Ballet's Photo Negitive

In my ever continuing process of learning the dances from the country in which I am, I have started Kathak Classical Indian dance lessons. My first class was last Saturday, and I am one of two beginners (the other being a 5-yr-old). So I started out with her juniors class and watched through the advanced class. Other than having the typical mild distress at being the tallest and oldest beginner there, (as well as the one with no clue) it was a pretty good class.
Comparison

• Kathak, like ballet is done up-right, with both hands in front. But in Kathak your hands are chest height.
• Both have a turn out of the feet. Kathak has only a natural V, nothing like the 180 degrees of Ballet
• Both have spins. Kathak has spins on the heel while Ballet spins on the toe
• Kathak is based on rhythm and foot work (step/stamping in a beat)

My personal challenges

• Making the high pitch slapping noise when I step. I swear our feet are made out of different material. I don't know how they do it. Even when I put most of my weight on the ball of my foot all I can manage is a weak sounding pat. Meanwhile 7 year olds are making the perfect sound without effort.
• Not moving my hips. . . come one I have big ones.
• Spinning on my heel. You try getting someone trained to spin on their toes to shift weight and re-balance on the heal. I usually get two good spins before I completely loose balance and almost fall.
• Not bringing my other foot into posse when I spin. Apparently I turn out too much, Most everything should be done to the front or directly side (At least Sherri Latham would be proud)

On the up side my teacher Divosri, is amazed that I can actually pick up the rhythms and foot work. But I have spent my last two years dancing in Africa. If I couldn't pick up rhythms Sisi would disown me.

For more "offical info" Check out http://homepage.ntlworld.com/eandj.foxley/kathak/Kathak.htm

Or for just General Indian Classical Dance info

http://www.angelfire.com/ma2/bharatanatyam/bn.html

As for my adventures they will be continued

Dad and Jordan

I just really like this picture of my Nephew Jordan and Dad. It's one of the few pictures where they are both smiling

Where there is No Toilet Paper

One thing you may or may not know about many “developing” countries is that they do not generally use toilet paper. Usually you will find a pitcher (or plastic teapot for those of you who have been in West Africa) and a bucket of water. The idea is to pour the water over your behind and use your left hand to swipe any remnants. There is a reason why you eat with your right hands.
While I was traveling around Mali and Senegal though a minor annoyance, it wasn’t that big of a deal. They are hot dry countries and I was usually wearing a skirt, which facilitated drying. But most Indian clothing is in multiple layers. Saris are wrapped around you, and Salwar suits are generally knee or shin length tops with drawstring trousers underneath and a duputa (shawl) around your neck. Such clothing will absorb and keep the wetness on your body, and it is cold in Kolkata during December. There are few things as uncomfortable as a cold wet bum

One Less Stand Up

Most of you know I am a big fan of stand up comedy. From Ellen DeGeneres and Carlos Mancia to Bill Cosby and Redd Foxx, I love a good stand-up. One of what I consider the big three of original Black Stand-up just dies this past Saturday.

Richard Pryor died at the age of 65 from a heart attack. He was awarded Kennedy Center Honors for Comedy in 1998 and a friars club roast in 1991. His partner in comedy Gene Wilder (seven years his senior) is still alive and acting. I guess there is something to be said for cleaner living.

(Incedentally Andy and I were talking about him recently and actually thought he had already died. . . hope we didn't kill him)

Complaints

Maybe I’ve read to many books by male authors (Eric Segall and Chetan Bhagat) lately or too much standup comedy (I only have Richard Pryor, Chris Rock, Bill Cosby and Robin Williams with me). But it seems to me that guys are constantly complaining that they have the worst of dating, because they have to propose or ask someone out. While the girls just sit idly by and dole out judgments saying yes or no.

What is their deal?! They act like females are getting proposals every two seconds. In spite of what they may think or Chris Rock may proclaim this is a fallacy (as I’m sure Naima will agree with me). I’ve been set up before and approached by the sketchy guys on the street but, in all of my 25 years only once (maybe twice) have not made the first move. The times when I didn’t it was mutual, and took a long time to coordinate. (And I’m not sure that time really counted as it was in a Mali Peace Corps house and Peace Corps situations make everything a bit odd) Guys should not complain if they don’t actually take action. If anyone has room to complain it should be us, we not horribly unattractive nice girls who are still stuck watching movies by ourselves on Friday and Saturday nights or hanging out in coffee shops reading books on weekend afternoons.

Memoriam Levi Dobbins

It is truly beyond words to try and explain the indomitable loving wise spirit that we are honoring today. If grandmother Thomas was the matriarch of the family I always considered Uncle Levi the Patriarch. Though he held this lofty position he was never inaccessible or dictorial. He would give suggestions, if sought, and sometimes if not sought. However the thing I will miss most is his presence. Uncle Levi was always there. Always there, sitting on the third or fourth pew from the front on the left hand side. I didn’t see him in the forefront unless he was called there, and he was often called. Uncle Levi didn’t take the head of the table; it was given to him. But brought to the front or sitting quietly to the side, he was there, a constant source of love and support. Over all it is his peaceful presence I will miss.

Working Overtime

Office hours are generally from 9:30am-5: 30pm, but people often stay much later. It is an NGO so people may come in a bit late, but tend to stay even later. Yesterday, I had trekked through a baseline survey on one of the projects I'm reviewing.

It was basically a demographic look at 10 villages:

· The ages young people get married (15-17 for girls and 21-22 for boys)

· The relationship between the husband and wife (Varies, if they don't have a room of their own the communication tends to be pretty low, but most couples will talk about family matters in the evening even if the husband makes decisions on his own)

· The relationship between the wife and her in-laws (The less intrusive, the better the relationship seems to be)

· What contraceptive methods they know of and may be using (About 1/2 were using some contraceptive, and most of those were using Oral Contraceptives. Many were aware of condoms, but not their use in preventing STIs and most men didn't want to use them)

Anyway there was some work I felt like I needed to finish so I was busy reading documents and formulating the survey questions to use in the field and suddenly the office guy shows up with tea and a plate of samosas. Sometimes it does pay to work overtime.

Walking Thoughts

So I was walking home last Friday, listening to my shuffle and watching people watch me. I started wondering what about me would cause people with a clef lip or an eye patch (that others would usually stare at) to stare at me. Am I really that much to look at? My siblings did always say I was pretty funny looking. (Good thing we all look so much alike)

Then I thought maybe it wasn't how I look really, but how I walked. At a backpackers in Namibia (The Chameleon) a British guy once asked me "What is the name of the way Black Women walk that takes the mickey out of other women?" I was surprised when he remembered that it was called "Switching." The way Black women walk has international fame. I thought about all of the amazing Black women in history and in my family. It had to be the pride and strength of our walked that amazed others.

At this point in my walk the song switched to "Lights Camera Action" by Mr. Cheeks, which encouraged me to put more pep in my step.

Listening to the rhythms I started reciting "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou
"Pretty women wonder where my secret lies . . .
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally. . ."

I realized that very few Black women have been to Kolkata (I've met only one other, and heard of another). How much history I carry with me all the time.

By this time I was feeling a bit warm. I decided to try and take off my sweater without taking off my book-bag (a technique I perfected while in Namibia). While trying to negotiate this I ended up nearly flashing half of the cars and people on the bridge I was crossing.

At which point I figured that was really the reason people watched me. Because I do silly things like try to take off my sweater without taking off my book-bag first. And I should probably spend more time trying to live up to my examples than just reminiscing about them. "Please Bring Honor to Us All" from the Disney movie "Mulan" started to run through my head.
"Ancestors, Hear my plea,
Help me not to make a fool of me,
And not upset my family tree,
Keep my father standing tall . . ."

But by this point "Light's Camera Action" on my ipod had switched to "Gimme" by Jill Scott. With a smile, a nod, I grooved my way home. Because sometimes at the end of a long week you need to groove home.

Cute Little People

I have the cutest Nephews ever!!!!!


Jordan Louis


&



Daniel Thomas

Current Happy Songs

in no particular order

Closer to Fine- Indigo Girls

Best of What's Around- Dave Matthews Band

My Favorite Things- Outkast and Nora Jones

Never Let You Down- Kanye West

Though, right now I'm listening to Tchaikovsky's Rococo Variations :)

To the Doctor

After having a cough for entirely too long and many urging from others, I decided to see a doctor. I was leery since I had heard that most Indian Doctors have little to no bedside manner and generally don't inform you of what you actually have. I prepared myself for the miserable wait and a generally unpleasant experience.

Chandeyree (one of my co-workers) suggested her doctor only a short walk from work. She gave me the directions and seemed surprised when I kept asking when was the best time to go or about his fees. After work yesterday she assured me I would find the place and could go at anytime. When I arrived I was surprised to find a small waiting room with only two other people.
The waiting room had a few posters up and swinging saloon doors that allowed you to see directly into the doctors office.

I was shocked about the informality of it all. After fine minutes I went in and (as trained my by father) gave him a run-down of my symptoms, their duration, and what I had done to address them. Without smiling (in the least) he asked a few questions, took my pulse and blood pressure, listened to me breathe, looked in my throat and wrote out a prescription and told me to come back in five days. Only when I asked did he let me know what the medication was.

The whole visit took about 25 mins, and cost 70 Rs (that's the price of 3Kg of apples, 1/2 the price of a shirt bought off the street, or about $1.50). The small cocktail of medication I'm on (1 cough suppressant, 1 antibiotic, 1 decongestant [and], and a nutrient supplement) cost more than 4 times the amount of the doctor visit.

All in all not a bad visit, it could have been much worse, but all the drugs make me sleepy.

Not gone

So things here have been a little quiet. Not for lack of action however. Although originally a bit depressed by my MCAT scores and subsequent 2 secondaries I received, Last week I received 8 more in 6 days. Thus bringing the number of additional essays I had to do up to 23. Hence my silence.

For anyone who hasn't seen me in a while here are the photos I'm sending to the med schools. I look like a future doctor right?

Weekend Update

Andy didn't end up leaving this weekend. His friend who was taking him got dysentery. I ended up resting and reading all Saturday and on Sunday I went to the Kolkata Film Festival I saw "The Other Half" from Iran and "No Trains No Buses" from Holland. They were both excellent.

I also met the other black woman living in Kolkata. She's a media researcher from Cameroon, and was there translating for a Senegalese director. (Yes I got to use my bad french) Her friend convinced her to go because there would be at least one other black person there. That's me. I was actually invited to the director's dinner, but opted to meet up with friends I hadn't seen in weeks. A good weekend all in all.

Who's That Girl?

Okay I get stared at. I first noticed it in Namibia, where people spent most of their time trying to figure out what country I was from. (Angola? No, South Africa? No, Cuba? No, I know Egyptian!) Then as I traveled through different parts of Africa I noticed that my staring ranged from almost none at all (Ghana, South Africa, Senegal) to medium ( Zambia) to nearly igniting flames (Namibia, Mali).
Even after I returned to the states I realized that I get a fair share of looks. These often varied with how big my hair was that day.

But India has taken this to a whole new level. Delhi was the worst where I virtually felt like I was in my own personal spotlight. Which was made worse because most of the people out in Delhi are men. Kolkata has at least men and women, but it is still pretty intense.

I was walking with a visiting friend of Andy's from Bangalore, Chris, and he decided to count how many people stared at me as we took a walk. He gave up when he had reached 25 within the first 5 minutes.

Today a small man sped up to walk abreast of Andy and I on our walk to work this morning. Not only was he walking shoulder to shoulder with me but he was staring intently for about a block. When I finally looked over he sped up to walk ahead of me, but still turning around to stare at me. I mentioned this fact to Andy who pointed out the fact that he was still staring at me. Finally after about 4 minutes of this I stared back at him until he crossed the street and went into a store, still staring at me until the last moment.
All this on a day when my hair was back in a bun, imagine what happens when I rock my Afro Puff!

Cat's Away

So Andy (the other fellow and my flat-mate) is leaving for the weekend. Which leave me to run amok at will this weekend. Here are the current options. (Keep in mind that I should be productive and I have a quickly diminishing{read diminished} budget)

1) Stay home and work on the UMich School of Public Health Application (Most productive, Best on the budget, Most boring as well)

2) Throw a wild party (I'd have to find friends in Kolkata first, Cleaning would be taken care of by our cleaning lady, Only good for the budget if I charged-which brings me back to the first point)

3) Naked Time (Can be multi-tasked, No affect on budget, May invite watching-we did spend a good 15 mins or more watching a rather unattractive guy in the flat across from ours walk around in relatively saggy red briefs for no particular reason during our dinner party)

4) Spend both days at the International Kolkata Film Festival (I've always wanted to go to one of these, I love films, Questionable on the budget)

5) Lay around reading eating Andy's ice-cream and using his spices to cook (Also can be multi-tasked, virtually no affect on my budget, Guilt)

Any more suggestions?

"Go take rest"

I am constantly amazed a how people here react to someone not feeling well, namely me. When I was ill in Namibia, people treated me about the same as people in the states do: only as a second thought. An offer of a Tylenol, or casual suggestion to go home was the greater extent of the concern. The whole affair was mainly low key.

Here, everything seems much more crucial. Everyone will suggest seeing a doctor, medication to take, foods that will promote healing, or check to see if I have a fever. At the least they will tell me to "Go take rest," and not over extend myself.

I always say what cities have the most of shows something about the people who live there. US cities have places to buy food every few feet. Kolkata has pharmacies, go figure.

Green and Water

As I discovered by living in a desert for two years and three months, two of the simplest things make me happy: the color green and water. Hence my current desktop is the entry way to the stilt village in Ghana.

Happy Hallow-Puja

So it happens that Kali Puja and Halloween ended up on the same day. Kali Puja (like Durga Puja) is the celebration of the return of Kali after destroying a bunch of demons and is more is apart of the Diwali celebrations. Diwali is the celebration of lights held in fall and is the celebration of good over evil.

So Halloween was the day before Kali Puja and of to my surprise the local group of expats (there is always at least one in a major city) had a Halloween party. Of course the only people to truly dress up were the two Americans, Andy and I. Andy (the other fellow) went as a random Punjabi guy who was a victim of a drive by shooting. I putting good use to all my dupattas (shawls that women wear with most every outfit) went as a gypsy.

The Good: The food was great, and so was the rum-punch. I got to meet a bunch more people who are here working for sometime. When the DJ played music Andy, Karen, Avo (friends we've met here) and I had a great time breaking it down on the dance floor.

The Frightening: Andy and the guy who went as Hannibal Lecter could be quite shocking when you weren't expecting them.

The Ugly: The DJ when he wasn't playing music decided to make it his own personal karaoke bar. We were all held hostage listening to his version of "Love Me Tender" et al.

After the party some of us went out to Shik Sha, one of the ritzier nightclubs. I ended up dancing with a guy who was a self proclaimed choreographer, who more or less challenged me to a dance off. And As I am never one to back down from a challenge (one of my better and worse traits) stepped up to it. We danced to Magalena, this fabulous Latin song with really strong African beats. Needless to say I Zulu Kicked circles around him. . . Literally.

And another glass bangle bit the dust.

-> Andy already has pictures from this up. . . Check them out!

*Back Blogs

There are some things that were definitely blog worthy, but it was before I started this. They usually ended up being little emails to a few people, or things i just wrote for me. But now everyone gets to read them.

Back Blog* Oct 24

So I've been wearing glass bangles for almost a month now. The Bangles are *almost* too small for my hands and the only reason I'm wearing them now is because this auntie in the village grabbed my hand and folded it in ways I'd never seen before in order to get them on. And I haven't taken the time coat my hands in oil to try and manipulate them off. So I was wearing 30 Bangles. 13 left and 12 right. These bangles have stood up to all of my flailing and one classical Indian dance class.
Then we went dancing Saturday night at this really cute club called Tantra. And after all that this glass jewelry has stood up to at some point I looked at the dance floor and noticed that one of my bangles had broken. By the end of the night a lot had broken or cracked so I had to break them off. Now I only have 6 left and 8 right.
So after all that all I had to do is go dancing. . . . . who knew