When keeping it "cultural" goes wrong!

In an attempt to show my students appreciation for their culture, I decided to wear the Kandura more often. This is the traditional clothing for men in the UAE. It is a long-sleeved "get-up" that is usually white and flows down to the ankles almost like an Irish kilt. Over the past few weeks, I have worn it on Thursdays and have gotten a great response from my students. Many of them crowd around me and take pictures with me and compliment me on how well I look. Even other students in the school will approach me and ask if I am Arabic and are shocked when I begin to speak English. Nevertheless, the outfit sparks a lot of positive attention and admiration from the students.

I got encouraged by this idea and decided to unofficially start Kandura Thursdays. After work last week, I went to a local store and bought a few of the outfits for a reasonable price. I couldn't find any with the long sleeves so I thought nothing of it to purchase the ones without them. Since I have a tattoo on my left arm, I had to get creative and figure out a way to conceal it. I decided that a cut sock would not be the best idea, I decided that I would wear a long-sleeved, Western dress shirt under it. I arrived to the school and was met with the same praise and appreciation from the students. I made it through half of the day when I was alerted to some pretty embarrassing news. An Algerian teacher that is of Arabic descent approached me and told me that I was wearing what sounded like a "bad" outfit. I thanked him and shook his hand. I then thought he was saying a bad outfit as if he didn't like it. I realized after saying "What?" a few times that he was saying it was a "bed" outfit. Imagine the look on my face when I got the epiphany that I was wearing the pajama form of a Kandura! When keeping it "cultural" goes wrong! Needless to stay I turned blushed in a heartbeat.

Why hadn't my students said anything to me during class? Did they crowd around me and take pictures as a joke? I saw no students laughing but, then again, were they mocking me in Arabic? In my older age, I have learned to laugh at myself so I quickly dismissed any of the paranoia of this ordeal. I truly assumed that the students weren't laughing because they understood my intent and still appreciated my effort. Just like weeks before, I believe that they took pictures of me because they appreciate me and look up to me.

Later that evening, my head of faculty of the English department alerted me that one of the principals told him to give the head's up that I needed to be careful of what I wear. The head of faculty recommended that I relax on wearing the Kandura for a while. I was a little defensive and took up for the positive effect of how me wearing the Khandura had on the students. He said to use my discretion but that I had to be careful of what I wear because the Emirate people will not hint if there is an issue as opposed to being straight-forward. He said that it was great that I wanted to be a part of the culture but wearing their outfits may offend some that feel like it is meant for Muslims to wear. Just like in the states, there are traditions that some like to share and others like to keep to themselves.

I decided to go to the principal to that spoke with my head of faculty today. I kept it brief but apologized for wearing the wrong outfit. He was very understanding and told me that it was great to wear the outfit because I was showing respect for the culture and traditions but that I just needed to make sure that I wore it appropriately. He informed me to just wear a white, long-sleeved Kandura with the red headscarf or Guthra and black band to hold it in place called an Egal. So, give me your input. Should I let up a little and give it a break or continue on in risk of offending my head of faculty after he advised me that I might be doing a little too much?

Poetry Feature in Berlin

Berlin was a spur-of-the-moment addition to my Europe trip. After putting some "feelers" out in the poetry community, Marc Marcel, a fellow poet, gave me a list of contacts in Amsterdam and Germany. Since it was the holidays and only two weeks notice, I knew that I would have little to no chance of finding a show, let alone a paid feature. Yet and still, I resolved that I would still pay for my own travel as an investment in to getting my craft out internationally. I have been so blessed over the years to receive college and open mic features that I was comfortable in stepping out on faith in hopes of building connections and future opportunities.

Soon after I sent a few e-mails out in to the stratosphere, a poet and organizer from Berlin named Gaby (pronounced Gabby just like my sister's) responded and said that she would set up a show especially for me if I was able to make it. The date of 1/6/12 coincided with my travel itinerary so I accepted the offer. Gaby also offers Berlin tours so, when I arrived, I went on a brief visit to the Berlin wall. I was also able to view impressive street art and get a brief history on the Bohemian history of Berlin and its popularity as a haven for artists of all walks of life. On the tour, Gaby took me by my performance venue for later on that night, the Bethanien House. The building used to be a massive hospital that was eventually converted to an art space for Berlin's many painters, actors, and performance artists. I knew, at that moment, that I was right in step with fate and God's plan because there, in front of the building, spray-painted on a massive rock was, "Abu Dhabi to Berlin"! I couldn't believe my own eyes. It was a refreshing message to me because I once doubted why I even came to Berlin.

Although the show was small with only about 25 to 30 in attendance, the crowd was very receptive and supportive of my work. I also had a feeling of confirmation when I met down-to-earth poets from all over the world. We conversed and connected immediately. MC Jabber, a dope poet from Scotland has traveled around the UK and made a name for himself. Ben Porter Lewis, a poet from the states, mentioned names of poets he knew personally from the U.S. There had to be about one degree of separation because we knew a lot of the same poets. He mentioned great poets like Jason Carney and Mac Dennis, poets that I know as well. He also is well-versed in the National Poetry Slam community, a family of which I am well-versed as well.

Although, my stay was only a day and a half, I quickly became connected to Berlin and definitely would like to visit again. I was invited back to spend even more time once the weather warmed up and people weren't away for the holidays. A maxim shared with me by my father holds true. "If a man doesn't work, he won't eat. This doesn't always mean that you will get paid for your work. Sometimes, you have to get out there and show people, volunteer your services, and show people that you deserve to get paid." Otherwise, they will never know you existed. Here's to putting my name out in the atmosphere. I can already feel it resonating in the stratosphere. You'll be the first to know what comes of it!

Anne Frank House/Buchenwald Concentration Camp

A lot of people know that I am from mixed heritage, but many don't know what which nationalities specifically. In the American South, most people just understand my ethnicities as Black and White. I'm proud to say that I am Black mixed with Polish, White (great-grandmother raped by a White man), and Seminole Indian. This trip was intentioned with discovering more of my Polish-Jewish ancestry. My grandmother Jean, lived in Antipolia, Poland, as a young child but was moved away to America by her parents along with her other siblings. This was in the early 1940's, just before Hitler began his slaughter on Jews. Many of my great-cousins died in the Holocaust so I wanted to visit to reflect on this part of my history.

I was a little underwhelmed when I walked in to the exhibit of The Anne Frank house. It was nothing compared to the updated, interactive exhibit at the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. It was then, in my criticism, that I realized that this exhibit was more about its location and history. It began to sink in, at that moment, that a tragic story of a great child occurred within the walls of this house. I got the chance to view all aspects of the home. As a poet, I noticed a aura of great sadness in the house. I heard more about Anne and her family's story of being forced from Frankfurt in to hiding in Amsterdam. How she came from a family of privilege and had to go in hiding in sub-par living conditions. It was touching to see the pictures of celebrities she pasted on the wall in her small sleeping area. I got to see the attic that she used to visit to get the stale house air out of her lungs. It's hard to imagine that the two families in hiding from the Nazis were rarely able to walk around or run water during the day in fear of being caught. They eventually were given up, as the story goes, and Anne was sent to Auschwitz, the most brutal concentration camp of all. A friend of hers that snuck to see her at Auschwitz said she was in bad condition because everyone fought for scraps of food, clothing, etc... Oftentimes, the teens and children would not be strong enough to survive. She said that Anne died just a few weeks before the U.S. helped to liberate the camps.

Two days later, I set out to Weimart, Germany, so that I could witness the Buchenwald Concentration Camp with my own eyes. This experience totally shook me. Indeed, there was no way that I could mentally or emotionally prepare myself for this visit to one of the largest concentration camps of all. I visited the de-lousing station, the crematory, operational rooms, furnaces, and other areas. I went down in to the dark basement where people were hanged from hooks and tortured. POWs were executed by shot to the neck. Bodies were thrown down a shoot and stacked in the area where I stood. These bodies were then sent to the furnaces. More humiliating, the remains were mixed together in one big pile and then randomly poured in to urns to be stacked or given to families. It was unsettling to picture that on those premises, families were destroyed, people were tortured, and lives were senselessly lost. The Nazi Germans were relentless on their systematic torture of not only Jews, but Russian POWS, "gypsies", homosexuals, and the handicapped; All of these groups were labeled as impure. The saddest part of it all is that only a few of the Nazis involved were actually brought to trial and sentenced to death. Many of the few that were tried had their cases lightened and were later released five to ten years later. Most of these devils moved away to other countries to hide from extradition. Many of them succeeded. Although brutal on the human soul, I suggest a visit to a concentration camp in Germany or Poland. They tell a unique story of human deprivation at its sickest. It tells the story of how people managed to survive such denigration, overcrowding, and death. It lives as a reminder of how low humanity can go if morality isn't respected.