Lost Son of Civil Right's Trail Blazers: African-Whatevers

I am cut off from my culture, whatever the hell that is. In several e-mails to several people I have spoke about being a minority all of my life, but never like this. I may go days without seeing another Black face. I find myself starving for seclusion sometimes, and then wanting to connect to someone. Both desires are usually fed, but then another desire comes in. This one is two-fold, a desire to commune with my brothers, particularly Black-American males, and also with those of close African descent. I never knew how much of a necessity such encounters were until I came here.

I am becoming lost out here, as I talk to others about their heritage and cultural background. Several students still question whether I am from Africa, and then when I say that I am American hey wonder about my ancestry which I have no clue about. It is quite infuriating, knowing that some European culture can just strip me of my past, and then expect me to be a believer in non-violent protest. Why? My ancestry was not brought here non-violently. Well, things have to change, of course, how convenient the rules change when someone finds freedom. Let us all be honest, American culture is simply White Culture, regardless of all the contributions of other races, ethnicities, and such. I see this concept in many of the students that ask me about my heritage, wondering how being African-American works. I think they see me as simply an immigrant in America. I rather not continue my ranting about culture, because I am honestly not in a good place to discuss it calmly and politely. I search for answers to my own heritage. I feel cultureless sometimes, all I have is my family and our ways, no heritage, no culture. An episode of roots can't give me what has been lost, "I Have a Dream" can't give me what has been lost, even that blood test that can pinpoint my African heritage can't give me what has been stolen, perhaps it is lost forever. And as I sit and write this, there is no compassion in my heart or forgiveness, just anger, and disappointment. Time heals, maybe by the time I return I will have forgotten these heart wrenching moments of cultural confusion. I am a Black-American, Whatever the hell that means.

My desire for Africaness was actually assuaged one night. My good friend Shanita and I went to a peculiar place that made us both feel quite comfortable.

The place was an African Jazz Lounge. After much wandering the streets of Hong Kong up hill and down hill we finally stumbled upon a door with two African statues standing guard.

The place was decked out in colorful garbs and very comfortable seating, when I saw it I thought of two people, Dr. Rushton Johnson and Lisa Glenn. Shanita and I sat with our Vadou Magic drinks for about an hour and a half and then the band got up to play.

I was so happy, the smile on my face was endless. I felt like I was at home. Not to say, that I go to African lounges at home; but still, just being around Black Culture made me feel comfortable.

Here my brothers are doing the damn thing. My friend and I got off our butts as well, but you ain't ready to see such a wonder, sorry no pictures. Being there was extremely refreshing and necessary to my health. Strangely, I even ran into a church member from the Vine, which made me feel even more comfortable in this setting. He offered to buy my a drink, but by that time I had already drunk enough. No, I wasn't drunk, I am more responsible than that.

Moving right along, I went to the Zoological Gardens here in HK. I don't have many good pictures, but here is one. (No Pandas).

I explored another section of the city called Stanley Market. Here are some pics of it.

So, I've been teaching in the Primary school for a couple of weeks and it is not going well. In one of my classes four kids don't listen to me at all, in fact, one only speaks Cantonese to me and gives me this real smug smirk cause he knows I don't understand him. The first session was chaos. The second was alot better. But, the third was a mixture and I lost my temper with these four little boys and yelled at the top of my lungs "Fellas, Sit Down!!!" As they scurried to their seats in fear, I wonder what the hell I am going to do with these kids. I can't teach them anything. There are some good ones. Charolette and Calvin constantly raise their hands to speak to me and show me their artwork. Calvin is my little professor, he asks a million questions. I am honestly not enjoying the experience. I don't want to be their friend, I want them to be terrified of me, and shiver when I enter the room. I have officially marked teaching young children off of my list, even though it was never on my list.

Okay, so food. I was craving a hamburger so My friend and I set out on journey to find a real American hamburger. After an hour search we found the Union Bar & Grille. I had the burger you see before you, and a ceasar salad, so delicious. Just to let you know, I miss southern food. Give me some Cheese Grits, some Fried Chicken, something. I have been craving biscuits and gravy, and even bacon.

As you can see, times are hard in some aspects, but it is beautiful in others. I will undoubtedly leave here with more questions than when I came. I am writing alot, keeping tabs on my thoughts, splendid and horrid, compassionate and hateful. Whatever I am thinking. I feeling a strong desire to write a book. I don't know about what, just the thoughts I have I guess. Be on the look out. Until I blog I again.

Poetry: Writing Ain't Easy, but when it comes it floods.

From my balcony,
I shhh. Hear several somethings thumping
in the night. Insects bisect sound waves with
their calls and all sounds lump together, I just
call it living. Life giving the announcement
“I am,” and I listen to it be. Sharp winds, whoosh, whoosh,
and diligent students stroll towards their dorms,
while others flee from these shoe boxes, boring cages
for future rulers and dream throwers hoping someone
impressionable will catch them. From my balcony, I see
dreams I never had, financially challenged childhood,
I couldn’t afford to think about it. But, I watched
night visions become day missions, in God’s way and time
experiential treasures given freely, I know Grace, I see
her from my balcony where morning greets Filipino women
with curtain brimmed hats, graceful gardeners of the land
below my balcony. From my balcony, introspective
thoughts boom like southern bass and this beast sheds
skin and stars bear witness to my morphing.
From my balcony, I spit poetry, beating the banister
letting the night know not to mess with me, to not make
alone time seem lonely, just leave me, protruding from
this collegiate dungeon, struggling to hear God and myself
simultaneously. I am a fool, but I fall on wisdom more
frequently. It’s the sole of my feet, and if I am ever empty,
there is a volumeless jar out on my balcony, where day clouds
make clown like faces and funny figures, and night clouds are
ghost spawned from a gloomy heart and sent to find peace. I see
you mother, from my balcony, day or night, brunch or supper.
I see you when the lights drown the stars or clouds
suffocate the mountains. I manage to mold your face from
the natural skyline invaded by modernity’s crud draped
across the sky, my heart is surely shaped like your face and its
beats are just your voice, reminding me of my faith, my
purpose and path. I see what I’ve become, from my balcony,
and if this banister wasn’t faithful, I would surely fall out of
amazement of the distance it took to get to me. We never
start within ourselves, but rather somewhere else, and now
that I am comfortable within my skin I fear that time
is ready to make that mad dash for the end. Tell me Joan,
where does it all go, just whisper what you know into that
southern night, I’ll catch in the morning on the edge of my
balcony while you sleep still spending time in my yesterday.
I see things changing, from my balcony, knowing that home
will not be what I left, it will be different, because I will be
different. From my balcony, I see the devil devouring
the world’s morals, tarnishing the original agenda
the price of freedom, exchanging discipline and right,
for social promiscuity and relativity, disguised as civility
and then he looks at me and wonders why I fall and continue
to stand up only to tumble again. I say Romans 3:23, I say
Grace keeps me, I say no to that numbness, that apathy, that
perverted tolerance that calls you to forget, down play,
blasé blasé, go ahead bottle up all the Christian values
you once stood for. I say John 14:6, I say I stand
for right, and I say it out love for you, out of compassion for you,
hoping no harm finds you. I say it in the most assertive way,
and I scream it out in this eastern dusk, knowing that pacific
winds are no match for my breath. Yes, I will yell it shamelessly
and unafraid. Look to the east and you’ll see my passion pouring
from the once asthmatic lungs of this Negro man,
All while pressed against, indenting my hand prints into that faithful
Banister, betting that you can hear me, from my balcony.

October 8, 2007
Benjamin Uel Marsh

This Man Is An Island: Sort Of, Not Really.

Do you remember those precious moments in your life when you stayed at the center of every ones attention, and it seemed that the purpose of others was based solely on your reality, your life. Yes, that was childhood, although some stay in that stage for decades until they are suddenly surprised that they are alone, and nothing but loveless, speechless air surrounds them. If you know someone stuck in such a rut, send them abroad. Studying abroad or simply leaving home for a good while teaches you two things: first, it teaches you how important you are in the lives of others, and secondly, it proves to your ego that your friends and family don't vanish out of existence the moment you leave home, like High School students that forget that their teachers actually don't sleep in their classrooms waiting anxiously for the next school day. Now, I never considered myself the peg that held anything together; but I must admit it is very strange watching my family and friends continue their lives without me. I imagine it is similar to what the B-Ball coach with the short temper feels when he is forced to go watch the rest of the game from the locker room.

This feeling is greatly invoked through pictures on Facebook and blogsites, and e-mails have there place as well. I feel like an island, left to drift out in the pacific, while the rest of you look on, concerned yet joyful. Well, that's my philosophical rambling for this blog. I know you're feelin the Kango, right?



Now, I've been active in several ways since we last spoke. I participated in a Youth Summit that was responsible for drafting a proposal that outlined the necessary steps needed in order to achieve Universal Suffrage in Hong Kong. Right now mainland China appoints the Chief Executive to Hong Kong. To be honest, I found this issue very difficult for several reasons. The HK people are just asking for what was promised, which was full governance of themselves until they reemerge back into China completely. My first issue is that the British didn't start promoting Democracy in the region until the 80s, remember the British controlled HK for 156 years. How fitting that they began such movements about a decade before returning HK back to China. Does anyone see the connection? Let me help you. HK is money, and if I want to keep my business interest intact, then I need to find away to keep HK separate from China, even though I can no longer be in control over HK. Oh, yeah, democracy, why didn't I think of that a century ago! Sounds a little like Lincoln and the Emancipation right. You can wikipedia HK history if you would like. Anyway, I didn't do much talking out fear that I would be blacked listed by the Chinese government as a western troublemaker. I kept my mouth shut, stop being surprised, it happens sometimes.
The Conference was held at Hong Kong Baptist University, and we all stayed at the University Hostel down the street. In the lobby, there is a plague that commemorates HKBU's relationship with several US colleges and universities. Guess whose school was listed?

LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! IT'S MY SCHOOL. But, it doesn't stop there, my brother's undergraduate Alma mater, and the place where my mother received her master's is listed as well (Samford University). I was a little freaked out about the plague.

The photo above is of me and my colleagues wrapped around Dr Glenn Shive, who is responsible for raising the money for our program. Without him, I would not be in HK.

Moving on to more festive things, Oct 1 was National Day in HK. My friend Shanita and I decided to step out and go see the fireworks on HK Island.

Sad enough, even though the pictures show alot of people, we didn't get to watch the fireworks from a good spot. We sat on the street with all the locals awaiting 9:15pm, and suddenly we hear noises but don't see anything. Then everyone started rushing down the street, because somehow hundreds of people had placed themselves in front of a big building that was blocking the firework's show. Once we made it down the street a little bit, we could only see about a third of the show, and the building was blocking the rest. All in all, it was a great time.

I knew that I would learn alot about culture, particularly Chinese culture, but I didn't expect the diverse group of colleagues that I share this experience with. My friend Sarah took me to a authentic Korean restaurant where I dined on delicious Korean cuisine. Yes, that circle in the table is a grill, where we cooked the beef and pork that we ordered. Apparently, Koreans eat alot, because we only ordered two meet dishes and a rice dish, and got like ten other items that just come with the meal like Quincy's rolls. Yeah, I know I took you back with the Quincy reference.

Okay, after dinner we headed back to the train station (KCR), and stumbled on an interesting sight. IT'S WOODY!!!!!! I don't know why, but it is there.

This week was a week of beginnings. I started my two tutorial sessions. One focuses on reading aloud skills and reading comprehension, and the other is my very own concocted from scratch creative writing tutorial. In the reading aloud sessions, I have four students, and I had them read the poem Invictus (for all my Frat Brothers), and a passage from a random Novel. While I was waiting on my class, one student came in early, and we had a little chat. She asked where I was from, and I smiled and asked her where she thought I was from. She smiles and reluctantly says, Africa. I begin to laugh and say, "well not exactly."

As for my Creative writing Tutorial, my first session was great. We discussed reasons for writing, why I write. We spent time trying to use our senses and put those sensations on paper, among other things.

Below, these students are trying to put one of my poems back into order. I will keep you posted on my teaching career. I would like to be more detailed, but I am in my office at 9pm at night, tired of looking at this computer scream.

Life has picked up a bit, and work has really started now. Next week, I begin working with the Primary school, doing Drama club and a Nature club. Yeah, don't know how that happened. Anyway, I miss you all. Big Thanks to Pat Cole who sent me a copy of "Southern" magazine, and to my mother who sent me clippings from the Bham news about BSC's first football game. The world can't get any brighter for me, but I said that in London and Mozambique, and even in college. I know so little about God's mercy and hand on my life. Until I blog again. Be whatever you are suppose to be.