"Can't" Ain't Nothin But A Word

Believe it or not, I have had the word "can't" thrown at me several times throughout my life. "Ben, you can't say that," "Ben, you can't do that," "Ben, you can't help them," just a few phrases for you to ponder. Of course, sometimes it was necessary. Even I would tell myself that I couldn't do something, such as travel, succeed a certain things, or be influential. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I've done those things, so much for "can't." One of the worst things you can do to a human being is limit their potential by saying that they "can't." You size them up and make a judgment about their capabilities, and tell them that they can't do this or that without letting them try, simply because you don't believe in them. My potential is endless, because God is endless, and I look forward to the "can'ts" of the future. Recently, before I came to HK, there was another can't hovering over my head. A couple of people told me that I wouldn't be able to find someone to cut my hair. Well, "can't" ain't nothin but a word, because I found a brotha. Enjoy the photos.







The brotha with the clippers is Jolt, a refugee from Togo. My hair is being cut in his Flat's kitchen where he stays with three of his cousins. As I told you a couple of blogs ago, I met Jolt at the Vine Centre where I attend church. After the service, I quickly ran up to some of the Africans and began asking if anyone knew where I could get my haircut. A cat named Patrick introduced me to Jolt. Now, when he asked me how I wanted it cut, I said cut it low; but I forgot that low to him might be alot different than low to my barber at home, which it was. He first cut a little of the top, then alot off the side, and handed me the mirror to get my approval. When I looked in the mirror, I almost panicked. I don't know if you can tell from the picture, but I am nearly balled, but it was all good. My colleagues are use to seeing hair on my head so a couple of them was shocked at how short it was.

We did a little small talk, but their English wasn't that good so I did most of the talking. One of the brothas said that he knew a couple of friends from Togo that were studying in Gadsden, Alabama (small world). We really didn't discuss much, but just being around Black folk was very comforting to me. Of course, Mozambique flashed in my mind from time to time. Being around my race is very important to me. Even though I don't actually get this at home, they usually understand me better than others on the outside. But, why is that? I don't have much if any cultural commonalities with an African from Togo. Why does it matter? Because, the one thing we do have in common is how others look at us. They know like I know, how it feels to be in this skin, this complexion and walk down the street. Now, while I have commonality with Asian-Americans, Latino-Americans, American Indians, and Gays; because I know how it feels to be outnumbered, misunderstood, how it feels to be a minority; I dare not speak for these groups, because we may understand how it feels to be culturally different, but perhaps we have no clue how it feels to be each other. I can't adequately articulate their plight. After the haircut, Jolt walked me back to the subway station where I tried to pay him for his service, but he assertively rejected my offer saying that I was his brother, and there was no need for payment. I LOVE BEING BLACK.

Thursday was another evening of rubbing shoulders with important people. All of the Fulbrighters in Hong Kong were invited to have dinner with the US consulate. So, we all threw on our best, and looked forward to an evening of good food and great conversation. While I am on the subject of food, I actually got to try some Chitlins HK style at a restaurant here. Now, I don't like chitlins at home, but I must admit that here they were good. Anyway, the picture below is my friend Shanita and I on the bus on our way to have dinner.

This is my boy Ramon, who lives right next to me.

This my good friend Sarah.

And, this is Elvis, who all this time I thought was White, but actually is Chinese. I did get a little culture in the other day. I went to the museum with Ben Miller from BSC, who is here studying at the HK Baptist University until December. So, for all those who wanted to see me either naked or dead, here you go.

It was a wonderful exhibit from Great Britain. It was an assortment of artifacts from around the world. I even got to see a mummy.

Look, two hands, and I even got the chop sticks in my left hand. Yeah, that's right. I am gettin good. As you can see, life is still wonderful. I still can't believe that I am in Hong Kong, let alone that I have been here only a month and a half. It doesn't hit me until I go to my balcony and look out into the night. Big Thanks to my Mother who sent me newspaper clippings of BSC's first football game. Much love to my Fraternity brothas that marched on Jena, LA. Until I blog again. Keep Praying For Me.