Tallahassee Lassie

Emmy will definitely be a little sick to her stomach when she reads the post title, but it's the best I could come up with. There aren't many songs with "Tallahassee" as the subject. Oh, well. If you have a better suggestion (and I'm sure they abound), make a comment.

First, for the Africa update. I am going tomorrow for my pre-departure physical and to talk with my doctor about shots, etc. It looks like I only need Hep A and B boosters, an MMR booster, and possibly a Rabies shot. I will also have to figure out what malaria medication to take. Oh, Malarone, how I have missed you for 8 months! Still no word on the application, but we're keeping tabs. I'll let you know when I know something.

Second, just a note about the last post. I promise I won't post my politics very often, but I was really gripped by that story. Those of you who know me well are thinking, "we'll hear the politics bit again," and you're probably right, but I'll try to keep it to a minimum.

Now for the important stuff--pictures from this weekend!!


I went to visit Emmy in Tallahassee, which was a great kick-off to my Southeast Tour pre-departure visits. I plan to see as many people as possible while I can. We went to Wakulla Springs, which is the beginning of the Wakulla River and a relative freshwater swamp. We saw Sewannee cooters (this picture), American Anhingas (next picture) and many other water birds, and even a few alligators. It really was a blast. That and a trip to the Melting Pot made the visit quite the treat! I even got some quality bed buddy time with Emmy's new pooch, Buddy. He's quite the charmer, though he did have an unfortunate run-in with some smelly something while I was there. We still love him, though.

On the way home, I stopped at the Peanut Hut to buy some boiled peanuts. I called Granddaddy just to let him know, and we both laughed about "Gandaddy, I wike peanuts." I listened to a book on CD (Sons of Fortune, which I highly recommend), and generally enjoyed the ride. I hope that all of my Southeast Tour goes as well. Indigo Girls, you're next, then on to Flo-town.

The job is still going exceedingly well, and I'm enjoying feeling as if I'm in the professional world for a little while. That should be all I need, too. Just a little while.

Robben Island and Guantanamo Bay

I will suspend the cheesy song post titles for a day to let you in on a little of my morning's moral crisis.

Last night in Long Walk to Freedom (what else?), Nelson and his fellow prisoners were transferred to Robben Island, South Africa's Guantanamo-esque prison. Robben Island, at that time, was the prison where one was sent if the government wanted you far away from civilization (and the hopes of being remembered by one's fellow fighters at home). When Mandela was transferred to RobbenIsland, he had a 5-year sentence. Anyone remember how long he spent at Robben Island? Maybe you should re-read the title of his book if you're thinking it was 5 years. 28 years. The government had enacted legislation which allowed for extension of a prisoner's term without levying an additional charge against the prisoner (sound familiar?). In the portion of the book which I am now reading, I was horrified to read that Mandela and his fellow prisoners were put in a cell with no light or other ornamentation and only a porthole from which to receive light and air. This porthole also served the purpose of allowing the guards to urinate on the prisoners. I was disgusted and saddened at this (and other) brutal treatment of another human being.

So thankful was I that I live in a place where things like this do not occur. Unfortunately, this morning on my drive to work, I was listening to NPR, as I always do, and heard a story called "Guantanamo Through a Prisoner's Eyes." It was narrated by Moazzam Begg, a former detainee at Guantanamo and several other U.S. detention centers, who was never formally charged with a crime, but still imprisoned and tortured for almost two years. Please read the article here. You can also read an exerpt of his book about the ordeal on the same page. It tells of the physical and psychological torture used against him by U.S. forces. I won't tell you the results so that you will actually read the article, but let me just say that it strikes me as sickeningly reminiscent of Mandela's situation.

Now, for a moment to clarify. I am not entirely against the war on terror. I have some serious problems with the way it is handled, but I do realize that there is a very real threat that must be dealt with in some way. I just keep being reminded of my mother telling me that the thing that distinguishes the U.S. from other countries is the way we treat people. What makes us above the terrorists is that we don't stoop to the same kind of torture and mistreatment of our fellow human beings, even if they are terrorists. I think that we, like the apartheid regime in South Africa, have lost sight of the fact that though our enemies are our enemies, and though we may find ther views and actions incredibly distasteful, they are also our brothers and sisters. To believe that they are worth nothing is to believe that we ourselves are worth nothing.

I pray that we might all, myself included, be able to find this kind of an understanding--that human life is sacred, no matter whose life.

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

I received a message from Katy in Jo'burg that she had submitted my application on Thursday. Now the waiting really begins...as if I haven't done enough of that already. It's as if everyone I see at BSC or BR or anywhere else says "I thought you were off to Africa already." So did I.

I also found that I will have to put down an $800 "repatriation deposit" for my visa. Good lord. The words of my dad keep ringing in my ears: "This scholarship is going to cost me an arm and a leg." I hope not. So far, the running total is a car, a repatriation deposit, doctors' appointments, and travel money. This should all be under $5000, but that's still a good deal. You can only live once, though. Might as well do it right.

That's all for an update. Hope you are all doing well and enjoying your new (for many of you post-collegiate) lives, as I am mine. I find that I am so fortunate to have wonderful friends who love and support me and an incredible family that loves me. Which reminds me, I ought to give a public thanks to my sister for dealing with me during a recent meltdown. I realized that I did not have enough of my medicine to make it through the week, which would cause me to be sick at some point. So, I called home and let them know that I needed the RX filled and sent to me through the mail. At this point, I began to think, "If I can't even take care of myself in Birmingham, how can I expect to take care of myself in AFRICA?!" My kind, sweet sister responds, "You know, Lisa, some days you leave your umbrella in your car and it's raining, you leave your homework in your locker, and you forget your kneepads." Sage. I am beginning to consider the possibility that she was right and that maybe I will make it. Maybe.

Anticipation

I liked this picture of all of us after Chris' concert. It was really great to see him after a while as well as to watch him onstage doing what he loves. It's always nice to see your friends and their passions, though it is strange to ask for a signed headshot of a friend...If I figure out how to post a video, I'll post some from the concert. Pictured here are (left-right): my sister's best friend, Chris, me, Carl, Katie. Aren't we cute? And isn't my sister a babe? Sick. When did that happen?!

This week was much easier than last as far as work is concerned. I enjoyed the first week of class at BSC, and though it was odd not to be starting class, too, it was strangely comforting to be in my office.

Ashley has informed me that she sent my application Friday via EBSCO's DHL service. So, now all we do is wait. I am certainly nervous about it, thus the title of this post. See, though I have the money for the scholarship, there is no requirement that the school accept me. It would be strange for them not to, granted, but still, it makes me nervous. So I wait. Call and distract me, would you? It will likely be a month or so until I find anything out. Don't worry, I'll let you know.

The highlight of my week was, undoubtedly, lunch on Friday with my mentor who has just recovered from ovarian cancer. Terry was bubbly and healthy-looking, and just a delight. We talked school and Africa and politics and boys and everything. It was so nice to see her after more than 6 months and not being sure whether or not I would see her again. While graduation and all its festivities were certainly not the same without her, getting to have lunch with a totally healthy and happy Terry was a much greater gift.

So I promised Nelson wisdom, and here it is. I'm almost to the first set of pictures in the book! Yay! I have a serious personal rule prohibiting me from viewing the pictures until I read that far in the book. Anyway, here goes. I particularly appreciated these quotes...

Once I had passed Humansdorp, the forests became denser and for the first time in my life I saw wild elephants and baboons. A large baboon crossed the road in front of me and I stopped the car. He stood and stared at me as intently as if he were a Special Branch detective. It was ironic that I, an African, was seeing the Africa of storybooks and legend for the first time. Such a beautiful land, I thought, and all of it out of reach, owned by whites and untouchable for a black man. I could no more choose to live in such beauty than run for Parliament.

This one is especially moving when read in close succession with the next...

While I was walking in the city one day, I noticed a white woman in the gutter gnawing on some fish bones.[...]I knew of course that there were poor whites, whites who were every bit as poor as Africans, but one rarely saw them. I was used to seeing black beggars on the street, and it startled me to see a white one. While I normally did not give to African beggars, I felt the urge to give this woman money. In that moment I realized the tricks that apartheid plays on one, for the everyday travails that afflict Africans are accepted as a matter of course, while my heart immediately went out to this bedraggled woman. In South Africa, to be poor and black was normal, to be poor and white was a tragedy.

The similarity of these passages and my own experience in Birmingham is almost uncomfortable to me. To drive past a black man walking down 8th Ave. N. while on my way to the college is absolutely normal. While I might lock my doors, I would otherwise have no reaction. To see a white man walking down the road would be almost unheard of. In the South, to be poor and black is entirely natural. And while this is not state-mandated status, it certainly plays tricks on the mind, exactly as Mandela describes.

Thanks for reading this novel. More Mandela to follow.