My Heartbeat

Though my heart constantly beats,

sometimes it's silent

Sleeping

Always pumping the blood that gives me life through my veins but requesting no praise or recognition to keep doing its job

Without which - There'd be no me

Sometimes I forget

Forget that I have a heart at all

So focused on living that I think not of what gives me life.

The djembe's beat tugs with its magnetic pull

Entranced by the rhythmically in-tuned footsteps of a young girl, reminiscent of a younger me

As her pitter-pats match the drummer's soul echoing through his beats,

my heart follows her lead

Her body jerks my memory back to a place of unequivocal joy

and now thudding so loudly I'm sure all can feel

my heart has awoken

My lifeline, My spirit, My people:

Without which - There'd  be no me

No matter how little I acknowledge, how much I forget

My heart is constantly beating.

It was Friday, so I should have been feeling good..quite the contrary.  It started with my frustration with the notorious administration of Howard University.  For once, they do something right..but at the wrong time.  Realizing I'm no longer a student, they kicked me out of the library database meaning I no longer have free access to full articles in psychologic journals.  Since I was looking for articles by the professor I hope to work with in graduate school, it posed a bit of a problem.  Already not in the best mood, learning that the open wounds on Serigne Saliou's head, which I thought were from the insanely unhygenic and quite unecessary practice of haircuts with straigt blades, were instead caused by an accident where he was burned by food made matters worse.  In the short five months that I've been here this poor child has suffered eye infections, cuts and bruises, all of which leave him cage (crib) bound for extended periods of time and thus unexplorative and ill tempered...and now this.  It's just so disheartening to literally watch a beautiful, innocent, Godly child be hurt and broken down by his environment and unfortunate circumstances.  Not to mention my background in psychology doesn't give me much hope for his future.  Following this disheartening news, as I'm riding home on the bus, starving, women are determined to squeeze their far from tiny selves on the bench I'm sitting on, leaving me quite literally squashed against the window that doesn't open.  Did I mention it's atleast 85 degrees...and this is supposed to be winter.  What I thought was the final straw was a woman pushing her way through the already overcrowded bus...with two live chickens!  Can you believe I was the only one with any reaction to this outrages scene.  Finally, I make it home and take a deep breath of relief for lunch is always good and I was far beyond ready to eat.  I had another thing coming. The staw that broke the camels back: I walk in to see my family, who always waits for me, already eating.  I'm really about to lose it, until I see WHAT they're eating...I'm still unsure of what exactly it was.  The closest visual resemblance I can give is refried beans..a large bowl of refried beans which my host mother said was made out of "meat."  I was actually relieved they didn't expect me to join in until my host mother tells me there are "fishies" for me.  Great...something new (please, don't miss the sarcasm).  My plate consisted of three burnt fish, a meager serving of fries and onion sauce.  Atleast they cut the heads off this time.  I picked through the fish, which were nothing but bones and burnt skin and left the table still hungry after eating a handful of fries.  Clearly, not my day.

But the Sun was still shining through the storm.  As I was walking to the supermarket (to find something to make up for that excuse for a lunch) I was almost run over by a stampede of little children carrying plastic chairs on their heads.  I had noticed the drumming in the distance but realized, as all the kids were scampering towards the music, something must be going on.  My day couldn't really get much worse so why not spice things up with adventure time...I followed the crowd.  Instantly, I was at peace.  The drummers circle of nine Djembe players swept me into a nostalgia filled with memories of my childhood and reminders of why I came here to begin with.  I couldn't fight the smile as I watched women jump in the circle for their dance debut.  I always enjoy the give and take of a drummer/dancer relationship which to me is an audible and visual display of the beauty of black love.  I was even more excited to see the same women who so often sadden me with their eurocentric standards of beauty fill me with joy because they have still held on to traditions of their culture..of my culture.  The first girl to start dancing couldn't have been more than 10. It was almost an out of body experience as I watched her exuberant personality spread contagiously through the crowd.  She reminded me of the outgoing little girl I once was, that's probably still there somewhere deep down inside.  I left the session after watching a woman who looked to be close to 60 jump in like she wasn't a day over 25.  I wish I had my camera so I could have captured her facial expressions.  With no better way to describe it: she was getting it!  At a seemingly appropiate time, as I had watched the spirit flow from the youth through to the elders, I left in a state of peace. Free from all the negative energy from my day, not a worry in the world.

"Blessed is this life oh and I'm gonna celebrate being alive"