Sheets

I froze last night. The temperature dipped below 33 degrees. When I was little I learned in a science class that water freezes at 32 degrees and I always remembered that.
That’s how I know I froze.
I slept under two blankets, swath like a newborn, yet I shivered. Sad little shivers prickled off my body from under my pajamas.
The night before I stripped my bed of the sheet, fitted sheet, and pillowcases. I figured I could do without them just for the night. I didn’t feel like washing my only set. After a horrible bout with a cold I didn’t have the energy.
I’d have to take you back about three months ago to tell you how I ended up with one set of sheets.
It came from a difference with mother. She insisted that I get 500 count sheets and nothing less. I walked the aisles of the pricey department store for sheets and watched her as she stocked piled up on a cache of fresh sheets.
“What’s the point?” I asked.
“Ohhh baby, you’re going to see once you lay on these sheets. These are luxurious and not scratchy like the ones you buy,” she responded in somewhat of a slight snobbish air or one accustomed to finer things in life.
I sighed. On her salary she could afford the nice sheets and more. On the other hand I was content just to get a dollar to actually stay in my hands. If I wasn’t robbing Peter to pay Paul I tried to keep a dollar to eat.
She bought about three new sets of sheets. She did offer to buy me a nice set. I declined. I didn’t want any handouts, let alone expensive, soft, comfortable what I may fall in love with sheets. I asked her if she would bring me to the dollar store so I could get some new sheets. She scoffed at my choice of a plain, dusty colored set. I knew that I had a boring set of sheets but I was happy that they were clean.
When we got home she surprised me and gave me a set out of her three new sheets she just bought. I really didn’t want them but decided that I would try them out anyway. She made them sound so good.
I slept on the new 500 count sheets for a week. During that time I slid off the bed, had to adjust the sheets every morning, which I hated. Pulling and tugging on the corners every time I woke up to keep them neat and crisp. The final day on the sheets I washed them and gave them back to her with thanks. She said that I was missing out on great sleep without such splendid sheets. Now, if you know my mom, you know that she can sell anything and she almost had me thinking that I was missing out on something great.
I surveyed my friends and asked them what they sleep on. A lot of them, mainly recent college grads said that they buy “good” sheets. Then I began to think that I was alone with a knack for cheap sheets.
The next trip to the store I fell in with Momma and ended up splurging two high-end sets of sheets. I slept on them and hated them both. Again, I gave them away.
That brings me to now, the girl with one set of sheets. I kept a set that my aunt gave me from awhile back. They look like the sun and match my seafoam green colored walls. My room is decorated to give off an Asian inspired, calming effect and the colors help. That’s how I ended up with the soft banana sheets against the sea walls. I would take that one set sheets and wash and put them right back on the bed for the weeks.
Last week I caught a horrible cold and knew that I was dirty with cold germs and so were my lone, faithful banana sheets. Sense would tell you that as I battled a cold I couldn’t just quickly wash the sheets, dry them and have them back on the bed, considering I spent most of my time in the bed. I couldn’t do both. My proud sheets held me down as my temperature hovered around 100. They looked as if they shown more brightly as its master lay in a slumber. Until I woke up yesterday evening with enough strength, I didn’t say it but I knew I needed clean sheets in order to get better sooner. I had no spare. I dragged myself up and stripped my bed. I lied to myself and said I could get my favorite sheets into the washer and dryer. I lacked clear sense. My body said different. I hit the bed with a cotton mattress cover and three comforters. I knew I should be ashamed. My sheets lay in a crumpled pile in the clothes hamper looking at me like, “What have you done?”
I slept that night. In the coldest winter ever. I left my sheets, thinking that I could do without them. I woke with a goal to buy a new set of cheap sheets. I couldn’t figure out why I needed them. I made it to Wal-Mart and bought a clearance set of green plaid sheets to bounce off my green walls and figured I’d be much warmer tonight.
I then called up to ask one of my friends, “Friend, why is it that a sheet with three blankets can keep you warmer than just three blankets? When we all know that the sheet is thinner, more flimsier and lighter than the blankets.”
I wanted to know, I needed to know.
Friend responded, “It’s a tighter weave.”

HIStory

My cousin called me last night and said that I must have written a book about Obama by now. I laughed. I didn’t have much to say to her. I couldn’t watch the election because I was so anxious. When I found out I sat for hours in awe and its still taking me awhile to believe it. I came up with a few things to write though.

Here are my thoughts:

I’m very disappointed in Louisiana. I think the numbers were like 60-40. At any rate La. had the most numbers for he-who-must-not-be-named.
Must we lead all 50 states in the worst of everything: education, health care, jobs, etc.
I just wish that once we can be on the same page as the rest of the country. Our streets were empty last night, while in cities like New York, Chicago (of course), Atlanta and L.A. there were celebrations in the streets.

My heart swelled with pride when Michelle was announced as the First Lady.
I also smiled at the thought of little Malia and Sasha running around the White House. I figured someone must have been backstage wiping their tears because it took them so long to come out on stage. Everyone looked fresh.

I wish Toot could have lived another day. But it was not in His will, therefore I understand.

I loved my girl Tillery’s note, “11/4/08”. She squeezed it in right at 11:50p.m. lol

Obama said he was going to build a basketball court in the basement of the White House. Cool. LOL

From my travels this summer I realize that the world supported Obama. People from different nations kept telling me to vote Obama.
I watched CNN to see people in other countries waving USA flags. WOW!

For the 1st time in my life I’m finally proud to be an American. An inspired American.

We Did it! Change!

Ok. Ok. I did it!

This is part two of “Shopping for…. Gasp. Don’t Say It…”

I finally got my bookshelves and I’m so excited. I’ve been searching for a month. I wanted straight shelves to hang on the walls but that idea did not work out because my carpenter bailed out on me. But I won’t talk about him because he vowed to buy a copy of my book. I’ll talk about him later.
Here’s a sneak peak of Crumb… Oh no, you thought I was going to post a chapter or something? No. Wait. Here are the shelves or bookcase. Yeah, that's better.

Little Bit

All I have are a few things to say:

It’s hard work trying to create a book.
I’m a hustler.
Ya’ll know it’s coming out December something.
Bear with me.
I’m going on a new adventure in New Orleans this weekend to bring you guys fresh blogs. (The people are going to take care of me 8~)
I’m still upset the Saints lost.

That’s all I got to say.

Yap, Yap, Yap, Talk It Up!

B iz like a flower, growing.

In the past few hours I’ve learned a lot of important lessons.
Numeral Uno: Being poor makes you smarter.
Numeral Deuce: Talk for networking and saving everything.
I’ve been sitting in my p.j.s on the corner of my driveway learning.
I’ve figured out that when you are poor you have to be smart in order not to be poor.
It’s easy to get money but its hard work to keep money.
Like everyone else, I too sometimes wish that my parents were rich so I can be an airhead. I’d walk around just doing dumb things just because I can afford to do dumb things. Poor people can’t afford to do dumb things.
Yet, I did some dumb things.
For the past few months I’ve been paying over $190 on health insurance out of my own pocket. I had a real job that provided extra health insurance. Many people told me to drop the plan I had on my own. I refused because I knew my real job wasn’t stable for my future. I figured if I didn’t sign on for next year with the job, at least I can still have my health insurance. It was a half-way great idea.
Today, I have no job but I have health insurance. Yet, sitting on my corner in my p.j.s haven’t brought me a lot of money, so I had to figure out how to keep the health insurance. I just refused to sit in the charity line for health. I have been there. I have waited hours to see the free doctor. Only to be called thinking I’d see the doctor but I had to sit behind lonely walls to wait some more for the doctor to come see me. When you get free health care, I’ve learned that nothing’s free. You pay for that with your time. I’m tried. I don’t want to be common. Yet, without a job I still needed to find the extra 200 bucks to pay for my insurance. I took to using my iPhone. I figured that I could make million dollar deals from that phone. I just needed to be creative or listen.
After about an hour of conversation with my provider, I found an inexpensive plan, that gave me the same services, just written up differently.
I’m now paying half of what I paid. I feel better about the whole health insurance situation. This is what I learned.
I can pay a lesser amount, but just pay a little more when I go to the doctor. And that’s it!! No more, no bills no nothing.
When you’re rich you’re comfortable. I don’t want anyone to fall into the things I’ve did. I made a lot of money.
My friends will tell you, I’d buy any kind of exclusive shoes I wanted, clothes I wanted, go anywhere I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was like, hey Brandi you want to go here?
“Yeah, book me a plane ticket and I’m on the way. Book that five-star hotel too while you’re at it.”
I was on the road. I didn’t care about reading the fine lines. I paid that money for health insurance because I didn’t have time to hear what the providers had to tell me. I figured hey, what’s an extra 100. This is just something small but I’m glad I made it through.
Young, dumb, rich and stupid. In college things came to me and I made something. No matter how much money you have, always remember it’s not what you get, it’s how much you keep. Now, as I sit in my p.j.s on my corner I’ve learned how to hustle again.
I can take nothing and make something.
Its not what you know, it’s who you know.
With a little phone conversation, I became a few dollars richer, just like that. I also got a new writing job. That’s detailed below.

Oh you guys, I have a list of things I’m absolutely loving right now.
1. T.I.’s new CD “Paper Trail”
2. James Morrison’s new CD, “Songs for You, Truths for Me”
3. Robin Thicke’s new CD, “Something Else”
4. The fact that the sequel to the Coldest Winter Ever is coming out in November
5. Progress on my own book, Crumb Snatchers. It's coming along great!
6. PERCEPTION
7. Chattting with Karrine Steffans
8. Learning Sales and Advertising
9. Your Facebook Updates
10. Baby pictures and Albus Dumbledore

About that new job, I’m a writer for www.emediabr.com.
Fred let’s me write feature stories. So check them out, I’ll let you know when they post. I just wrote one on The Joan, owner of Mo Hair, a hair salon. She’s talking about owning a business and keeping it. It’s a great piece! Check It Out!

Don't Worry Be Happy

I wrote a song.

La. La. La. Laaaaaa…..

We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,
We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,

The nation is falling,
And Bush will not bail us out,
While McCain is balling,
Obama will hear us out,

We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,
We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,

La. La. La. Laaaaa….

If anyone wants to co-write the song, feel free to add on. And don’t complain because I never said I was poetic.

But you know what, I once heard a guy say that money is the root of all evil. That may have been the Temptations. Then I heard a smart guy come along and say, “The lack of money is the root of all evil (Rich Dad, Poor Dad).”
I agree with the latter. Either way, I guess we will find out.

Lost

Arthritis crippled her hands a few years back. It forced her to keep them in a permanent balled up, crooked position. When she said she had problems with the condition, I figured that she had to be in real bad pain. I felt for her. I’d want her to quickly take a Tylenol.
Her hands, dark and aged, they held a many of her babies and wiped a many of counters.
She’d look at you with her brown eyes and you could see a caring soul. At home she would feed anybody passing.
We would sit in church every Sunday, side by side. She would make a special spot for me to sit underneath her as if I were her own daughter. Matter of fact, I did move her own child to the pew in front of us. As if I knew how to love her just right too.
She had a warm heart and as kind. When the collection plate came around she would always reach her hands into her purse and give me money.
“Here Bran, some money for the collection plate and some money for you. God put it on my mind to give this to you,” she’d say in a low voice so others around us wouldn’t hear that she was extra sweet to me. Folk could get jealous, in church too, let me tell you.
“Thank you, kindly,” I would return in a whisper. The choir sang in the background and people got up to put money in the basket. I put my money up and walked back to my seat. I’d smile at her and she’d just nod her head. I knew to further hush because, like I said, we didn’t want anyone to know I had extra money.
I’d take my money and buy some much needed stuff for my room at school.
She came to church with treats like that for me all the time.
Now, you know a woman loves you when she wakes up with you on her mind. And church started early. That old lady loved me from a baby. I loved her too.
I did whatever she said to do, without ever a sass word. We sat in the same spot every Sunday, our meeting spot for worship and catching up on each other.
I’ll look out for her boy like I said I would.
Because she died yesterday. The news spread quickly around town. Everybody knew her. Tommorrow’s Sunday.
I’ll go to church and sit in our same spot. They say you never know what you got till it’s gone, but I knew what I had. Yes sir, I knew.
I had A…um…let me see, how can I say it? You know you read up top, That real love’s gone.

For Barbara.

B For Mankind

Obama for Mankind
I watched the Presidential Debate. As I expected, Obama still proved he’s the best choice. Before I even watched the debate, I think comedian Chris Rock said it best: “Vote for the guy with one house.”
CR talked to Larry King. Rock made great key points. Let me give you a quick rundown.

ROCK: I introduced Obama at the Apollo Theater not too long ago. I think Obama would be great. I mean, just look the big thing right now is the economy. And people are going broke. And here: The choice isn't Republican or Democrat. The choice is you got a guy that's worth $150 million with 12 houses against a guy who's worth a million dollars with one house.
KING: Well --
ROCK: The guy with one house really cares about losing a house, because he is homeless. The other guy can lose five houses and still got a bunch of houses. Does this make any sense? Am I the only one that sees this?
KING: It's unique way of ...
ROCK: I'm just saying, John McCain could lose half his houses.
KING: You got a point.
ROCK: And sleep well.

(Source: CNN)
http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/09/26/chris.rock.lkl/index.html

I do have a simple solution. Kids taught me this on the playground with their candy. Its how they made friends.
Maybe McCain should give 11 of his 12 houses to 11 homeless families.
I’m just saying…

(Side note: When did Alisha and Obama get so cool to where she can call him B!) :p

What They're Talking About

Bush finally said what everyone knew. “The economy is in danger.” As if we needed a news flash. The little things gave us the signs. I thought that he’d figure something out when gas hit $4.50 a gallon. I paid $5.45 for a loaf of bread (Texas Toast). To my knowledge, that’s just wheat, flour and water. If I knew how to mash it together myself without making a mess, I would. Someone send me instructions.
I’ve tried to keep my complaints to a minimum. But now, like everyone else I’m looking for a new way of dealing with things. Bush out, Obama in, may save us.
A soothsayer told me so.
If things go rough though, I’m keeping a bag packed and going to Tokyo, or Italy.
I’ll write about the trip.
I usually don’t even do news posts like this one. But I felt like it today. I’m putting things into perspective.


There are things in this old world that’s bigger than me.

1. An Obama victory
2. Perception
3. Albus Dumbledore

Shopping for…. Gasp. Don’t Say It…..

Three years ago on a trip to Houston I turned into a baby. I can remember sitting slouched in the backseat of Joe’s car pouting that he chose to go to Ikea, the boring, stupid furniture store over the Houston Galleria.
I was highly upset. For two weeks before the trip I had waited and anticipated going into the mall because I had never been in a mall so big and grand in my life. I heard stories of the luxury shops. I dreamed of the shoes I would find. I wondered about the shirts I would pick up. I even saved money.
We went to Houston a day early to cover a noon football game. We had the time to visit the mall. I really wanted to go to that mall. Joe, a decade or so my senior, could have cared less about the mall. He practically jumped up and down at the fact that we just made it to the parking lot of the furniture store. In the back of my mind, I thought of him as a dork. He dragged me into the store. I looked around, bored. We must have walked around for two hours. And all he picked up was a few small supplies for his kitchen, a noodle strainer, a salad bowl and something else. Joe left happy, I left upset. He even beamed at how proud his wife would be of him.
Now, fast forward today. Joe called me and asked me what I was doing. For the past week I had been looking for bookshelves. Sounds boring, right. Usually, I have an exciting tale to tell him about my day or adventures. This time, I told him that I had been looking for bookshelves and that I met with the carpenter. I spoke with excitement in my voice. I pictured my new shelves hanging in room 2A with my books neatly organized. A way better option than the deep plastic blue bin I bought from Wal-Mart and just stacked my books in as I got new ones. I get new books in every other day so they were starting to pile up. And I’ve always had bare walls, wondering what to put on them besides an old clock. Since my trip to Africa, I brought back some cool trinkets, like a wooden carved mask that I would love to hang, and I thought that they would go perfect on my bookshelves with the books.
I imagined that the shelves would really give my room that Barnes & Nobel look that I always wanted. I already have a dark green love seat in the corner against soft green walls, small fully stocked refrigerator in the other and queen-sized bed, equipped with comfy pillows. I fixed up the place better than B&N. And the thought of getting those shelves had me just as excited as buying new shoes.
As I told all of this to Joe, he chuckled on the other end of the phone. He left me with these words, “See, I told you that you’d grow up and find that buying furniture is the most exciting thing in your life.”
I sighed. I always thought that adults were overrated. I didn’t tell him but he was half-way right, furniture shopping was fun. Three years later.
I just couldn’t believe myself.

Creative Money

For the past few weeks I’ve followed the same routine. Wake up early, get out of bed, take a chair out of the kitchen and drag it to the corner of the driveway.
From there, I’ll commence to sitting in my p.j.s and watch all the working people drive by. I wave insanely and smile. Some people wave back or honk their horns. Sometimes, I even get a visitor, Boon, a smelly, toothless drunk.
Boon’s practically homeless. He walks around aimlessly, begging for money. I don’t treat him to cash because then I’d be supporting his habit and I have my own vices. I do entertain him. He calls me Lil’ Bran’.
For some reason, though I’ve went to college, graduated, moved on to new things, he still calls me Lil’ Bran’, as if I’m still five. I let him get away with it.
He walked up to me one day and asked me if I was still looking for a job.
“No, I’ve stopped,” I said. I told him I was writing my book.
“Well Lil’ Bran’, I’m going to read anything you write,” he said. “You just write a paragraph and I’m going to read it. Oh, you’re a good writer.”
I smiled and nodded my head in appreciation of his encouragement.
He knows everybody’s business on the block. As I have come to find out information from my house sitting as well. I know when people leave, when they come back, when the delivery man comes by, what he drops off, who’s getting cable, who’s going to their dr.’s appointment. I know everything. I feel like the kid on the movie “Disturbia (2007)” except that, I’m not on house arrest. Unemployment keeps me at the house.
I find that its nothing wrong with sitting at home, though, it would be nice to have money coming in, while sitting at home.
Like every sane person, the first thought of unemployment put goose bumps on my arms and had me kind of down. At first, I wished that I had a job. But then I stopped wishing and got creative. Folk started asking me what I was doing. I told them, I’m working on my book. Everyone got the same answer.
“Bran, what are you doing?”
“I’m writing my book.”
“You’re not getting paid!!!”
Some in my family even came to me and badgered me about getting a job.
As if being a writer is not a good enough job, I thought.
One said, “Well you’ll need money.”
I didn’t answer. I figured she was half right and half wrong. I’ll need money for what? So I can shop? So I can look good? Eat well? That’s all I did with my money anyway.
I remember one day I sat in the bank (I was working a “real” job then). The lady told me I would need $9,000 for an old shaq I wanted. The notes on the home cost $200 a month. But if I had gone to them about a car, I would have had a 2009 fully loaded 40,000 whip off the show room floor, with no money down at $350 a month. Would you like rims with that Ms. Worley? The same cost of the house.
Now, my rationale was, I don’t need a car, nor do I pay a note so let me get the house. They say, no, we want nine grand.
The man will give me anything to keep you ignorant.
But that’s another story I have for you guys another day.
Boon and I sat on the corner and we watched cars go by. I actually liked getting up early. I had a point to my madness. I wanted to see my last boss pass me by on his way to work. Despite my great efforts on the job, he let me go. After that one, my little heart hurt.
As I sat outside, I thought about everything. The smell of Boon’s spoiled body brought me back. I had figured things out.
People always go after what they want and not what they need. I’ve seen people who know their kidneys are on dialysis, they need water but they want that liquor. By the end of the day they’ll be drinking a 40 oz.
Yet, in going after dreams or making it to the top, sometimes you have to let go the things you need to get what you want.
I had a dream - a dream to become a best-selling author. I put it aside for a job. Now, I’m sitting outside with Boon. That job put me aside. I guessed it might not be my time to get that well paying job, but I’ll finish my book.
They knew I could have used the extra cash.
To all the people who wouldn’t hire me, thanks. I don’t have a chance to be seduced by success in another field. (Rose, Golden Girls)
I may run into Struggle. I may face Rejection a couple of times. And Roadblocks. Heartache too. It’s risk I’m willing to manage. I got up from the stoop and told Boon bye.
He said, “Oh, you’re going to finish writing your book, hun?”
“Yup,” I replied. I once stressed about finding a job. With close to zero dollars in the bank I might as well become what I want to be.
I left him with a smile.
I figured that there are people who work all day, everyday and they still don’t have money.

So I guess we’re even, for now.

------Crumb Snatchers, Coming December 2008------

Farewell

As I left to board my plane for home, I looked around the airport. People crammed inside the small terminal, waiting for their next flight. There were only three shops open, two Duty Free stores where you can buy electronics, candy and small gifts and a breakfast shop. The small menu at the breakfast shop served pizza and breakfast bites. I was really hungry but decided to eat my pre-purchased meal on the plane. Mauritian food started to get on my nerves.
I sat part relieved and part sad. I didn’t quite want to go home. Yet, I had experienced enough of the island and I was anxious to get off just to go to more places. I wanted to see our next destination, Johannesburg!
Most of the trip I had to hurry up and wait to see things. I rushed to see new people and places then I rushed to leave because I wanted to see more new people and new places. Everything was exciting. Plus, I heard tale that Johannesburg was really nice. My anticipation grew. I’d be in more modernization too. Plus, I could say that I touched Nelson Mandela’s country. Just because. That thought on its own made me feel cool.
Then I thought. You know, its one thing to be in your home in America, with running water, working lights and convenient food. Matter of fact, everything in America is convenient. There are entire aisles in supermarkets solely dedicated to just cereal or cheese. Even the pets have their own aisles. You can go anywhere and do anything, in legal means. You can buy anything.
You say to yourself as you read books on comfy pillows or watch a show about other cultures, “I want to go there one day. I want to see the people.”
All cool. But I do want to let you know that you have to be great in-shape and prepared.
Like it’s cool to see a woman skilled in washing clothes on a huge rock in a canal. She pulls the garments out of the water so clean.
Or watching a hunter accurately put a spear in a gazelle, while barefoot, after running two miles, at full speed to catch him.
Or be a little schoolgirl who fetches her family’s fresh water for the day.
You think its cool.
It’s just another thing when you’re living it.
None of my family or close friends could imagine me beating clothes against a rock to get them clean.
My clothes would come out of the same canal looking tie dyed and muddy. My hands bloodied and probably scarred from hitting the rock. While the lady’s fine hands and garments are the cleanest in the land.
Chasing that gazelle would have me out of breath and hungry a many of days. And I wore Nike Trainers.
The gazelle would just probably come around my hut, graze and stare just to taunt me. If I made a move to get up he wouldn’t run either.
My poor arm strength and aim wouldn’t hit him standing 20 feet away. I couldn’t wrestle him to the ground. He’d become my pet because even then I wouldn’t know how to slit his throat correctly. And I love eating meat.
I’m not accustomed to carrying a barrel of water on my head all the way back to the village. After I’ve spilled all the water, persons in my hut would be thirsty.

As I sat, waiting on my plane, Kell and I looked at each other and for some strange reason we both decided that Nigeria and Ethiopia were two places we didn’t want to stay. We could go and pass through. Take a ride through the countries, but no overnight stops.

When you live these things it becomes Experience.

I'm Coming Home Again

I’m back after that little drama with Gustav!
And #1, Genese is writing and me too! :D

I’m Coming Home Again

Well I’ve brought you guys on my trip around the world. You watched me complain, laugh, cry, anticipate, climb mountains, meet new friends, try new food and run from monkeys.
What you all didn’t know was that I became a punk on the trip. What I didn’t know was that my little sister (who didn’t attend) took a bet with Kell, my older sister on who would get on whose nerves first!
The bet was that Kell would get on my nerves first. I denied she ever did.
Yet, had evidence. Three days into what was a planned two-week stay, I demanded our plane tickets be moved up. It sounds so mean.
Its like, Kell’s nice enough to bring me to Africa with her, I go, complain, then cut her vacation plans short. The conference was held the first week, Kell booked our stay for two weeks, one to work and the last to play.
She clearly told me before we left the States that I would get the most enjoyment out of the trip because I didn’t have to work. I figured I would too.
And I know it sounds mean, maybe a little selfish. But three days into the trip I wanted to leave after the first week. She became sad and slightly regretted bringing me along, because she really wanted that vacation.
But here’s my rationale.
1. On the third day was also the day I saw that second iguana in my room.
2. I had to move into hers. That decision came loved and hated. I loved to get away from the mini zoo that occupied my room, but I hated to have to share a room with Kell because I knew she’d snore in my ears and I’d never get rest.
3. I’d also met a great deal of people at the conference and figured out when everyone else planned their departures, which was at the end of the week. I figured if we had terrible service with people now, that without other people we would be treated worse.
4. To top things off, I felt comfortable with the two Americans, who also said they were leaving at the end of the week.
5. I figured that the island was so small, we could experience it in three days, I already had.
6. I wanted out too.

She consented to my pleas to leave early. We left the hotel that morning and flagged down a cab. The cab driver agreed to bring us on the hour long ride back to the airport to change our tickets for $80. We made it to the airport, thru security and to the desk. It took two hours for the ladies to find us an earlier flight. As they searched I paced the airport’s floor in nervousness. I wondered what I would do for another week on that island if we were denied. Then finally, the attendants found us some seats. For $211 apiece, we moved our leave date up. Kell looked at me with disgust. Relieved, I picked up my ticket and smiled to myself. If she had seen that she really would have been mad. We left the airport and headed back to the conference. She didn’t talk to me much during the ride. She really didn’t talk to me that much at all that day. It wasn’t until night fell and the “organizers” told her that she wouldn’t be able to get a refund on some of her money, or a receipt and in addition to her project she would have to take the day she set aside for touring to stand at a board for two hours. The fact that she still was washing out her underclothes and hanging them around the room that she turned to me and said, “Bran, you were right.”

Ice, Burgers

There were two things I longed for while on the island. I didn’t miss home much. I didn’t even miss watching television. My wants were simple. I missed ice and hamburgers. Every time we walked into a restaurant my mouth watered at the thought that I may get them. All I wanted was a large cup of ice and a good old-fashioned hamburger.
It took me a few days to figure out that Mauritius wasn’t a beef-eating nation. I saw no cows grazing in anyone’s pasture. Though I saw skinny horses. That were so malnutrition that their ribs showed. And I only saw horses like that on cartoons.
No one on the island had beef burgers. I went to some of the fanciest restaurants around but had no chance of even getting an imported burger. Not even a beef patty. I would have settled for that.
They served grilled chicken burgers but no beef.
Then I thought ice would be easy to get but it wasn’t. I ordered some of the most expensive drinks, in the Euro, by the way, and the most I ever received in my glass were three to four cubes of ice. Of which you had to ration to keep your entire drink cooled. You didn’t want to stir your glass too much.
After I ate my three pellets of ice, I wanted more. I’m used to sitting at a table, eating a full meal, drinking my entire drink then sit back to crunch on the ice cubes.
I became let down every time I spent beaucoup monies on a drink with just a taste of ice.
Even behind the bars I didn’t see any tubs filled with ice where the waiters could just grab a bucket and pour endlessly. I didn’t even see them ice down meats in the market.
Can you imagine, getting a tall glass of lemonade and there’s no ice. You wish you had some ice just to enjoy the sound of it clinking against the glass.
Eventually, I got used to No ice. No beef.

(Sorry I’ve been out for a min. Gustav cut the power off.)

Mauritian Shopping

Before I left the States a few of my friends and family made requests that I bring them gifts back. I packed two suitcases, one I filled with clothes and the other I left empty.
I had planned to stock it with souvenirs.
On my first shopping trip I visited the flea market. Two Cypress ladies accompanied me. It’s your average swap meet, where shoppers pack streets to bargain for food and goods on the best prices. I had a pocket full of Ruppees but I didn’t want to spend them all there.
I figured sellers were also scammers. While I looked for a great deal, I didn’t want to become prey. I knew the locals couldn’t quite figure out my native country but they were wise enough to know I did not come from those parts.
I wanted to be a savvy shopper. On the first shopping day I didn’t anything that would give away my home location. I kept my dress simple, with jeans, a blank tee and sneakers.
As I walked through the filthy, scum riddled streets I searched for little trinkets that my friends would like. This trip I planned to get them gifts, but I also planned to be really selfish. I wanted rainsticks. My main focus was to get rainsticks. The rainsticks were really, really cool. (A rainstick is a long, hollow tube which is filled with small baubles such as beads or beans and has small pins arranged helically on its inside surface. When the stick is upended, the beads fall to the other end of the tube, making a sound reminiscent of a rainstorm as they bounce off the pins. The rainstick is generally used to create atmospheric sound effects or as a percussion instrument.
The rainstick is generally considered to have been invented in South America's Chile, and was played in the belief that it could bring about rainstorms. (Thanks, Wikipedia)
The first guy I met seemed honest. His shop had quality materials. After some bargaining, I bought three rainsticks at 300 Ruppees a piece and a hand painted giraffe mask made out of wood carvings. I figured I got a good deal because the mask weighed heavy, I liked the paintings and the sound from my sticks were loud. My Cypress friends also agreed I bought good things. I felt great and carried around my gifts with pride. I beamed, that was until I met the crook. We walked further into the swap meet and the crook sold rainsticks at 100 Ruppees apiece. I picked up his rainsticks and I thought I got cheated. Until Lady Cypress told me that my sticks were louder and heavier. Then I felt better. We walked further in and we saw even more rainsticks, they ranged in prices from 200-400 Ruppees. They were good rainsticks. I wanted the best deal. I felt bad. After that I didn’t want to do anymore shopping because the Mauritians’ shopping played tricks on your mind.
I left the swap meet with three rainsticks and a mask. The Cypress ladies bought just a few things as well. I didn’t want to do much shopping after leaving the swap meet. Neither one of us did. Kell wanted to go, but I didn’t want to join her. She eventually talked me into going back.
I went back cocky and wore a Las Vegas t-shirt. I didn’t care anymore if they knew I came from America. Sure enough, just as I predicted some locals did try to sell me wooden spoons for a higher price. They told me I was a rich American and I could afford to fork over the extra dollars. That’s when shopping lost all of its appeal.

Le Garden Crew Travels

The next morning I woke up sick. That was bitter/sweet news for Kell because this meant she had proof that the hotel was killing us. Her plan was to drag me in front of the organizers and show them the ill effects of Le Spice Garden since we figured our pleas fell on deaf ears.
My throat hurt badly and I ran a temperature. She asked me if I had been taking all of my medicine. I didn’t even lie, I told her no. She instructed me to take all of my medicine and to get ready for the next island tour. Neither of us felt safe leaving me in my state alone at the motel. After the chef/doorman/front desk man fed us our daily bread and water rations we went out side to wait for the bus.
I needed some medicine. As we waited, an Aussie gave me a salt/water mixture and advised me to gargle all day. I wondered why I didn’t think of that simple remedy. Aussie made everything simple though.
We waited outside Le Garden for the bus to pick us up. I felt weak.
No one was surprised when they sent a rickety, stinky bus to Le Garden to pick us up. Our bus looked like it would fall apart if we hit a bump. Other people from the nice hotels had nice buses and an English-speaking tour guide. Ours smelled of musk and had dirty leather seats.
It took Canadian to make light of our situation. He stepped on the bus and noticed that they gave us all the vegetarian sandwiches on our bus. ALL the vegetarian sandwiches, he stressed in the most sarcastic voice I’d heard anyone use. I would have laughed on the floor if I had the energy.
We had the worse driver and guide. I became mad that our guide was an old greasy Mauritian with a pot-bellied gut, who even took the liberty of dying his dark natural hair a bright red.
Mauritians are of India descent. Many have dark skin, and dark hair. The bright red clashed with his natural tones. I couldn’t stand to be sick and look at him all tour. To make our bus even stinker, he smoked.
An hour into the trip we got lost. The “Organizers” provided everyone with knowledgeable guide except for us.
I didn’t get mad. I didn’t even look at Kell. I just knew this was another situation where misery loved company. We ate the grilled vegetables.
After sitting four hours on the funky bus I figured the “Organizers” set the Garden crew up as a practical joke.
Tomorrow will be better, I said.
I took a long swig of my tonic, covered my head so it didn’t touch that nasty seat and went to sleep.

China Man

Something just didn’t sit right. We had a mean chef. By the fourth day, I’d traveled all over the island. Every time I went somewhere new the natives offered me juice. I figured out that the island had a special juice. It had an orange tang, pineapple, mango and strawberry taste to it. The juice flowed smoothly and cured any thirst. I loved drinking that juice. I brought it to Kell’s attention that China man, our chef/door man/manager/head of security was now watering down our juice. They conserve on everything we figured. She laughed at my observations. If it wasn’t enough that we’d been bamboozled to stay in a shoddy room with vermin and mold, they didn’t even serve us the real food. On certain days they served powdered eggs. I had pet milk for my cereal. And there were always ants on our croissants. I don’t even want to know what that meat was.
We started watching China man closer. He was a fairly built man in about his late 50s. China man always walked around with a terrible hacking cough. He fussed at all three of the wait staff. He just kept a mean face everywhere he went. He was a real grouchy old man. Sometimes he would speak to us and hold a great conversation, asking us how we slept that night and what we planned to do for the day. Then other times he would wave us off as if to say don’t bother him today.
We’d walk up on him sometimes and catch him knocked out, cold sleeping with his feet up in a chair.
I started to beef with China man because he fussed about cooking for us one night. The thing was, Monday Kell and I asked him to cook. He cooked but we didn’t show up for dinner. He talked about us and said he wouldn’t cook anymore for us. We didn’t have a clue that he cooked exclusively for us. We thought other people were going to eat too. But, no, we had to make a special request. We reneged on our request. We apologized. He had been mad ever since.
From then, I didn’t want to mess with China man. He was a mean, grouchy old man.
I stopped holding conversations with him. I stopped eating his powdered eggs in the morning and switched to cereal. But Kell didn’t. She kept going to breakfast and smiling. As the days went on China man grew quieter. He just shooed the wait staff around a little more. But he leaned on tables a little more.
Until finally I asked Kell, why China man wasn’t his usual self. She told me that his kidneys were failing and he needed a transplant. We found him sleeping all the time because the dialysis made him tired. He was on the list for a kidney transplant. The treatments made him have short patience.
China man used to be a chef on a cruise line and in the military. He had seen many beautiful places by traveling all over the world. He’d met all kinds of different people. He was once a very well respected man.
But turns out, you never know what the other man’s dealing with. I knew he wanted to hold on to that last bit of respect. When I saw him leaning in the security booth,
I became a bit more understanding.

Everybody’s Watching

Obama’s a big deal. He’s cute and makes headlines. I’m really glad he chose Biden as his VP pick because now he can let Biden talk while he sits back and look presidential.
It’s amazing the way the world is accepting him. When I say the world, I mean The Whole Wide World is cheering for Obama.
When I sat in the airport in Dubai I took notice. The minute other passengers learned I came from America, the first thing they said was “You have to Vote for Obama.”
The first time foreigners told me that I looked a bit shocked.
Usually those words came out of American’s mouths. I figured the presidential pick was just our concern and problem.
Turns out, they said that when Obama comes over here we just love him. “That Bush has to go. He doesn’t respect us when he comes,” they said. I laughed so hard.
They just didn’t know but we sit home in the States and think the same things.
The campaigning for Obama further escalated on the plane. As I sat back trying to adjust my seat, a guy noticed the shoes I was wearing. He said excuse me and I gave him my attention. He asked if I was from American and I said yes. I asked him how did he know. He said the shoes I wore were only offered in America. I respected his observations because I’m a shoe junkie myself.
I thought the conversation was going to carry on into shoes but tapped me on the shoulder and told me to Vote for Obama and left. I said, “Yes sir.”
I went to Africa and the same thing kept happening to me. The two Cypress ladies told me to “Vote for Obama.” Canadian said, “Vote for Obama.” Japan said, “Vote for Obama.” And so did Wales!
Then, when I met Rose (from the Netherlands), her and her mom grew excited and asked my thoughts on Obama. By then, I became accustomed to the way the people reacted when they found out I can choose the next president. I’d experienced the severity of the situation and impact the rock star candidate had made and could make. I learned that the American president not only affected America, but the world. I told them I supported the Chicago democrat. In unison they said, “We love Obama.” I laughed.
They were so happy. I think we celebrated in the car.
After the world kept telling me to Vote for Obama, I felt outnumbered on foreign soil. I agreed to Vote for Obama. Besides with the whole world on your back, if I thought any other way it would be best that I kept it to myself.
…That’s a lot of people.

Two sweet Americans

I’d spent a wonderful day with Rose and her family. Things started to look up.
Three days after our arrival we met two Americans, who also attended the conference. They stayed in Le Meridien. Everything about Le Meridien screamed fancy, they had fresh floras in clear vases that they changed the color of the water to a different color every day. They had a wait staff, cleaning staff, maintenance staff, friendly staff, plus everything worked. At $500 USD a night, we would be living better.
The Le Meridien served as the main conference hotel. The cheery fellow from Welsh named Petey told me, “We stay at the Spice Garden but we LIVE at Le Meridien.”
Petey had taken his students all over the world. He once stayed in this hotel where they had to squat to use the bathroom in buckets and separate the toilet paper in another.
I took his word for whatever he said.
Kell and I met the Americans at the opening dinner. They asked how we were living and we took the time to spare no details.
We’d told the Americans of our harsh times at Le Spice Garden and they were willing and ready to help deliver us from the rat hole. Though I tried hiding desperation in my voice, my little eyes pleaded with them.
All through dinner, I had hoped the two sweet Americans would save us that night. I believed they would. They greeted us with a warm hug and kiss. They even smelled sweet. Both were respected doctors in their field. Surly, some heavy hitters would be able to have a bigger voice than us, mere students.
For fear that I’d spoil the getaway plan, I didn’t speak much at dinner or smile. Feelings lie in your voice. Besides I needed to set celebration aside, my focus lived on getting out of our motel. I picked at my food.
I didn’t want any hint of excitement to hinder my departure. I kept my bags packed. Not even lugging two heavy bags down the street filled with dogs would have stopped me. We didn’t need of a cab. My strong legs could carry me. I wanted desperately to leave when they left. I had to leave when they left.
When the thought of harsh living hit me, my hopes fluctuated.
Cold water from the faucet chilled my bones during my shower. I slept with one eye open. I couldn’t hide under the blankets much like I do at home because only God knows what lived there. Festering mildew grew on the sheets and walls that would keep me sick. I felt alone.
I can’t say fear surrounded me because I know my keeper. Though uncertainty found a way to taunt me.
Earlier our driver showed me the hospital. It too looked abandoned and I became quite sure that I didn’t want a trip there. I wanted the warmth and security that Le Meridien had to offer.
Everyone ate dinner, and I saw the two Americans working steadfast.
But they came with the news to us that we would have to stay another night. They looked really down. They really wanted to help. I tried to hide my feelings with a cracked smile. One American gently held my face in her hand.
To go back, one more long night. To count the hours go by. Count them very slow.
The clock says, 10p..… 11p..… midnight…..1a.m…2a.m… 3a.m… 4a.m… 5a.m… Get up. It’s annoying.
A sad, slow lump, thumped rhythmically in my chest.
She knew.
I took a deep breath and long look at her kind face.
Noticing, for the first time in a long time in a long time of my young life, someone had looked upon me with pity.

Rose

One night at dinner I met a sweet girl named Roos (Rose, for you Westerners J).
Rose’s brilliant. She can tell you about the inside culture, history, people or politics going on in any land.
She spent months studying in Namibia. She’s traveled the world to Brazil, California, U.S.A., Australia, Malaysia, New Zealand, Switzerland, France, Spain, Thailand, Ireland; she’s been all over.
Roos and I met in the buffet line. A few minutes earlier Kell came to me with the exciting news that she found a girl around my age who came to the conference for her parents and visit the island. I sat at a back table resting my head in my arms but I perked up in seconds.
We figured sightseeing was on her agenda too. That meeting proved to be a blessing for me. I went over to talk to Roos and it just seemed like I’d already known her. She knew a lot and I didn’t have to explain stuff when I talked to her.
Coming from the Netherlands Roos had stories to tell me what its like about living there. Talking to her felt like I was talking to an American girl. I had to keep reminding myself that she hailed from the Netherlands. We chatted like we’d known each other for ages. She’d planned to do sightseeing the next day and I’d asked to tag along for the trip. She said yes, and I left dinner excited. I went to sleep happy that night.
I could finally hang out with some new friends, learn about their culture, see different parts of the island and get away from that desolate hotel.
The next morning Roos, her mom and Natalie picked me up from Le Spice Garden to go hiking/bird watching.
On the way to the park I captured beautiful pictures of the Mauritians. Roos drove while her mom read the map for directions. I was really able to play tourist in the backseat.
I’d seen things I’d never seen before. In the middle of this one town I saw a laundry service and unlike America’s laundry service, Keans the Cleaners with its big machines for all the work, there were two woman inside a hot looking building doing all the work. I even saw one with a hand iron, as she ironed sheets. They were cleaning sheets and fitted sheets for a hotel I guessed. I figured she would be all day, but they were accustomed to that type of work. They did everything by hand.
I saw a woman at her house sweeping her clay floors. Then she threw a bucket of water on it when she finished.
We passed a horse, that from the road I could see his ribs showing. I’d never seen a horse so skinny that most of his bones showed. He was really famished. We went over half of the island. I saw the people about their daily lives.
We made it to the bird sanctuary and took a four-mile hike. Along the hike Roos taught me things. She’s smarter than she know. I told her I saw poor people all over the island, she argued that they were not poor, just standards. (That will be another blog for another day. Poor versus Standards) I had an amazing time with my new friends that day. And just like Kell said before we left America, I would get to experience Mauritius more than anybody. Indeed with that trip with Roos, I gained more than National Geographic or Time can give me.

…and she wants Obama to win (I’ll tell you about that later, its crazier than you think).
-Adios

Monkeys Galore

We went to La Gorge Noire Rivière. It’s a national park in Mauritius famous for its waterfalls and vistas. It’s a paradise for hikers. Other excited visitors take buses to the top and crowd the edge. Just beyond the cliff is a beautiful site of rolling hills of trees. Within the trees lie the waterfalls.
Then there are the packs of macaque monkeys. Not the cute, cuddly monkeys you see on TV. But aggressive, little thieve monkeys. Hunger lives in their eyes. Their fur stands roughly on their backs. Their claws are sharpened. Everything about the monkeys look tough.
To get to La Gorge we went up a mountain. No less than five minutes after our group piled out of the bus and walked thru the tree-lined path to get to the edge and a guy said he spotted a monkey. I competed amongst the others for position to see the cliff. We all grew excited and hoped he’d come back. Five minutes and the words weren’t cold from his mouth, a monkey jumped on the top of the concrete slab. He grabbed a woman’s purse and she pulled back. For a few seconds the woman and monkey had a tug-o-war battle for the bag. She moved away. He barred his teeth and took a swipe at the woman and everyone cleared that portion of the cliff like roaches.
In the mist of the commotion, Kell snapped a quick photo of the monkey. My concentration stayed on moving back with the crowd getting away from the monkey.
The monkey looked around and scratched himself. He seemed to calm.
Then someone in our group made the foolish mistake of feeding him a sandwich. The tour guide lady came running and screaming, “Do not feed the monkeys.”
There were signs posted warning people to not feed the monkeys.
At home, I had watched enough of “When Animals Attack.” I didn’t want that monkey jumping on me. Just imagine, when I get back home to America I have war wounds to show them from a monkey. Yeah, I pictured my family dying laughing at that one.
The one monkey incident that we saw with the woman scared me and I left back for the comfort of the tour bus. He showed his teeth.
I didn’t feel safe.
Plus, I figured he’d already been enticed with food and I knew that where there is one monkey there are many more.

I closely watched the tree lined pathway and covered my head as I walked out.

Fish & Dogs

During the day I made myself busy on the rocks chasing small fish and sea urchins in the Indian Ocean. Several lovely hotels lined the coast.
Our hotel, Le Spice Garden sat on the end corner.
I played on the rocks because unlike the other hotels that moved the rocks from the beach and made little lagoons for their guests to swim freely on white sandy beaches, Le Garden didn’t even bother. The property line started where the rocks did.
I figured at least we had tide pools. At the same time I made sure to hold my footing on the algae, so I didn’t slip on the rocks.
I wasn’t alone. Closer to the hotel most of the locals fished on the rocks for a living. They would wake early in the morning and walk out from the coast, stand up and fish all day.
Kell gathered her stuff in the room for her conference. There were only two days left before she made her big speech. At this point she just wanted a good night’s rest and nice shower. She looked woolgathered. The airline still didn’t deliver her clothes.
While other conference participants walked around in fancy business clothes, she had to wear those old sweatpants she rode in on. I figured she was disgusted.
After an hour or so, Kell called for me to come off the rocks. We had to walk to Le Meriden, the conference hotel to handle business.
All the hotels sat on a little half mile strip, ours being the end and Le Meridian being the main focal point of the coast. The villages were in front of the hotels.
At night from our rooms at Le Garden the others and I could see Le Meridian’s lights, people dancing, smell the food and hear the music.
We felt like stepchildren. There was no life and laughter in our hotel lobby.
From time to time Canadian and Pete took us over for drinks.
I climbed off the rocks and met Kell in the sticker filled grasses. We picked the stickers off our pants legs and I instantly became glad I didn’t wear shorts, because they would have been in my skin.
As we made the walk along beach, several loose, mangy dogs followed us.
I hated those dogs. With their ribs showing they looked half dead. I figured they didn’t have a proper meal, causing them to lose energy but then they had the nerves to chase you. The locals were accustomed to the dogs. They were chased too. I found out that some of the dogs were just wandering pets. All of the dogs were loose, and looked uncared for mutts, unlike American dogs, which were fine breeds.
I took to walking with a stick. Because I was going to be damned if I would stay in a death trap hotel, be bitten rabies, and have to go to that makeshift hospital or go home for a tetanus shot. Then the ride home took two days, so I didn’t want to be leaking with flu like symptoms on the plane. I held on tightly to the stick.
“Bran, you look real stupid carrying that stick,” Kell said. She lugged her books in her arms. I sucked my teeth and didn’t even look up at her as I pulled my shoe out of the sand.
“But don’t get rid of it, OK?” she followed up. She was serious.
I heard how wild dogs bite tourists. The nurse issuing me my shots in America warned me. And those dogs were everywhere.
Later, I’ll tell you about my trip to the top of the mountain. So far up, your ears pop from the elevation. You could only get there by car. Yet, the dogs were there too.

Ship Jumpers

Kell and I spent the night sitting Indian style on the bed, swapping pitiful stories of our rooms and that whole shindig of a place. We both giggled like sisters at a slumber party.
We laughed at about how could we be bamboozled. We thought it was nice. That hotel wasn’t our choice. The same monies we paid to the university to stay in Le Spice Garden we would have graciously spent $40 bucks more and stayed in a better hotel.
We made jokes about everything.
By the second night the room was littered with Kell’s damp, hanging under garments. Soggy socks lay on the table, panties in the closet and bras were laid out to dry on the straw sofa.
My packed bags were piled against the wall. Used water bottles were all over the night-stand. Potato chip bags were placed on the broken TV. Ragged bath towels hung in the bathroom.
The room looked and smelled a mess. Every so often we took to spraying perfume around the place as airfreshner.
We still didn’t go on that one side of the bed.
Later in my story, I mustered up enough courage to go back into my old room and swap blankets.
Kell still didn’t have her luggage, and she’d only packed a few pairs of fresh underwear in her lone carry-on. I didn’t think her luggage would ever come, considering it took us a two-day journey to make it there. We found out that her bags never left Atlanta.
Yet, the plot thickened.
That morning we went to breakfast. We met, Canadian, Welsh, Norway, two ladies from Cypress, lady Pakistan, Japan, Taiwan, Ethiopia and Nigeria. They were all staying in our hotel to attend the conference too. All of us were put in Le Garden by the conference “organizers”. But all the “organizers” stayed in the 5-star hotel.
We all sat at one big table then did the worldwide introductions.
Now, I sat in silence, looking in delight because I’d never been around so many different nationalities at one time before. Let alone breaking bread at the breakfast table together.
Besides my amazement, I really wanted to see if the people were thinking like us, or if our complaints were just an American thing.
We did a few minutes of cultural chatter.
Then Canadian finally broke the ice.
“Did anyone have hot water in their showers?” he asked.
I stopped chewing my bread and hushed. Kell dropped her spoon to her jam.
“I had hot water one day for a few minutes and I really enjoyed my bath,” Lady Cypress said with delight.
I hated her for that because I wanted hot water and she made it sound so good.
Canadian said he never had hot water. Neither did I.
Everyone at the table started talking at once.
Welsh looked up from his plate and said he woke up at 5 and got lukewarm water.
Even more stories came out.
Norway told his story of how he asked for a remote to the TV and the bellboy/waiter/janitor/tech support guy brought him a remote but it didn’t fit the TV.
“Well you asked for a remote and the bellboy did just that, he brought you a remote,” Lady Cypress joked.
We all laughed.
At least seven of us were surprised that Norway’s TV worked in the first place.
Welsh told his story of how his safe didn’t work and the same bellboy came and just took the safe.
In her thick Greek accent, Lady Cypress reminded us that safes are supposed to be mounted in the wall.
“I’m happy I didn’t store anything in the box,” Welsh quipped.
We all laughed some more.
“If you did store anything in the safe, we could just take the safe,” Lady Cypress picked.
Kell and I laughed until we cried.
At one point I almost chocked on my bread because I wondered what they did for face towels. Kell and I had some disposable face towels that we used for bathing. She picked up a pack of 48 towels from out of the old people’s section in the store. She said they use them in nursing homes. I figured that since we didn’t have hand towels, I thought it would be curious to ask the others what they used just to hear the funny responses.
Everything about the place became so funny. We were all thrown in it against the powers that may be.
We all had a lot more in common. Laughter. We grew close.
I started to have fun again. I met a lively bunch.
It felt even better to know that others were in my same position.
Come to find out, Lady Pakistan switched rooms in the hotel five times.
Kell and I found that hilarious too. As if she thought one room would be better than the other. They all were smelly and drab, if you asked me.
Everyone at the table had traveled all over the world so I was just delighted to hear their stories. And most everyone spoke no less than three languages. English was the language everyone knew.
We all had good laughs over croissants, jelly, powdered eggs, water and watered down juice that morning. Little did we know, that same food would be our same daily rations.
I thought my observations would seem spoil, selfish or just an American thing. It became a human thing.
As my country fought Pakistan and other countries probably fought each other. No one at that table bickered. For once, we formed a real United Nations.
All of the countries united against the enemies, poor service and the germ.
I loved those guys! And yet, I secretly plotted against them. Kell & I were going to be the first to run to the registration table and demand a new hotel. We needed to beat new friends from our hotel before vacancy signs went up. So what, we could still be friends from a different and nicer hotel. All is fair in love and war.
In the mist of laughter, I didn’t get too comfortable because I needed to make sure to not let slip that Kell & I planned to move out of Le Garden by tonight.


……they were probably thinking the same thing.

Company

The next night I tried bargaining with sleep to come see me, again. Sitting on the edge of the bed fully clothed, I tilted my head and went into deep thought.
Earlier, I took all of my allergy medication correctly. I try to avoid them at home because of the drowsy side effects. In that room I needed them.
Under an hour my head and body got heavy. I laid my head lightly on the scratchy pillow, like I wanted to be comfortable and barley touch it at the same time.
The thin sheets were a stinky musk, which was probably more the old mattress.
I wondered what Kell was doing in her room. She’s probably real comfortable, I thought.
I laid in the fetal position then took with two finger tips like someone was forcing me to pick up something nasty and I pulled just enough of the blanket over me to cover my legs.
My breathing grew slower. Wearily. Wearily. I dozed off and on. I’d sleep some then wake to look around the room. Soft light illuminated 101 from the outside balcony. It allowed me to see around.
Even in my sleep I worried a little.
Around 4 a.m. in my dazed state I saw something creep out of the corner of my eyes.
I thought hallucinations from lack of sleep, a nine-hour time zone change, and the medications had me imagining things.
No. Listen, my heart said.
I crept slowly up on my elbows, keeping my back against the headboard until I sat upright. I stopped breathing and became still. Squinting my eyes, I stared at the wall for about two minutes.
Sure enough, there crept a new lizard. This one sized up with the other but looked dirt red to match the furniture like a chameleon. He darted in and out from the back of the mirror. While keeping my eyes on his position I quickly reach for my shoes, not to throw at him, but to put them on.
I kept them close to the bed because I didn’t want my feet to touch that floor. No telling what was on it.
The shoes were turned upside down near the bed so nothing can hide inside them and incase I needed a quick getaway.
With two little shakes of my Nikes to make sure nothing crawled in them, I threw my feet in. I didn’t even lace them up.
Doubt and concerns ran through my mind.
I didn’t want to go running to my sister again, but my stresses overwhelmed everything else. I couldn’t take it. Two different baby iguanas in two days.
I knew she was resting. But, surely she can help.
I ran out of the room again, this time with all of my bags. The move was easy because I never unpacked. In five steps, I made it to Kell’s door. I went knocking again on the glass door. This time my knocks had frustration behind them.
Once again, she too, was awake. She let me in.
Kell answered the door distraught and in a Vegas t-shirt I gave her.
She had to use it for a gown.
As I retold my new story, I muscled my bags against the wall. All the while, searching around for critters. We both decided that there were none and that two sets of eyes were better than one. We would stay together from now on. Later, I became accustomed to running in and out of my old room to take the amenities out, like two ragged towels and the thin two-ply toilet tissue they issued us.
For now, we needed rest.
We climbed into the bed. She went in first.
Kell left me a slither of a space. I went in after her still hanging off the bed.
I asked her to push over.
She said, ‘NO’.
I asked her again, “Just please, Kell, push over, its kind of hot and I could use the space.”
She didn’t turn her air on. Kell developed a silly phobia. The night before she told me, that the critters may live in the unit and turning it on may draw them to her. Her fear outweighed mine. I got hot from running room to room. I hated heat.
Nights neared in the low 70s/high 60s and cool air rush in so we were OK with no A/C on.
“Kell, push over, please,” I asked, slightly frowning.
She said, “No.” It sounded concrete.
I grumbled, ‘Why, it’s a big bed and I just want to sleep? I am sorry to complain but I can’t take living here anymore. Can we please get a new hotel?”
She replied slowly with a shaky laughter, “There’s a big stain on the other side of the bed.”
My eyes got wide in the dark and I said, “You have problems too!”
She finally confessed to me. I thought I was alone.
She told me how she had to take uncomfortable cold showers.
How her TV, phone, and lamps didn’t work, either. How she used her bottle water for brushing her teeth. Her luggage hadn’t come in. And how she especially grew tired of having to hand wash her underwear for the next day and hanging them to dry in the funky closet. Then having to put them back on, only for them to still be damp.
The climate wasn’t like ours back home. At home, when people hang stuff out to dry, they are dry in less than an hour or two.
I noticed that when we made it to the island, everyone had clothes hanging out all day. With her experience, we learned that it actually took all day and more for clothes to fully dry.
Though I learned that she had problems to top mine. I felt sorry. But, My heart grew light.
Misery loves company.

No Longer In America

We finally arrived at Le Spice Garden. Everything looked so pretty.
The coral colored lobby, dinning area, rooms were all open and spacious. Everything was outside, yet inside. Cool ocean air flowed through the corridors while rays of sunlight peaked through the grand columns. You could catch a nice tan just sitting in the lobby. It could have been a great brochure picture.
In the lobby, Kell and I both half smiled at each other.
It wasn’t exactly the hotel we’d signed up for, but we figured it’ll do.
We could have almost broken out in praise worship if tiredness hadn’t rode in on our shoulders. We were the only people in the lobby, besides two hotel staff.
Without much paperwork, the young bell guy grabbed our keys out of two little cubbyholes and sent us to our rooms.
He assigned room 101 to me, and 102 to Kell.
As soon as I hit the corner, I opened the room and looked at the neatly made bed, day stand with a mirror and television stand. The room was just plain and neat. With tired arms, I lugged my bags behind me. I could no longer keep my guards up. All day, I played a cat and mouse game from fatigue and he found me. Jetlagged, I fell out on the bed. I didn’t toss or turn. I stayed in a deep slumber for about four, maybe five hours.
If Kell hadn’t knocked on my door, I wouldn’t have known I was hungry. I happily got up and went to the dining hall. We ate and went back.
At full energy, I took a good look at the hotel and started to listen. I heard nothing but the air blowing on the hollow walls. It smelled a bit like mildew and ocean water in the room.
Food and rest gave my mind and senses a jumpstart. Yet, I started to move with hesitation. I had to ask myself, We hit paradise, right? My instincts said otherwise.
I didn’t say anything to give away worry in my voice to my sweet sister. But upon further inspection I found that I sat on a bench with Trouble. I went back to gather my clothes and take a shower. I closed up my suitcase very tight. To me this just looked like a place with critters.
Once inside the bathroom, I saw what I smelled. Mildew lived on the corner of the tub. I figured I’d climb over it, since the basin looked clean. I turned on the water and waited for it to turn warm. I held onto my soap and the disposable wash towel that Kell gave me because I figured the cleaning staff forgot to leave me a wash towel. I had two ragged large bath towels, which I would use for drying. After running the water for a few minutes, I figured out that I’d have to take a cold shower. The water chilled me down to my bones. I wished I would have been able to get in and out quickly, but I hadn’t had a bath in two days and I really needed to feel clean.
I got out shivering. I threw my used wash towel in the empty wastebasket and it hit with a thud. There wasn’t any condensation on the mirrors, I didn’t have to dry those off. So I rushed out of the bathroom.
Though nightfall, I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I decided that that’s how I was going to bed, fully clothed.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I looked around the room more and I discovered things. The appliances didn’t work, the room phone had no dial tone, the television came on with no picture, plugs were broken. Light bulbs were missing. I had a lamp on the lonely nightstand but when I went to turn it on I found two wires rolled up in the back and twisted. It stood for decoration, I guessed.
To top it off, my shower jetted cold water. After spending two days on an airplane and in airport terminals I expected a warm shower. Germs. How silly?
The owners could have almost taken the ‘h’ off ‘otel’ and added a ‘m’. It would have been better fitting.
I didn’t end up in paradise. I ended up in a Stephen King novel.
Once I opened my eyes I found that, Filth riddled our hotel.
The first night I didn’t say anything to sister because I just jumped for joy when she said she’d take me on her trip. I didn’t want her to know I made questionable observations. I kept my thoughts to myself. If you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say it at all.
Besides, after dinner, we bided each other goodnight. I didn’t need to run to her room. She was resting. I wasn’t.
I felt safe with the decision I made to sleep fully clothed. We left home at summertime for Africa’s winter. The shower put a chill on me. I’d rather wrap up in my own clean clothes than those sheets. They just smelled. Intuition always serves you right.
Against my will I coaxed myself to sleep, but barely slept. I kept one eye open. Paradise or not, I’m in another country. As every hour passed, I kept waking up.
All of a sudden, during the thick of the night I hopped up to use the bathroom. As soon as I opened the bathroom door I heard footsteps. I looked down and I saw the biggest, loose lizard hoping off the toilet. I jumped back in fear and closed the door. Back at my home, I see lizards, but they are small, grassy and run away at the sound of footsteps. In that bathroom that sucker was the size of a USA pet store iguana. He was huge and heavy. I heard his footsteps going thump, thump, thump. Plus he came running towards me, not away. Catching him would have probably brought me money.
I had a huge problem. It was early o’clock in the morning (4) when he scared me. I didn’t believe much in reptiles and me living together.
I paced the floor in the bedroom, wondering if I should wake dear sister. She needed her rest for the conference. But using the bathroom became more urgent. I hopped, jumped and did that dance like a child who’s holding their pee. I asked myself what to do.
Finally, when my bladder couldn’t take it anymore, I ran to Kell’s room and banged on her door.
The filth, I could have probably lived with, without complaints to sister, but animals, I mustered up the courage to say something.
I banged on her glass door like a crazy, scared person. To my surprise, she answered with a clear voice. She was up too! She’s usually a heavy sleeper. At home, Kell wouldn’t even wake at the sound of a loud train passing.
When she answered the door I just told her my lizard story and climbed into her bed.
She seemed happy to have me over. Usually she likes her own space. Kell’s the oldest by a couple of grades so she didn’t have to share much when she was growing up. Yet, we were together.
But something else just didn’t seem right, it was a king size bed but for some odd reason she didn’t want to push over much more.

…to be continued.

1st Sight

My Nike trainers hit the Mauritius soil, forming two foreign footprints.
I looked around at the sparsely set palm trees. They swayed in the air. I took in deep breaths. Paradise awaited. Kell fumbled with her papers.
People rushed by us to get taxis from the airport. We took our time.
I rolled all of my bags behind me, one I kept empty for gifts. The other bag, I held onto like gold, because it contained all of my clothes.
I still wore a blue Southern University t-shirt, to rep where I came from, and the same sweater and jeans that I left America in two days ago. All comfortable but I needed a bath.
The airline didn’t deliver Kell’s luggage on time. She filed a report. They gave her about 1,550 Rupees or 50 USD. (Later, I wondered why one would need for a 1,000 bill, or even 3,000 when it only would equal to a mere 120 USD. All those big bills for nothing.) Kell wasn’t too outdone because she still had her carry on, which she filled with as much clothes as possible. She figured something like that would happen. I reassured her that her bags would come.
A cab driver came up ready for his next patrons. We were ready to see what other adventures awaited.
At first sight, I figured we downgraded a just bit because the airport had no food courts and everything was housed on the same floor, departures and arrivals. Then, we had to do so much paperwork. I didn’t see many computers or any televisions. America airports have televisions everywhere and plugs for computer stations. Maybe natives liked the simple life.
When we did get into a cab, I hopped in the front seat. Unlike in America, the driver drove on the right side and not the left. I thought I could get used to riding on the left. It just seemed funny that I didn’t have a wheel in front of me.
From the airport it took an hour’s drive to get to the hotel. I had no proper sleep for a while, but my adrenaline pumped and I didn’t want to miss a thing. Kell passed out on the backseat. I guess she grew tired of keeping watch.
We passed through the countryside. Everything looked as deserted as the airport looked. And there were sugarcane fields everywhere. A lot of the homes looked abandoned, only to me. No curtains hung in the windows, you could see straight through the dusty thin glass held up by brick pillars. No car parked in the driveway, sparse furniture sat in every other house on auburn clay floors, ragged clothes hung from lines, and rickety, crooked tin fences guarded the domain. No one painted their brick pillars, either.
I figured there mustn’t be a Martha Stewart on the island. It begged and cried for serious decoration. The little color came from the clay floors and different shades of dirt, leaving many things dull and gray.
Our driver didn’t play music, so we rolled quietly over hills covered with cane and with beautiful mountains as their backdrop.
I figured the higher ups must be in town. But even when we made it into town (Port Louis) there were some of the same things. Everyone hung clothes out to dry. And quietly passed each other, without much acknowledgement. Except Port Louis had busses and cars that emitted huge amounts of pollution. I immediately hated to get stuck close behind one of those raggedy things because the foul air choked me. It seemed to have no effect on the driver. I’d gone two days without a bath and didn’t feel dirty, but stayed 1 minute behind that bus and I felt grimy.
Even their bikes put out pollution. They drove refurbished mopeds everywhere, with the top speed probably only going up to 45-50 mph. But Mauritians would get on the interstate and putt-putt, putt-putt to get to where they going, no matter how long it would take. Or how fast a bus or car passed them up.
After my mini sightseeing tour, I just wanted to get to the hotel for a nice, warm bath. And maybe some rest.
During the journey, I needed to stay alert for predators, conartists, thieves and time the next flight. I needed to be mobile and coherent. I thought about rest. Humm… I thought. I won’t be on an airplane or airport. I’ll be away from baby noise, engine noise, PA noise. Nah, I’ll Get SOME Rest. I can stretch my long legs all.. the.. way… out.

Dubai

Busying myself with a couple of good meals, conversation and a few more in-flight movies the time to Dubai passed by quickly.
I just couldn’t wait to get there. I heard tale of the palm tree city that you can see from the air and beautiful architecture. I wanted to see Dubai. But, because our plane arrived during the thick of the night at 2a.m. I missed the palm tree. All I saw was a city of lights.
That didn’t let me down. Just a taste of Dubai would have satisfied me.
It’s like, Lil’ me, in Dubai, kind of like Jay-Z. No complaints there.
We walked through a security checkpoint where we didn’t have to endure jailhouse pat downs or take off our shoes. That felt good.
Then we made it to the main part of the airport.
All within the few minutes of stepping off the plane I saw gold and riches.
Women passed us in fine silk dressings. Some women had every part of their body covered except for their eyes. If I were looking for facial expressions to read how they felt, I couldn’t tell. The dark silk hid everything. Men wore the cleanest of true, white robes. Not a speck or wrinkle showed. I wondered who did their laundry. Whoever did probably completed the chore by hand and not machine, I thought.
I even saw a child less than a year old with two gold ankle bracelets dangling from his little legs. Then to think, I once believed America had money.
During the walk we tried searching for a lounge. There we figured we could wash up in preparation for our next flight. I started to want for a bath. It had been a little over 24 hours since I left my own tub filled my own fresh scented bubbles.
We searched up and down the terminals. But it became near impossible for us, average 1st time travelers to find a nice resting place. I figured something like that would happen, so in preparation for my journey I packed my carry-on with little pre-moistened wipes. At least my face would be clean. The airport did house a hotel, for the rich of course.
So we sucked it up and knew we’d have to wait until our last destination to get a good bath.
I sat content with my clean face and teeth. Then the plan switched to hitting the airport’s shops. Dubai had American things like Cold Stone ice cream, McDonalds, sandwich shops and Duty Free shops.
People were shopping like it was Christmas. I didn’t want to join in just yet, because I had a problem figuring out the currency.
Later, I’d regret that I didn’t buy anything. (I’ll tell you about that) I should have known that anytime I see everybody walking around with store bags, it must be a sale.
I sat in front of Cold Stone for 30 minutes trying to figure out what 1400 (Arab Emirate) Dirhams meant. I’d already spent 800 at McDonalds.
To my joy, the Dirhams and USD factored out to the same amount. I gobbled up my Cold Stone ice cream then had to hurry and wait.
We had another flight, to another country to catch. Before the city’s morning sun peaked to greet us we were off.

Flight DL 0008

I just couldn’t believe it! At my gate there were over 530 people, all waiting for my plane to Dubai. I thought, like really, is everyone going to fit on the plane?
The plane came late because of the weather, but when it did, it was a sight to see.
I had heard the planes overseas were huge and this by far was the biggest plane I’d ever been on in my life. I’ve also heard of planes the sizes of football fields, and this plane was just that, the size of a football field. We had our own zip code.
Just to be on a plane so large became an experience!
I stepped on the plane in awe. I didn’t have to duck down to avoid hitting my head like I usually have to do on most of my flights. It had more than enough room for me and even taller passengers to be comfortable. I would have had to jump to touch the ceiling with my hand.
Everything was sooo clean like new. And the flight attendants looked perfect, like they had just stepped out of soap operas. All were well-manicured, neat and pressed uniforms and tightly wrapped buns or crew cuts. Some of the younger ones could have been models with their perfectly aligned teeth and build.
The plane had luxury features. Everyone had their own TV. First class passengers had TVs the size of my home TV. It was at least 32 inch in the back of the leather seat, for real. Equipped with touch screen and remote for video games.
It smelled like lilac. Not like I passed someone and caught a whiff of their scent, the entire plane smelled like lilac.
My seat number on row 59 placed me to the back of the plane in the aisle, but I walked happily just excited to be there. With so much room, I didn’t bump a soul walking.
There were three rows of about four to five seats in each row and bathrooms on each corner.
The flight would take us 14-15 hours but I already knew we would be comfortable. I smiled at the thought that I’d wondered for weeks about what to do on a flight that long.
When I made it to my seat, my TV had all the new movies. Some hadn’t even hit the streets on DVD, yet, like “IronMan”. I’d cursed myself for renting “21” the day before. I could have watched it for the first time on the plane. I also saw “Kung Fu Panda”, “Narnia, Prince Caspian”, “The Spiderwick Chronicles”, there were HBO shows, comedy, a kids station, radio, CDs.
I became just giddy. Then to top it off, an attendant came around with a food menu on good colored printed card stock. And this wasn’t your ordinary plane food. It tasted good. For dinner we had choices of pizza and chicken, with two vegetables, dessert, whatever drink you wanted, and FREE liquor for drinkers.
While the attendants were making sure everyone sat comfortable, the pilots introduced themselves. They were four army pilots, all trained in flying cargo planes with 110 years of flying experience between them.
Thanks for making me feel comfortable with taking me trillions of gallons of water and nowhere to land.
We had the best of things. Cool pilots, good food, good smell good. They didn’t even make us turn off our headphones, music and movies while we took off. In my seat sat a clean pillow, blanket, headphones, eye mask. (One flight similar to this one they brought us warm towels)
We were living.
To top things off, I love to eat and within an hour after taking off they fed everyone, like all at the same time. Even though I sat at the back of the plane, my food choice of grilled chicken breast came to me piping hot, fresh and I ate every crumb.

Peace Up, A-Town Down

Atlanta’s always hot!! Every time I hit the city I know I’m just going to get Southern loving. The people are just so warm. I touched down and searched for my next departure gate. I knew I wouldn’t have trouble finding the gate because the people are helpful. I found the international terminal without problems. I’d never been there before so I took in all the sights. The minute I hit the gates I saw some of the most beautiful children that I’d ever seen all in one place. Their features were so well defined. They were from all types of nationalities, Swedish, Australia, German, Asian, African, you name it and they were there. There were little children everywhere from babies fresh from the womb to those awkward teenage years. It wowed me because those kids looked like more experienced travelers than me. From my village the people usually don’t travel with small kids. But they were pros. One little auburn colored set of siblings, girl and boy, each lugged a small cartoon suitcase behind them and they kept up with their parents wherever they went, without the parents ever really have to look back. At my gate I sat alone near the wall with socket plugs and took in the scene. There were about ten people, each from different countries at the gate. A few minutes later I just wanted to stretch out and play computer games. Little did I know that later on the seating I choose would be valuable. There were not plugs everywhere. As time passed and the gate filled with hundreds of people, other passengers were searching hard for plugs to charge their gadgets. Though I needed the exercise, I stayed in my seat because I had brought three iPods, my Mac, iPhone, camera, and other little gadgets. I needed my plugs. I sat in my seat for hours too, adding layers as the temperature dropped. I didn’t even let hunger bother me. Or the rolling dark clouds in the windows. I made myself comfortable. My plane from Baton Rouge had just made it in by great timing because the clouds that I was watching grew darker. Then the rain came in and battered the windows and lightening danced in the skies. Officials closed the airport. It grew colder and my gate filled with more people. The rain turned off and on as the dark clouds switched positions with the light. As they did, several planes snuck in under the pillows and several were denied, left to fly around in the air. By then I’d been in the airport seven hours. I waited for Kell. We were supposed to leave at 9p. and time neared 7p. I’d called and called for Kell all day with no answer. We were meeting in Atlanta to travel to Dubai. Things were looking bleak but I didn’t worry. If she was stranded by the weather, then the plane to Dubai wasn’t getting up off the ground either. She probably couldn’t answer the phone. Sure enough, my heart always whispers the truth to me, she showed up with a huge grin on her face as she walked around the corner at 7:15. She told me she pleaded with the lady in Indiana to let her get on the last crowded plane before they grounded. She had to meet me. She made it! I wasn’t going to Dubai by myself. We sat and waited for 9. But the storms came again and delayed our Dubai plane, still no worry. For all I cared storms could have passed all night, my iPods were charged and we were going together.

Traveling to the Motherland!

I finally got a chance to go to Africa! Yup! Yup! The Motherland.

Its my first trip to Africa. Thursday, July 31, my leave date. The first stop is in Atlanta, then Dubai (land of the rich as I say), then Mauritius, Africa. On the map, Mauritius is a small island right next to Madagascar.

Before I even take you on my journey, I have to say how I got there.
I followed my big sister, Kell. Right now she’s studying chemistry on the Ph.D. level at Purdue, Univ. in Indiana. And she wrote grants and conducted research to earn an invite to the International Conference on Chemical Education. The trip to Africa is for Kell to present her research in front of some important people.
At the thought of everything I’m talking about, I'm excited because this is WoRLDWiDe!! And our 1st trip overseas!
We found out about this news in March.
Kell called and said, "Hey, Bran, you want to go to Africa?"
I started making my list of things to pack right then.
From March I thought about the trip every day.
By April we had passports! We're ready to tour the world.

Literally.

Thoughts, er, Count.

T. - Ms. Worley, why didn't you bring me any biscuits.
Me. - When I was at McDonalds, I didn't think about you.
T. - Awe, now that's mean Ms. Worley.
Me. - No, it's not. It's the truth.
T. - That's mean.
Me. - No. You're confusing mean with the truth. I understand because sometimes the truth hurts and that can be associated with being mean. But you should rather people give you the truth.
T. - So, you didn't bring me a biscuit.
Me. - Nope, I didn't think about you.


Maybe I should be a philosopher though.

I Wonder

I wonder if the person who figured out that if u boil a crawfish, they'd b meat in the tail was the same person who figured out that you can eat pecans or any other type of nut in a shell for that matter!

Or was it just a hungry, creative person...

Sent from my iPhone

Faith in David

16.5 seconds left, and Steph Curry had the ball. He dribbled up court, faked one Kansas defender who slipped and could have taken the other one. All we needed, a 3-point shot. I had belief in Davidson. I started to believe in dreams again.

Kansas over Davidson 57-59, there goes the road to the Final Four.

One day.

I wait for the little guys to win.

Mean Day

:For 3rd hour, I Told a kid the real reason no one really showed up for her bday party (with the exception of her little cousins) was simple; she’s not popular.
People will go to Jameika’s Sweet 16 bday party is because she’s a cute cheerleader, and she has name recognition. As the new kid I knew hearsay of Jameika before I knew her. She just has that “IT” factor.
- I even grew excited when I received my party invitation.

:I Set my 5th hour class up.
I devised a great plan, but they didn’t follow through. Told them to sneak around the back of the lunchroom so they could eat early. They went around the front (their normal route). Sure enough, the asst. principal caught all 13 of them. And when she did I fixed my best stern face and scolded them, in front of her. …Not for the fact that they left early, because I wanted to eat too, but for the fact that they got caught.

:Fought a pregnant lady over an extra plate of food. It belonged to me. Jakira always gives me her extra plate!!!

: Around 6th hour I kicked a straggling kid out of my class, who wanted to work on a project. I had enough students already, that extra would have made six and more responsibility to my plate.

: Bumped Lupe Fiasco’s “The Cool” the entire 6th period and had the kids sing chorus while I rapped.

: Totally played hooky 7th hour.

Someday I’ll be brave.

Sellout!

Them: "Photographer Annie Leibovitz's pure genius!"

Us: "WTF was LeBron thinking?"

…and I really liked LeBron. He said he wanted to be the first athlete billionaire. I just didn’t think he’d sell himself like that. Two thumbs DOWN on the Vogue cover.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!