What is Love?
Imagine waking up to the sounds of grenades and rapid fire from AK’s, berretta, M16’s, RPG’s and Pistols. The mere recollection or this nightmare shivers my skin and causes me to perspire peculiarly. Frankly, I find it easy to face my fears of height, water and dogs than revert to the days when the vacuousness and misplacement of rights as free citizens amounted to the greatest catastrophe in my nation’s history. The nation in reference is Liberia, a small country on the west coast of Africa, bordering north of the Atlantic Ocean. Once a peaceful nations, she soon became disturbed by multiple of individuals inquisition for power and wealth. The talks of war became an article when a soldier in the Liberian Armed Forces, Samuel K. Doe, marched in the Executive Mansion with commandos and killed the president at the time, William R. Tolbert. From here on things began to shift from good to bad. Security became a massive failure. The economy was in a horrible shape as education dwarfed. With Tolbert dead and Doe now in charge, the country submerged into a state of chaos and unrest. Soon, other entities felt sure and willing to revolt against the government in uncivil manners. Their revolting soon escalates to the bloodiest and most destructive war in Africa’s History.
We had no cause to celebrate that night. We dined our supper the usual time after which we retired to the living room to telling stories and make jokes as we often do. Oh how I loved when the family is together to have moments like this. It is quite jubilant; especially when you’re as stuffed a turkey on Thanksgiving. I was about twelve (12) years old at the time. The boisterousness of that moment drowned the sound of Hardaway’s “What is love”. I wasn’t the dancing type to keep pace with such a fast tempo song, yet my two steps with a snap seemed to satisfy its rhythm. I wasn’t far from the old AM Radio that sat in the corner of the room, on the table which daddy usually leaves his ashtray. The artist’s strong powerful voice - WHAT IS LOVE, caught my attention as I leaned over to increase the volume. For about three (3) seconds, everyone became quiet with only a strong look toward me. Suddenly, my father got up and took my mother by the hand and started to dance with her; not like what you see on dancing with the stars. They are “old school”, don’t expect anything spectacular. Soon everyone began to rise with excitement to dance the night away, as if we could. I’m sure that was my junior brother’s intention as he did just that. After the song ended, I sat back down in the corner and washed my brother dance the night away. He seemed captivated in something beyond the music that persisted his dancing. I thought he was crazy seeing that he still danced when there wasn’t any tune to jam to. Now the only person on the dance floor, he kept dancing till two (2) in the morning. By then he was tired and couldn’t dance anymore. We all went to bed hoping to have good dreams as we sure did have a good reality.
The next morning, around seven, mother began to indecorously knock on our doors, screaming “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Do your hear that? WAKE UP!” I woke up to the sound of rapid gunfire and heavy grenades. As we sat there thinking of what to do, I became drowned in fear, wondering if we were going to die. I was twelve (12) what do you expect when a child hears gunshots and grenades. Father looking out the window saw people leaving their houses with all the belongings. We quickly joined the crowd, looking to seek refuge at an unknown place. As I walked from one street to the next, I could see people with radio, suitcases, and mothers carrying their babies tied to the back with traditional African cloth. The streets were filled with great number of people. I swear I haven’t seen that much people anywhere at anytime. During this chaos I could see and hear a lady crying for her missing child. She knew not what to do as she sat there in tears. I guess we were heading the wrong direction as we could see rebels hanging from jeeps and pickup trucks with guns waving in the air. They were easily identified by their red t-shirts with red scarves or red bandanas. We got to a checkpoint where I saw people standing in three separate lines. The lines were men, women and children (boys and girls). One of the rebels came toward us beating everyone to get in the lines that belong to them. Proper formation, he said. As I stood in the line, to the left of me was a huge pit full with bodies of people they’d cool heartedly murdered. I could see men with missing genitals, women and men with missing arms and legs and children with bullet or knife wound that ended killing them. Seeing a decapitated body lying feet away from you is something hard to swallow. That alone can bring out the cowardice out of any man.
After standing in the line for a while, one of the rebels recognized by father. As it turned out, my father was his instructor at the police academy. He told his group that he can vouch that my father is a good man. He insisted they let us go. Reluctantly, the group give us passage to the other side of the city.
Recently, out of my busy schedule, I found myself watching television. I’m tuned in to TNT; watching Law and Order while having a box of chicken and taking down a couple of bottles of Heineken. At commercial break, after the Geico commercial came a Pepsi commercial. The Pepsi commercial accompanied a very familiar song. “What is love, baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me; no more”. The moment I heard the song, tear sat in the corner of my eyes as my hand began to shake. If I had looked in the mirror that instant, I’m sure I would have discovered that my eyes were past red. It’s quite funny how as a child I was able to repress those emotions. Now as an adult, those emotions seem to come out easily.
I look back on my life knowing that I’m indeed blessed to have made it this far. There was a good chance of me involuntarily becoming a child soldier or end up lying dead in one of those pits, missing some body parts. What is love? Love is that helping hand that God sends our way when he realizes we need one.
A Moment in Time
4 Is the magic Number
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
brainstorming (essay #2)
the second installation of the "I Essay"
for essay two i write about my experience during the first day of a 14 years civil war. I give background of where i come from before talking about the war and my feelings about it. the background introduces the story.
I included other characters and voices as they were present for that ordeal. other characters include; mother, my junior brother, and i found a way to present music as a motif and in a way an circling charecter to all that transpired.
Music=hardaway, what is love
i used the the pit scene as a recognition of growth (from child to adult).
when the rebel recognized my father, that became the climax of the story, eventhough it comes at the end.
lesson to be learned, God is always in control, and strange things happens, and somtimes happiness brings sadness.
for essay two i write about my experience during the first day of a 14 years civil war. I give background of where i come from before talking about the war and my feelings about it. the background introduces the story.
I included other characters and voices as they were present for that ordeal. other characters include; mother, my junior brother, and i found a way to present music as a motif and in a way an circling charecter to all that transpired.
Music=hardaway, what is love
i used the the pit scene as a recognition of growth (from child to adult).
when the rebel recognized my father, that became the climax of the story, eventhough it comes at the end.
lesson to be learned, God is always in control, and strange things happens, and somtimes happiness brings sadness.
Monday, October 11, 2010
what went well in the first essay
the first essay was more of an adventure for me. i had the opportunity and time to try out a new and different style of writing contrary to my straight forward approach. my ability to tell a story with the story should create an interesting twist or prospect to the full story.
I try to stay personal, which is required for this essay. more importantly, i think to told the story well. there is no vague area, or area that needs interpretation. i seriously try to avoid that.
i would say i was successful in introducing hamilton the child and adult well.Hamilton the child living the story in africa, and hamilton the adult visualizing the story in America.
As hamilton the adult is reminising, i had to stay on the theme of New Year, making his present-NEW YEAR'S DAY.
My description painted clear pictures that the readers can easily visualize.
It was a exciting experience. something that i would like to work on more.
I try to stay personal, which is required for this essay. more importantly, i think to told the story well. there is no vague area, or area that needs interpretation. i seriously try to avoid that.
i would say i was successful in introducing hamilton the child and adult well.Hamilton the child living the story in africa, and hamilton the adult visualizing the story in America.
As hamilton the adult is reminising, i had to stay on the theme of New Year, making his present-NEW YEAR'S DAY.
My description painted clear pictures that the readers can easily visualize.
It was a exciting experience. something that i would like to work on more.
essay #1 ( i essay)
The Masquerade
My best friend Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang. I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night. We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then the club, before spending the night at two of his female friends’ house. We had it all figure out for what would become a fun filled and remembered New Year. As we were discussing, his mother came in haven overheard our conversation. With much distress companying a brief silence, she began talking about how time and traveling to America have changed us. “On New Year’s Day, we were woken up to the dances of the masquerades and the beating of loud congos. We spent time working together as a family, preparing a befitting meal. Later we dined and drank as a family and give thanks to God for the OLD and the NEW, as well as the GOOD and the BAD”. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade as a child.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. He bared scars and soars all over his body that brought out a foul smell. Peculiarly, he had only one large eye and one large ear that sat on his repulsive face. His freakishly large eyeball could size up with a crystal ball. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding only on children and drinking only palm oil (the red oil produce from the nut of a palm). He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare curiously. So he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. He soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to the tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the pleasure of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. After saying my good morning, I visited each room, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, then Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend the holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! Awoken with displeasure and exasperation they individually headed to the bathroom. After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside of the house where we went to pick whipping stick for the masquerade. Goode is the closest to me in age and companionship. He’s like my little sidekick.
About nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Drenched in sweat from the heat and smoke of the firewood, she went upstairs to freshen up. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of congos which preceded singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. It wore wooden, rectangular shaped shoes with a chain of fish-bones tied around its mask. As it came even closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (21) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes by every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on a tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over dried, crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bruised bleeding from the impact of the fall and the contact of the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me, then started dancing around me pouring dust from his hands on my injured and tired body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only ponder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my senses that he was going to devour me. I try to get up and run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high as it danced through the crowd. I would have never conceived the thought that it was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their screaming, vigorous hand movement and calling out for me. I was then left before their feet covered in an indescribable colt of powder and sweat that couldn’t stop pouring out of my frightened soul. For one brave second, I looked square at the mask figure with confusion. Yet still, it continued dancing. While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Immediately, I was taken to hospital where I was sought after, later returning home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities.
As I had been quiet for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by Solomon tapping my right shoulder. It was time to leave the house. The reminiscing was positive and helped me relive an important childhood memory, but I was not about to pass out on a night like this. We headed out with each man baring a bottle of opened Heineken. My story of a child’s New York and the masquerade had drowned in a bottle of brew.
My best friend Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang. I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night. We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then the club, before spending the night at two of his female friends’ house. We had it all figure out for what would become a fun filled and remembered New Year. As we were discussing, his mother came in haven overheard our conversation. With much distress companying a brief silence, she began talking about how time and traveling to America have changed us. “On New Year’s Day, we were woken up to the dances of the masquerades and the beating of loud congos. We spent time working together as a family, preparing a befitting meal. Later we dined and drank as a family and give thanks to God for the OLD and the NEW, as well as the GOOD and the BAD”. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade as a child.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. He bared scars and soars all over his body that brought out a foul smell. Peculiarly, he had only one large eye and one large ear that sat on his repulsive face. His freakishly large eyeball could size up with a crystal ball. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding only on children and drinking only palm oil (the red oil produce from the nut of a palm). He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare curiously. So he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. He soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to the tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the pleasure of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. After saying my good morning, I visited each room, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, then Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend the holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! Awoken with displeasure and exasperation they individually headed to the bathroom. After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside of the house where we went to pick whipping stick for the masquerade. Goode is the closest to me in age and companionship. He’s like my little sidekick.
About nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Drenched in sweat from the heat and smoke of the firewood, she went upstairs to freshen up. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of congos which preceded singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. It wore wooden, rectangular shaped shoes with a chain of fish-bones tied around its mask. As it came even closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (21) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes by every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on a tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over dried, crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bruised bleeding from the impact of the fall and the contact of the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me, then started dancing around me pouring dust from his hands on my injured and tired body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only ponder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my senses that he was going to devour me. I try to get up and run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high as it danced through the crowd. I would have never conceived the thought that it was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their screaming, vigorous hand movement and calling out for me. I was then left before their feet covered in an indescribable colt of powder and sweat that couldn’t stop pouring out of my frightened soul. For one brave second, I looked square at the mask figure with confusion. Yet still, it continued dancing. While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Immediately, I was taken to hospital where I was sought after, later returning home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities.
As I had been quiet for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by Solomon tapping my right shoulder. It was time to leave the house. The reminiscing was positive and helped me relive an important childhood memory, but I was not about to pass out on a night like this. We headed out with each man baring a bottle of opened Heineken. My story of a child’s New York and the masquerade had drowned in a bottle of brew.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
draft 1
New Year's Day
My best friend Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang. I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night. We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then the club, before spending the night at two of his female friends’ house. As we were discussing, his mother came in haven overheard our conversation. She began talking about how time and traveling to America has changed everything. “On New Year’s Day, by waking up to the dances of the masquerades, dined and drink as a family and give thanks to God for the NEW AND THE OLD”. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding on only children and drinking only palm oil. He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare curiously. So he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. He soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to our tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the joy of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. After saying my good morning, I went ahead, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, the Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend to holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside the house where we went to pick up whipping stick for the masquerade.
Around nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of congos which preceded singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. As I came closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (21) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes by every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on a tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bleeding from the impact of the fall and the contact of the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me, then started dancing around me pouring dust from his hands on my injured and tiered body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only pounder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my sense that he was going to devour me. I try to get up and run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high like a as it danced through the crowd. It was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their screaming and calling out. I was then left before their feet as it continued dancing. While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Immediately, I was taken to hospital where I was sought after, later returning home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities.
As I had been quite for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by tapping Solomon tapping the right shoulder. It was time to leave the house.
My best friend Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang. I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night. We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then the club, before spending the night at two of his female friends’ house. As we were discussing, his mother came in haven overheard our conversation. She began talking about how time and traveling to America has changed everything. “On New Year’s Day, by waking up to the dances of the masquerades, dined and drink as a family and give thanks to God for the NEW AND THE OLD”. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding on only children and drinking only palm oil. He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare curiously. So he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. He soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to our tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the joy of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. After saying my good morning, I went ahead, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, the Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend to holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside the house where we went to pick up whipping stick for the masquerade.
Around nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of congos which preceded singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. As I came closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (21) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes by every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on a tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bleeding from the impact of the fall and the contact of the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me, then started dancing around me pouring dust from his hands on my injured and tiered body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only pounder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my sense that he was going to devour me. I try to get up and run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high like a as it danced through the crowd. It was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their screaming and calling out. I was then left before their feet as it continued dancing. While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Immediately, I was taken to hospital where I was sought after, later returning home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities.
As I had been quite for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by tapping Solomon tapping the right shoulder. It was time to leave the house.
Monday, October 4, 2010
brainstorming
Idea – an adult experience and knowledge looking at a child’s fascination. How one’s fascination at times overrides one fear for something.
Definition of Masquerade – A cultural entity dressed in a collage of tradition attire pieces. It is fitted in rags that people wouldn’t normally wear as clothing. It measures from 6-12ft in height and its identity is undisclosed by a mask. It breaks the New Year by dancing in the streets for all to see and celebrate.
Setting – New Year’s Day. The setting rotates between United States and Liberia, West Africa.
Storyline – As children we were told to fear masquerades. They were allegedly wicked, grotesque, and inhuman. However, there had always been a strong tie with kids and masquerades. We would often hit or throw things at it, allowing it to chase it. Whilst doing just that, I feel to the rough, unfinished and unpaved motor road where I scrape the inner part of my palm and the knees. Surprisingly, I was assisted by the masquerade that was described negatively. In parts, in painting a picture of the festivities of New Year’s Day in West Africa.
Character/Point of View – First person point of view. Hamilton the adult is telling the story through the ideas of Hamilton the child.
Juxtaposition – I introduce an African Folk Tale about masquerades to properly be able to transcend my personal ordeal with masquerades. A
Lesson – you get to know people or things better through interaction instead of assuming. Also how one’s fascination at times overrides one fear for something. Not to mention the realization of childhood stories. There are a lot of lessons to be extracted from this piece. These are the three that are the strongest.
I am Hamilton Marks, Jr.
GOOD DAY!
Definition of Masquerade – A cultural entity dressed in a collage of tradition attire pieces. It is fitted in rags that people wouldn’t normally wear as clothing. It measures from 6-12ft in height and its identity is undisclosed by a mask. It breaks the New Year by dancing in the streets for all to see and celebrate.
Setting – New Year’s Day. The setting rotates between United States and Liberia, West Africa.
Storyline – As children we were told to fear masquerades. They were allegedly wicked, grotesque, and inhuman. However, there had always been a strong tie with kids and masquerades. We would often hit or throw things at it, allowing it to chase it. Whilst doing just that, I feel to the rough, unfinished and unpaved motor road where I scrape the inner part of my palm and the knees. Surprisingly, I was assisted by the masquerade that was described negatively. In parts, in painting a picture of the festivities of New Year’s Day in West Africa.
Character/Point of View – First person point of view. Hamilton the adult is telling the story through the ideas of Hamilton the child.
Juxtaposition – I introduce an African Folk Tale about masquerades to properly be able to transcend my personal ordeal with masquerades. A
Lesson – you get to know people or things better through interaction instead of assuming. Also how one’s fascination at times overrides one fear for something. Not to mention the realization of childhood stories. There are a lot of lessons to be extracted from this piece. These are the three that are the strongest.
I am Hamilton Marks, Jr.
GOOD DAY!
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