Photos of the day: Children at Play

Shots of  children playing in mi pueblo.

The fountain of knowledge: A day with my favorite elder.

           The house is situated on a dirt and gravel path, tucked away from the solidly middle class concrete dwellings of other parts of town. You know you are at Valaria’s house when you come to the worn wooden gate that beckons you. I feel like I am transported back to a distant age every time I walk through those gates and follow down a dusty path that leads to an equally dusty house made of Earth. The house is brown and looks like it has been in this very spot since the beginning of time. I know she is home when I see wisps of silver coated hair  by a chicken coop.  She strides up to me like she is walking on water and not on hot harden earth with no shoes.  Elder Valaria greets me this day with a large plastic bowl in hand and tells me to sit on one of her chairs as she finishes what she needs to do.  She disappears down a path behind her kitchen and I busy myself by looking at the cracks in her earth house. There are many and the cracks, roots, and packed earth remind me of her skin: rugged, worn, natural, and beautiful. She returns with a bowl full of Plantains that at 93 years old she has harvested herself. She greets me with a large toothless smile and a warm hug. Our visits are special to both of us. We have passed numerous afternoons together on her worn, old benches. We talk of family and the past mostly.  I spend most of these days mining for gems that are her beautiful stories. She tells me of being a child laborer in her village in the 1920’s. She tells me of her grandchildren. Many times she closes her dark eyes and wistfully tilts her head as she recants her past triumphs and sorrows alike. I am struck by her strength. Valari is often working or walking around town. Her tiny brown frame swallowed by brightly colored house dresses. She can lug water, work in her garden, care for her animals, council her great grandson on the finer points of auto mechanic engineering at an age where many American elders are in homes sitting and waiting to die.  Death has been very busy in my town lately with 2 deaths in a week, one being my host aunt who was teaching me Tamborito.  Both of the women who have died have been women and both have been between 32 years old and 63 years old. All woman were far younger then Valarie. I do not know how much more time I have with her so I cherish our time together. I have decided to take some portraits of her during our last visit.  

      

Photos of the day: Mother and son, Flower, Sky Blue, The doll

Here are some original shots:

A Time to work

The majority of this blog is spent examining interactions, exploring eternal struggles, and art but I also want you guys to know that I WORK! Lol

            The past month has been full of activities. I had a regional meeting with 30 other PCVs in my region. We learned and shared new project idea, conducted elections, and networked. I have also recommitted myself to the school going in 3 times a day. This is in addition to pasearing, working on my house, my community analysis, and being sick lol.

            Peace Corps has a way of sneaking up on you and revving up.

You go through days where you feel you are not doing enough and the BAM! There are 50 things that need to be completed in a week. This can be very stressful but I am learning to pace myself.

Happy Black people Day! ( Etnia Negra Celebra)

I walked into school not expecting much. Maybe I would co-teach an English lesson or do a dinamica with the students. When I walked into the doorway I was not prepared for what greeted me.  “Felicidades! Tempe Felicidades!”, the children sang out. La Directora Rochelle, stood up and presented the students to me, She said, “Today is a celebration of Blackness and Meastra Tempest is Black.let us all honor her on this special day”.  I was spellbound as hoards of children came up to give me a hug, kiss, and felicidadas para mi etina negra. You may wonder why on earth any would be celebrate Blackness in school…I did. Lol  I was used to “Black History Month” but it usually about learning a Langston Hughes poem, a story about MLK, and maybe a play. It is never personal and it is about History.  This celebration was about honoring people of African Decent presently and personally and I was very touched.

            I was asked after being honored to present a lesson on “Blackness”…Which was quiet a challenge to do on the fly to a room full of children of various ages. I sat down and had the children sit in a circle around me. I taught them about some Ancient African Civilizations such as Kush, Kemet, and Timbuktu. I taught them that many of those people were stolen and  put on boats to become slaves. From there I taught them about the African diaspora and the different places African slaves went to. Some came to the United States, while others went to Brazil, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, and even Panama!  The kids were spellbound. I gave a very short lesson of racism and the fight for civil rights in the U.S. culminating with the presidency of Barack Obama. All the children liked the U.S. President. After all that talking I asked the children if they had any Black people in their family. A very funny thing happened. The black children would not raise their hands but a nice number of the whiter skinned children did. Many of the Morenos in the circle did not want to self identify as Black.  Which is something we can work on. After all this heavy talk it was time to have some fun! I broke out my computer and speakers and set up an exploration of “Black sound”. I played everything from Fela Kuti(The kids favorite), to Usher to Beyonce. The most touching moment came when I played freedom songs popular during the Civil Rights-Vietnam Era, most notably Curtis Mayfield. These children knew no English but his words touched the kids in a deep way. The children swayed and held hands when his song “Keep on pushin” played.  I also gave dance lessons and taught the kids how to step. An Indingenous boy who has been pretty closed off to me thus far, opened up. He loved dancing with his hips and singing with a soul infliction. He would look at me, raise his hand in the air and sing along to the music like this “ oh ohhhh ohh ho ho yheaa”. It was great!  We had an amazing day full of culture and the teachers were proud that I did all that without lesson plans lol I can’t wait to do more cultural activities in my town.

            The day before my host Mom called me into her bedroom to watch the T.V. She pointed to the television and there I saw a see of faces, mostly black but some really light people as well. All were in African inspired garb and were parading down the street. “It is the celebration of Black ethnicity this month. Everybody in the City and Colon has big celebrations”. She told me this at the end of the month..  I thought that I had totally missed out on the celebrations only to be honored in school the very next day. As stated elsewhere in this blog, Panama has a sizable Black population. The strains of African culture can be found in the music, hairstyles, and to a lesser extent food of all Panamanians. During Etina Negra celebrations, people hold African themed bailes and parades. The people of all complexions put on crowns, head wraps, and other clothes associated with Pan African culture. I witnessed a popular daytime talk show have its host dress in African garb and dance to a steel band. There was one host who was a Black woman and the other host gave her hugs and thanks. It was such a strange but beautiful experience to witness other groups honoring a minority group. I would hope that they do the same for the Indigenous and Asian populations here as well.

            Below is some footage of Etina Negra celebrations and a song by popular Afro Panamanian Aloe Blacc from California. I am editing footage of my children in dancing/singing action so look out for that as well.

Awkward Moment of the day: The Directora of the school gave a beautiful speech in honor of Etnia Negra by professing the natural athletic abilities of Black people. "Everybody is worth something and special. All of us. It does not matter if you are Black, White, Chino, or Indigenous. Black people are very special to Panama. They do so well in all the sports and help us win the big games! In the U.S.A. Guess who won a gold medal for the country? A Black person! That is why racism should end".. She said her speech without a trace of irony and was so sweet and earnest I couldn't take the least bit offense. 

The Legend of El Nigga

The hot studio lights mixed with the fear of failure as the middle aged Asian man stood at the podium. His daughter was on the Hit talent contest “Canta Conmigo” and the only thing that stood in the way of his child advancing with gifts and cash prizes, was his ability to get this one answer about pop culture correct.

                        Who is the artist who appeared in the music video with Jonesith?

A)   El Nigga

B)   Makano

C)   Eddy Lover

The Man gazed  blankly as only middle-aged people who are asked about tween pop music acts can.   

“El Nigga” said the Man.

He was wrong. 

I was on the floor totally confused.

Tons of Questions flew around my brain.

            Why was this artist named Nigga?

            Was he a rapper?

            Was he even Black?

            Did he make American style hip-hop?

            Is watching a middle aged Asian father use the word Nigga the funniest and most awkward occurrence on Television…in the history of Television?

I was so confused. As an avid Hip-hop lover and as an African American I am no stranger to the “N word”.  I hear it all the time. The word has been used by my great aunts at the dinner table, used by me and the majority of my friends as a pronoun, and used by hip hop artist and R&B singers.  The word also has more insidious uses as well. Classmates from her private school called my little sister, Nigger while she ice-skated. I was called a “Nigger B**ch” by a roommate during a discussion about gas usage. My Ancestors know what it was like to be spit on, excluded, and sometimes even killed while their oppressors used the word. At its worst, the Word “Nigger” and some would argue “Nigga” has been used to strip Afro decedents of their humanity.  At its best, its word that has been ripped from the hands of those who used it as a weapon, stripped of its negative power, and used by the people it was meant to make powerless. It has been turned by some into a piece of music, a joke, or at its basic level a word. Of course I have friends who are Black and refuse to use the word based on its history and the pain associated with it.

            Imagine then my surprise when a non-American artist takes this complicated and loaded word as his Stage Name!  It was very surreal to see a person so divorced from the history of that word or the place that birthed that word using it so casually. I immediately did some research on the music of “El Nigga”.   I was sure that I would hear posturing about living in the hood al la Meek Mills or Rick Ross.  Imagine my surprise when I actually heard his songs.

            He is the leader of a style of Spanish Reggae called “Romantic Style”.  He basically makes sappy love songs to a break /Ski beat. Which makes the whole name even stranger. His light complexion was confusing. In the African American community, you can be dark ebony or so pale cream with blue eyes and straight hair. No matter your complexion, hair texture, or features if you have African ancestry in the U.S. you are looked at as a Black person. I have had many conversations about race and social justice and many people, who could essentially “pass” for White, proudly proclaim their Blackness.

            It is very different here in Panama. Complexion in many circles determines your race. Elders in my village have told me of their children. One would be Moreno like me and the other would be Blanco (White).  2 children born to the same parents can be different races. People who would be considered Light skin or Carmel colored in the states are considered white. EL Nigga is the color of butterscotch when he is tan and lighter otherwise. He may come from Afro Decedents but on surface he isn’t Moreno. Which makes his taking up the Moniker “El Nigga” even weirder. 

            I sat really conflicted on what to feel about this artist and his strange name. I spoke to people in my community about the history of the word here in the United States. It was not until I had a talk to my Regional leader (Peace Corps Volunteer who organizes and helps other PCVs in a certain region of the country) about El Nigga that I was able learn more about this Artist and his history.

            It turns out that his cousin lives in my town and that El Nigga is actually from my Region!  The cousin and all of Azuero (My Region) are very proud of him. It turns out that his “Romantic Style” is in direct reaction to more hardcore and violent music. This music came about after the U.S. Led invasion that killed over 5,000 civilians and decimated whole neighborhoods in the late 80’s. Once prosperous regions were reduced to ghettos. Their Black, Brown, Poor inhabitants had an influx of American weaponry, no central government or police, and no job opportunities.  As you could imagine this turned into a very violent place. Inhabitants took their frustrations about the system and the hard life they were living in rap flavored reggae tracks. These tracks were nihilistic in their view and fairly violent.  Misogyny was also rampant. Which makes sense if you think about U.S. Service men, poverty, and sex work during that time. El nigga began to make music in this environment. He made music to make women feel wanted and valued. He eschewed violence and instead talked about positivity and steeped his music in the Afro-Panamanian tradition of Tamborito.  It turns out that although he divorced from American history of the Nigger/Nigga, he steeped in his own Afro Latino culture.  This really helped me have a more evolved since of El Nigga and what he is trying to do. I still think his music sounds a bit hokey and in the U.S. he goes by the name DJ Flex…because he is not stupid I imagine. What do you guys think about El Nigga?  The name, music, and man?

Here is a sampling of his work:

Photos of the Day: A long walk Twins, Mother and Child,

Here are some original Photographs

Long time no see

I had been religiously updating my blog, so my lack of posting in these past few weeks have left somewhat of a hole in the fabric of my life. In the space of my absence I have met a huge milestone in the life of my blog: I hit 1,000 views. Thanks to everybody that read and shared my stories. I never thought anyone outside of my family would read them yet here we are over 1,000 views in a month. You may be wondering then if I was at such a high momentum with page views, why I stopped posting?

Well for the past few weeks I have been incredibly sick and last week could barely see.

Last week I incurred some sort of eye infection. My eyes would leak fluid and then that fluid would harden into a crust around my eyes. When I would close my eyes at night by the morning I could not open them. They would be sealed shut. I had to use much effort and water to remove this hardened shell from around my eyes. Once I was finally able to open my eyes, I was greeted by a persistent stinging. At first it was dull and just a minor inconvenience but before long it felt like glass was being shredded in my eyes.  It would be so painful that I was forced to retreat into my room with bottles of water on my eyes. Most times I try to play cool and wait things out but when I told my father about my eyes he begged me to call my PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer).  I did and the office was so helpful. They advised me to go into the large city near my town and visit the clinic that has credit with Peace Corps.  Unlike the US, I could go to the clinic without fear of having to pay a bunch of money. As a PCV, I have free high quality health insurance. I sat in private clinic that seemed to be stuck in the late 60’s or early 70’s. The décor was mod and orange. A doctor saw me with a wait of less then 30 min and had my prescription filled in the hour.  The medicine was also free. It took another 5 days before glass-shredding effect in my eyes waned. I lost allot of Pasear and teaching time in this period, which made me feel bad as I was just getting my footing in these areas. However as I lay in my bed I was able to think about time and sickness in a very interesting way. I have been in site for almost 2 months. Out of those 2 months I have had very serious sicknesses for at least 3 weeks…Yet I have not felt like a sick person or unhappy. Even with my eyes sealed I was pretty upbeat. Although my body was going through all sorts of changes my spirit, heart, and mind felt great! 

Now I am back and ready to write.

Photos of the Day: Children

Anyone who knows me knows about my love for children. They are the apple of my eye. Every job that I have had and every job that I hope to ever have, has in some way touched children.  My Peace Corps Life is filled with all types of kids. In the schools, In the park, or while pasearing I spend time and take portraits of them. Here are some of my favorite shots of Children.

Riding an play  horse

Playing where the chickens fight to the death

The Wild Ones

Have you ever seen horses dance to Tipico music?  How about a seeing a bull charge for you only separated by a few bars? These were just a few of the adventures I experienced last Saturday. 

            The day started with an invitation from Oni and her husband to accompany them to a concert. My favorite Panamanian band Sammy y Sandra were performing.  I am a huge music lover and back home went to concerts religiously.  It looked like my 2 years of Peace Corps service would be without many concerts so I jumped at the chance to attend. Oni and her husband Fidel pilled their 2 children, an uncle, an aunt, a grandma, and me in a car originally meant for 5 people. Oni and I shared a seat, which was quite a feat. As we drove through the countryside, lush hills and quaint towns became a blur. We pulled into a long drive and pulled up to a stone gate. Oni paid our fare and we entered. Right away it was like a circus. My eye could not figure out which amazing thing to take in first. There were chicken fights, a bullfight with lots of people leaning on a gate waiting for the bull to charge them. The smell of delicious fried food hung in the air. There was a full band. None of this could however, match the stunning beauty of the dancing horses.

“Boom do dam do dam boom” Played the band in the Tipico beat. The Horses lifted their hoofs to time and dipped and bowed. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

The bull fight was crazy. The Bull slamed against the fence not a foot away from me. I had to jump back and almost ran into a dancing horse! Here are some shots of the Bull Fight:

As the sunset, the campground really got live. The Men had a section for gambling while others battled out Salimar songs. The food and drink flowed. The night was cool and I enjoyed the time hanging with my friends and dancing with Oni’s Mother. After 4 hours of waiting, my favorite band Sammy y Sandra took the stage.  Sandra has an amazingly rich voice and loves to dance. She does allot of hip gyrations and wears crazy clothes. Sort of like a non-awful Nicki Minaj. That night she had on a lime green mesh dress that stopped just short of her jewels. The dress was totally see through save for sporadically spaced crystals.  Oni’s husband was drunk and made a great effort to go up on the stage and talk to management about me. They ended up shouting out me at the “North Americana par alla (Over there)” He then tried to get me to dance with her in front of no less then 3 thousand people. I was mortified. I begged him not too and he settled on making me go on stage and take pictures with the band. That wasn’t so bad.  It was not only a concert but also a baile, which is a Dance.  Thousands of couples paired up to dance Tipico. Tipico dancing is very strange to me. It looks as if all the couples our wound up pieces in a music box. The tops of their bodies stay completely straight and their feet move about clumsily and at high speed. Most of the night is spent bumping into other people. It is so counter to how I dance. I dance with my hips and butt while swaying my arms. This makes Panamanians declare me an amazing dancer. Even the star of the night commended me on my moves.  I danced a little Tipico but denied the men who came up to me and said “Hey Morena come here and dance with me”.  I danced with Oni and her husband. Fidel lost it on the dance floor. He began to jump all over the place with his arms outstretched and a broad smile on his face.  At one point of the night there was a Machete fight that broke out. This is fairly common here and was quickly dealt with. I don’t think anyone died.  It was such a beautiful night. I didn’t get home until 2 in the morning!  

here is some video of Sammy y Sandra playing my favorite song. 

The longest Road: My Path to The Peace Corps

            As I work on this blog, I am meeting lots of new people. Many are perspective Peace Corps Volunteers. They see me living this wonderful life of service and want to know how I got here.  When I was in their place, I devoured every blog, Peace Corps message board, and book  about how to get to Peace Corps land. I’d love to share my detour filled path to Panama with you all.

            I learned about the Peace Corps through word of mouth and decided that it was for me. All my life I had been of service to others. I traveled all over the world with organizations and was ultra involved in high school. I was the girl in  school that was president of everything, star of everything, and somehow kept a 3.9 g.p.a.  College was very different. I worked for the Obama Campaign and started a live arts show but that was it in terms of involvement. I knew I wanted to give more of myself and live internationally. I had dreams of working for UNICEF and helping children all around the world. The Peace Corps sounded like a wonderful way to give back and live the life of a development worker. So one day I walked into the kitchen of my parent’s house and told my stepmom, “I want to join the Peace Corps”.  She stood and stared. “Ok baby but it is very competitive are you ready for that?” I said that I was. As senior year started, I started the process in earnest. I got my recommendations, and worked hard on my application. By early January 2010 my application was complete. My parents were still wondering when I was going to start my graduate school applications.  At this point I decided that I did not want to go to graduate school right away. I needed to do the Peace Corps first or work.  I needed the space away from school. This was a huge let down for my parents at first. They did not understand why I would put all my eggs in the Peace Corps basket and not entertain the option of applying to graduate school. Why would I put myself in poverty and harsh conditions for 2 years when I could be pushing myself to the upper middleclass life that they had provided for me.            

            I kept on the road that I knew was right for me. I had my interview and a week later I got a call from my recruiter. Ms. Wong had called to tell me that I would be nominated and that I looked at as competitive. There was a program that was about to close out but I would get that slot once I got through medical/dental and legal.  This should be easy I thought. I am healthy minus the asthma. I was turned into a pincushion while the medical office took blood and ran test. I got all of my X-rays and found and fixed my first cavity. I was nominated for South or Central America and was to leave in July or Aug of 2010. I was so excited! I told everybody I knew. I did not look for a job. I just tried to prepare myself for service. In May, I got a letter saying that I was put on hold until I got my wisdom teeth pulled out. My wisdom teeth did not bother me and it would be expensive but I did it. As the blood was still in my mouth during recovery and letter from the Peace Corps came. In it was not my invitation but a letter of deferment. I had been deferred from my dream for a year, held in purgatory.

I also had another package in my medical that many people may not have. When you fill out you preliminary medical application you are asked to check boxes for everything that applies to you. There was a box that said, “Have you ever been to a therapist or participated in group?”  I checked the yes box and didn’t think much of it at the time.  My childhood and teenage years had been filled with allot of trauma and I had a totally different life when I entered college.  My family and I thought it would be smart to take advantage of the free therapy on my campus. I saw a therapist for the majority of my college experience and joined Black Women’s support group and also a mindfulness meditation group. At different points in college I had anxiety and had a small bout with depression. This is something that most if not all college students grapple with during their college experience.  My time in therapy helped me develop coping mechanisms that others don’t have. I actually viewed this as an asset.  The Peace Corps thought otherwise. I was so embarrassed and sad. I had told everyone I was leaving and had not looked for a job. I challenged the findings by the Peace Corps and my therapist wrote a letter in my defense. She felt that I was more then ready to serve. The Peace Corps stood by their decision. I would have to wait a year and then get another write off from my therapist to declare that I could exist without therapy.  I found a job as a substitute teacher. I was so good that I would be picked up to teach classes’ long term. I taught kindergarten for 3 months and taught high school Spanish for 4 months. It was very difficult but I was also doing something that I loved. I lived independent for the first time and paid bills for the first time. I fell in love and broke up with my first love.  In short, I became an adult. In the summer I began to au pair for a doctor family that also doubled as my mentors. During this time my parents became even more upset. I still had not applied to grad school. I was still banking on the Peace Corps working out.  I come from a family of strivers. Ivy league trained lawyers, MBA holders, and my father is a fierce intellectual. It was unfathomable for them to have their daughter living in the hood working a job without benefits. They stood by me although they were confused and worried.  In May of 2011, I got off of deferment and received a call from Peace Corps.  Although I had dedicated my academic life to studying the Latino World and economics there was no room for me in Latin America. I was offered Tunisia or Morocco.  This was just as the Sexual Assaults of Volunteers was receiving prime time coverage. The Middle East was a dangerous place for a woman, especially a woman who was not Muslim or religious at all. I was told that I could leave by July but I had a day to say yes to the Middle East… I said no.  I was told that I would have to wait until August for another shot and that I would take that spot or would not serve. I waited and sure enough in August a huge blue packet arrived at my parents house.  I finally got my invitation! I was going to be a CEC volunteer in Panama. My father thought Community Environmental Conservation was a fancy way of saying that I would spend 2 years picking up trash in the street. Lol In spite of this he and my stepmom supported me. My grandparents were very afraid but as time drew near they became more proud. The next few months were amazing. I worked even more on my mindfulness and mental health. I lived with amazing friends, I worked full time at an amazing school near my house. By January it was time to say my goodbyes and leave my old life for my new one.  I started this journey in 2010 and it is now 2012. It was a long journey but now everyone in my life sees that it was well worth the wait.

So that’s my story guys! If you want this Peace Corps life stay as flexible as you can but don’t sell yourself out for something that you know won’t work for you. Also do not sell all your stuff when you get your nomination. You never know how long you will have to wait.

My Best Friend: Oni

I met her within the first 10 min of me entering my house. Oni lives in a pink house next door to me. Right away she took my hand and showed me around. We spent the afternoon laughing and joking and I knew then that we were destined to be great friends.  She is freshly 40 but does not look a day over 30. Oni is quick to smile and slow to anger. We have spent countless hours together watching movies, talking about life, and dancing. She loves to throw parties at her house every Saturday and she invites all the children…and me.  Oni also loves to do nails and has made creations on my nails that put the best nail salon in Philly to shame.  Oni also has a great love of educating herself. She has great pride in her English studies. Her coveted binder is filled with pictures of animals, colors, and family members written in English. She loves to greet me with a random “Good Morning. Mother’s house!”

            I am not the first American she has loved. Our first conversations were filled with musings about “Natasha”. Natasha volunteered with the group Amigos de Americas and lived in the house behind ours. Natasha spent many days crying from homesickness and could not speak much Spanish. Oni was the only person that she felt safe with. Natasha only lived in the community for 3 months but left such a huge impression on Oni that she sometimes cried.  One day she showed me a letter that had been kept in pristine condition. It was a beautifully etched greeting card with golden lettering. Oni’s face lit up with pride as she showed me the card and I hoped that I would make the impact on somebody that shy, homesick Natasha had.

            One day almost put a violent end to our friendship. Oni has 2 children, a boy and a girl, one day her son was hanging outside my house with a friend of his.  I had never seen the friend before. He was a beautiful brown little boy with cool platinum like chain. He looked like the boys I taught back in Philly. They were both 11-year-old boys full of fun and mischief.  The friend bopped up to me and right away began asking me tons of questions. At first they nice innocent questions like, “ Did you take an airplane here?” “What is it like in the United States”. However, his questions quickly devolved into inappropriate sexual questions and questions about body parts. He then in English started to yell things like “Bend over”. Oni’s son stood by and laughed and said inappropriate things about drugs with the friend.  I was so confused and angry and hurt. I love children so much and for them to treat me this way shocked me.  Back in Philly as a teacher, I have meet lots of broken children. Some have tried to fight me, many have called me out of my name, and one threatened to rape me. Yet this was Panama, and I knew one of these boys. I said in all the Spanish that I could muster, “ No Pueden hablar con migo en esta via, Sin repecto” You can’t talk to me this way without respect.  I walked to the back of my house and went to my room.  They followed me into my house and walked into my room yelling nasty things. I told them to get out and they sat by my window yelling.  I was so hurt and felt so violated. Oni and her son live next door and I teach him in the school. However, I did not want anything to do with any of them. It was the first time during my Peace Corps service that I cried. I felt unsafe. If men or teens saw what happened they could do the same thing. In Philly, I could cuss them out and put fear in them. If they knew I wasn’t to be punked out they would be less likely to try me. But I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. To do that would ruin every relationship in my village and go against my goals. To make matters worse I had no idea who the friend belonged too. How could he be held responsible? My host mom held me and said she would talk to the adults of the children. I shrunk to my room, meditated and cried myself to sleep.

            In the morning, Oni stood in my doorway and begged me to talk to her. She asked me to recount everything that happened. As I did, tears welled in her eyes. She was so hurt by her son’s actions and also felt embarrassed. She told me that she loved me so much and that she did not want to lose my friendship. She set up a meeting with her husband and also found the family of the little boy. We sat and talked about what happened. It turned out that the boy, just like allot of the kids in Philly, came from a broken home and was most likely being sexually abused by an American man in his town. My anger for the little boy broke. I know that brokenness breads brokenness and only love can cure that. Oni’s son was no longer allowed in my house and later that week I spoke to him. Instead of yelling I just asked him why he supported and joined in with the harassment. He said that he was trying to be cool and that he didn’t know how to stop it. He told me he was sorry and would never do it again.

            Everything is good between us now. We spend most days together and just went out on a whole day adventure. I was able to salvage my friendship with Oni and it even became stronger. I learned that at those really low times, my community does have my back. They know I am here to work with them and to help and they want me here. 

Here are some shots of Oni:

Oni and I with her sister in the backround :)