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.
A Moment in Time
4 Is the magic Number
Monday, October 11, 2010
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.
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