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.

El Instituto Universitario de Barlovento (the name is longer, but I forget)

In the heart of Higuerote lies a small university (I would include photos but it's nearly impossible to upload them with this internet). What would most likely be compared to a small, urban, low-budget American high school has been not only a source of education, motivation, and revitalization for the Afro-Venezuelan community, but also a safe place for its youth. Alejando (my new best friend) gave us a formal tour of the university a few days ago and explained to us the history of IUB, and by no means has it been an easy journey.

Venezuela already has a significant poverty rate, and along with that comes a limited access to education. The people of the Barlovento region have, for decades, raised money and fought for the resources for this University. It began small, yes, but it is now a larger Venezuelan project, educating more than 12,000 Afro-Venezuelan students, from the city of Higuerote and neighboring regions. Mision Sucre has become an extensive educational project founded by IUB, creating a network of local universities and community colleges, all headlined by IUB and using a common curriculum.

IUB’s educational programs have also grown substantially. Students are now able to study a wide variety of fields, including Nursing, Computer Science, Law, Medicine, Engineering, Tourism, English, and Education. Recently, IUB created a joint Masters program with the University of Havana in Cuba in which students travel to Havana to defend their dissertations, and usually after that point the students return to Higuerote to do what? Teach at IUB. Many of the teachers and administrators at IUB were once students.

At any given time, someone could walk past IUB and label it insignificant. But already I see a strength and diligence in it that I hardly see in the best of American universities. Sure, it’s not Harvard or Columbia or even UNC. But what it is, has been, and will continue to be is a sort of glue in this community. It has given the people a sense of pride and a sense of power, and as I watch the students, young and old, studying their hardest to learn English, to learn engineering, to learn medicine, I know somehow that I’ll see these people in the future changing the world. At times I feel like I take my opportunities and the availability of education in the US for granted, and seeing how a community literally built this school, and what it represents for them as a people, from the ground up….I know that I have no choice but to do the absolute best with what I’ve been able to enjoy with minimal struggle.

Although we could’ve been spending our 4 months in Caracas studying at a bigger, more heavily funded University, I’m grateful for IUB. I’m grateful for the ability to see outside of the fanciness and bureaucracy of an education, and see this instead.

Day 4

If I could dump out everything that I've seen in the past few days in a uniform fashion, I would. Desafortunadamente, no es posible. Internet access has (obviously) been scarce and I expect that it will be this way for the next 4 months, but whatever. It's not as important as I thought it would be. One thing I’m realizing is that so many things that I mentally place in the “necessary” category, aren’t so. How could I ever live amongst a community of people who don’t have many of the things that I don’t bat an eye over, and even make a face about a lack of hot water, internet access, or telephones? Sobreviviré, sin duda. I guess that’s a part of unlearning things about yourself and about your surroundings. Half of the time, it’s really just not that serious.

 But anyway, where am I?

 We left Caracas 2 days ago after spending 1 night in a small hotel minutes from the airport. I wish I could’ve stayed for a few more days and explored the capital. But I’ll be back. Immediately we began what seemed like a 5 hour bus ride through the mountains all the way to the Northern coast—to Barlovento region. I guess it’s necessary to talk about this ride, because my goodness, how beautiful yet unappealing at the same time. There’s nothing more breathtaking than the view of the mountains in Venezuela. What seemed like a never ending horizon of hills, dark clouds, and winding roads was also supplemented with waves upon waves of los barrios—the small communities of squatter houses. 

La ciudad Higuerote, my new home (feel free to google ‘Higuerote’ right about now).

 Higuerote is the small capital city (and perhaps the most commercial and urban of this region), composed of both cute little apartments and slums. As far as the beach is concerned, I’ve never been more grateful for it. This is my first time touching the Caribbean Sea, please God don’t let it be the last.

We had the opportunity to visit this paradise last night with a few new friends that we made while having dinner in Rio Chico, maybe 35 minutes from our apartments. We met some great locals students and I feel much more at ease with speaking Spanish. I guess all it takes is being pushed into a situation where you have no choice.

Also, I’m surprised at how much of an urge young people feel to learn English here. Even with 6 months to a year of English instruction, these kids are excellent. It’s kind of a slap in the face to the millions of American students who’ve been taking foreign languages since 8^th grade but haven’t mastered a second (or third language). The thirst for knowledge here is overwhelming. Speaking of which, I have to tell you about the University.

he llegado

Finallllllmenteeee he llegado. Ahora estoy in caracas en Hotel Catimar para una noche, y manana vamos a Higuerote.

I'm relieved. I feel a warmness and comfort here already that I hadn't expected whatsoever. The only way that I can describe it is to compare it to my time in Saudi Arabia: it's a feeling of being in a place that you could never recognize or identify with before, yet you walk into it feeling at home and completely in your element. I feel this way already, conversing with people in the airport, playing around with little kids, joking around with the hotel maid in the hallway...there's a warmness in all of it, and I appreciate it.

Although I arrived in Caracas at night, the city still felt very much alive to me. As soon as I stepped outside, I heard music, I saw people chatting and selling things on the street. The women are beautiful, with bodies that could only be sculpted by the most skilled artists, and Venezuelan men have already captured me with the attitude that could only be described as that quintessential machismo. ayyyyy venezuela, yo he llegado.

At night, the initial view of Caracas from the airport is deceiving. What may appear to be hills upon hills of stars is your first taste of los barrios de Venezuela, and they unfold for miles farther than I can imagine. The development that I see in Caracas is also displayed against a backdrop of urban poverty, with tall hotels, PDVSA signs, graffiti and stray cats. It's all beautiful, just as it is. 

Salto de Fe

Every big decision takes a leap of faith (for me, anyways). Perhaps it's because every act, every connection, every friendship is founded on an emotional and mental investment. Venezuela has been this fuzzy and distant idea in my mind that I talk about like something that hasn't been coming my way, but now that I'm less than 48 hours away, it's finally getting to me that this is way too real.

A part of me wishes that I could stay just for a few more days and......tie up loose ends? I feel like I have an abundance of unfinished business, things left unsaid and things left out of place. I'm leaving my best friend for 4 months and if there were any way to verbalize how wrong this feels, I'd express it. It's been nearly impossible to stuff 4 months of conversations, hugs, advice, and understanding into 5 days but I still feel like I should.

On the other hand, I feel the strongest urge to jump into this experience and leave things where they are despite every bit of confusion, frustration, and uncertainty that I'm feeling. I hate to say that I'm running away, but those shoes feel so good right about now so I'll go ahead and wear them. The truth is, this semester is right on time after a stressful school year and an even more overwhelming summer. I've lost friendships, strengthened others, and some continue to keep me in a state of disorientation and uncertainty. And the best thing I could ask for at this point is the chance to get away and stop thinking about everything and everyone that has held my attention for so long. Forget a leap, I'm nose-diving.

El Principio

Whether I immediately realize it or not, every chance that I have had to travel overseas has given me a new and unexpected outlook on life, myself, and my sense of identity. For much of my life, my ideas about culture, faith and religion, heritage, and identity have been challenged and reconfigured, most likely as a result of my being wrong. I grew up with a sense of awareness of my faith and identity as an American Muslim, but that sense of security was disputed immensely the moment I began my life in the Middle East, and yet again when I re-started my life as an American living in the United States 3 years ago.

We all walk this Earth, in whatever social circle, socioeconomic class, or community, thinking that we have ideas and opinions on life-and of course-we are always right. I've realized many times that the best way to humble yourself is to be wrong, and to recognize that perhaps your ideas and opinions on any given subject are lacking understanding, insight, and context. Over the years I've felt a growing desire to discuss and fully understand many aspects of the African diaspora and all that it entails, specifically outside of my own experience as an African American. I have much to say and feel about the American experience, yet I have very little insight into the experiences and outlooks of those who may share a common origin, but an entirely different modern day experience and sense of identity.

I've been blessed to have the opportunity to spend the next 4 months in northern Venezuela, in the middle of a significant Afro-Venezuelan population. While I have nothing to predict or expect at this point, I hope that I can look back on my preconceived notions of race, identity, and culture and realize that I was wrong. I hope that this endeavor will give me yet another opportunity to disillusion myself and come into a different and unexpected understanding. I consider this experience, among others, the act of disenchanting because only when you allow yourself the chance to exist outside of what you know and free yourself from illusion can you make room for reality.