THINK about it so much before I say it. Let me also say that the Venezuelan accent is….something supernatural. What on Earth. I’ll never forget the day we got here when I asked a man in the airport about the taxi to the hotel, obviously thinking I’m all that because I said it in Spanish (perfect grammar by the way). Little did I know that his response would fly out of his mouth quicker than I could Google Translate. You know you’re getting better when you can ask the question AND dissect the answer.

So anyway, the point of this post. Right.

On Tuesday, our group went BACK to Caracas for a nice little overnight trip to the US Embassy. We were fortunate enough to have a briefing with the Head of Public Affairs on US Foreign Policy initiatives in Venezuela, among other things.

Needless to say, he gave us exactly what I expected: not-so-subtle anti-Chavez rhetoric. When asked about the current strains between the United States and Venezuela, what has caused it, and what can alleviate it, of course the conversation turned into a conversation about the former US Ambassador to Venezuela (who is now at UNC, by the way) and the discrepancies involving his removal from the country. He also briefly touched on the accusations that the US was involved in the 2002 coup attempt, and further accusations that the U.S. has military bases in Colombia. While the rough relationship between US Ambassadors and the Venezuelan government has definitely added fuel to the fire, this is not the biggest issue. For one thing, there is plenty of reason to believe that the U.S. had a hand (whether directly or indirectly is yet to be said) in the coup attempt, but I’ll leave that up to you to decide after your own research.

What is clear to me, however, is that as public officials representing the United States abroad, employees of the US Department of State, including those who work in US Embassies, are expected to represent and defend the interests and positions of the US in all areas. That’s exactly what we got. There were many statements that I disagreed with, based on my own understanding of US involvement in Latin America and Venezuelan politics specifically, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m grateful for the chance to visit the embassy (in all of its exclusivity sitting on a hill in the richest part of the country, overlooking Caracas amongst a community of wealthy that were a part of the elite that supported the overthrowing of Chavez. How’s THAT for irony?), because it gave me the chance to hear the tone of the United States directly, and see the manner in which the relationship between the US and Venezuela has become unbelievably complex, confusing, and contradictory. The more longstanding issues that Chavez takes with the United States (economic policies, coup attempts, imperialism as a general concept, etc) are constantly being reinforced by current events in the Americas, and I don’t see these issues being resolved anytime soon. I will say, however, that I’m enjoying the humor of knowing when I’m getting crafted answers.

Buena Presencia**

Professor Alejandro Correa (from IUB) held a 2 hour discussion with us yesterday, giving us the necessary background on the history of Blacks and Indigenous populations in Venezuela, discriminatory practices, cultural movements, and what has and will continue to come as a result of them. I also had the chance to finally ask him some more personal questions about his own opinions on Afro-Venezuelan identity and his sensibility of the Diaspora in general.

I was pleasantly surprised. Personally, I feel not only a strong sense of self-identity as an African American, but I also feel a connection with the Diaspora in general. However, I think I’ve always subconsciously felt that that sensibility isn’t as popular outside of the United States. I’ve been under the impression that the movements for self-realization and pride have, for the most part, been popular in the US, but not in Latin America. Ignorant of me? Probably. What I’ve realized thus far is that while Afro-venezolidad is a sensibility that is still not recognized politically (Afro-Venezuelans are not explicitly listed in the Constitution as an ethnic identity), movements toward self-realization are in abundance.

From early colonial slave revolts, to the establishment of independent black communities, participation in the Bolivarian Revolution, and even now in the current Chavez administration, the black Venezuelan has had a presence and significance in the shaping of the social, cultural, and political foundations and manifestations of this country. Unfortunately however, they are not realized by the majority. Many struggles for self-identity, political and social recognition, and a sensibility of the Diaspora that have taken place in the United States are happening here now. The difference, however, is that without a sense of community, un sentido de afro-venezolidad, the initiatives that spring forth are unmoving.

In 2010, there is no census that lists Afro-Venezuelan as an option. For this reason, any noted statistics on the ethnic make-up of Venezuela site Afro-descents as being anywhere between 10 and 60% of the total population. In addition, Venezuelans have come to accept an overarching notion of a ‘mestizo’ population since the (Bolivarian) Revolution. In other words, a culture has been created that acknowledges a mixed race nation; comprised of African, Indigenous, and European/Criollo ancestry, but rarely is the legitimacy of the African legacy (in and of itself) recognized. In a country where citizens claim that ‘no racism exists’, and will acknowledge la mezcla del pueblo, it is difficult to step outside of that and facilitate a separate sensibility of African culture and identity. Often times it is not appreciated. In addition, the ethnic groups that do receive recognition and political inclusion are the 36 Indigenous groups. The community and political/cultural initiatives that are making the most difference are Indigenous, not African. Their sensibility and contributions are more accepted.

During the first 2 weeks of classes, I’ve been reading much about the process by which Afro-Venezuelans have realized themselves, created a culture of identity and name upon which the culture can stand (gracias a Juan Pablo Sojo), and pushed forth with political initiatives. There is much to be said about the history of African slaves in South America and the Caribbean, the foundation of (fugitive) slave communities, the creolization of cultures and the subsequent forming of the Black identity, and the process of ‘active marooning’ (more on this later) that has taken place and will continue to take place in Venezuela and surrounding nations.

p.s.

My favorite bit of information thus far? Prof. Correa shared with us that his point of self-realization as an Afro-Venezuelan was the first time he saw a documentary about Martin Luther King Jr. I’ve also heard similar sentiments from others in this area (“…the first time I saw Roots when I was little, I realized that there was something bigger going on..”).

Not what I was expecting.

** “Buena Presencia (good presence)” is a term used in popular Venezuelan culture to describe a fair skinned person, often times used in job postings. For example, as Professor Correa explained, a job posting will list certain criteria: 5 years of experience, good work ethic, a University degree, and “Buena Presencia” a.k.a. fair skin/good physical attributes. This is the manner in which open discrimination against the African descendent population has become common. I chose this as the title of this post because despite any notion that Afro-Venezuelans no tienen ‘una buena presencia’, I beg to differ. Their presence, since the very beginning, has been of utmost importance.

Double Consciousness

"After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roamn, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world--a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world.

It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness--and American, a Negro;two warring souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it fom being torn asunder.

The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife, this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self...

-The Souls of Black Folk

I'm overwhelmed. (in other words...absense makes the heart grow fonder)

Yep. I said it. I'm beyond overwhelmed and stressed and homesick. I've been gone for a week and a half, but I'm feeling 10 million years away from myself right now.

In the past 10 days, I've done so much. I've been able to visit Caracas, El Hatillo, Rio Chico, and many parts of Higuerote. I've taken nearly 300 pictures already, I've eaten more arepas and empanadas than I want to recall, my skin is darker (I think), I'm tired, yet I go to bed at 9:30pm every single night, and wake up at 8am every morning feeling great. The sun is literally draining every morsel of energy from me, mentally and physically.

I'm not finished transitioning, and I feel like I'm hitting a wall because my mind is going 2,000 miles a minute, and my body is just...not keeping up. It'll take time, I know that. I guess I expected to hit the ground running...which I have, mentally. But I'm getting a physical kick-back that's taking a toll on me.

Also, I'm getting a bunch of e-mails asking for more constant updates. I'm trying, really. Venezuela is ALOT to take in. I already feel like I've been here for months and I've hardly broken the 2 week mark. Recalling everything that I've felt and am feeling even as I write this has been harder than I thought.

Also, I miss my parents so much and it's the worst.

Communication is a bit stunted so all of my conversations are literally going through a bottle neck. I try to call/text/e-mail/blog when I can, but by that time I've had 4 days of 10 billion things. 10 billion great things, yes. But 10 billion things affecting all of my senses at once and making me think of everything at once and I'd love to take everyone that I love and put them in front of me so that we could all experience everything together. Unfortunately I can't.

Anyway, I'm safe and things are moving along fine. I feel like I've gotten older in a short period of time, but I'm content.