A Birthday that I will NEVER forget!

On the eve of one of America's most historical moments, the election of America's first African-American president, President Barack Obama, I ask myself:  What will be your contribution to change?  How will you assist in rebuilding your country?  How will you serve others?

I recognize that I am in fact, as my African friends abroad would say: Living in the land of opportunity.  The land of milk and honey!!  NO EXCUSES!  There will be no excuses for my unhappiness.  There will be no excuses if I don't succeed.  I have the opportunity, the intelligence and the determination to become whatever it is that I want to become.  I will move forward thinking not only of my personal aspirations, yet, how those goals will serve others.

I believe that God and the universe has and continues to ordain all things.  I do not believe in accidents, coincidences or luck.  I do not believe that it is a coincidence that I am born on January 20th, the day in which our world leaders take the oath to lead, serve and protect.  I do  not believe it is an accident that forty years after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., that America has elected its first African American president.

So, the question remains: What will be my contribution to change?  Tomorrow, as I thank God for allowing me to experience twenty-eight years in this life, I will recite this pledge after our new President gives his inaugural speech.

I, Gianina K. Lockley, pledge that I will arise each morning with a renewed positive attitude.  

I pledge to create and live a life that is peaceful, happy and harmonious.

I pledge to show up in life and give 100% or not show up at all.

I pledge to become a resource and mentor to young women within my community.

I pledge to do something for someone else, everyday, even if it's offering a kind word or a warm smile.

I pledge to review this pledge at the end of each day to see if I've succeeded.

I pledge to continue to challenge myself to grow, learn, lead and give, even if it is not easy.

And finally, I pledge to encourage others to create a pledge of service for their lives.

How will you BE THE CHANGE?

Welcome to Accra, Ghana!

After an eleven hour direct flight from New York's JFK airport, I arrived safely at Kotoka International airport in Accra, Ghana.  Tired, yet, excited at the opportunity to deplane and stretch my legs, I entered the airport ready to battle the custom lines.  To my surprise there was a guard with a sign that had my name on it.  I was expecting my friend Horatia to meet me at the airport.  Had something happened?  I slowly approached the guard and stated:  I'm Gianina Lockley.  He asked for my passport.  I immediately became concerned.  My passport? Why do you need my passport?  Who are you really? I asked him for his identification.  He gave me a quizzical look as I returned his glance.  He showed me his official badge.  I hesitated before handing over my passport.  He then asked me to follow him.  I followed the guard to a small room in the back where he told me to take a seat before walking away with the very thing that proved my existence as a US citizen.  You idiot.  What are you going to do if he just stole your damn passport?  After five minutes the man returned with passport in hand and asked me to once again, follow him.  He then escorted me pass the long lines and ushered me to baggage claim.  He then gave me a smile and said: Akwaaba (welcome).  I smiled and replied: thank you.  I then looked through my passport and noticed that he had taken care of customs and that I had a stamp of arrival in my passport.  Nothing to do now but wait on the luggage.  

I  jokingly told a friend of mine that I no longer go to baggage claim when I'm on an international trip, I just go straight to lost luggage.  He told me that I needed to abandon that negative thinking and embrace positive thoughts that all of my luggage would actually arrive.  I told him I would as I thought back to my previous experiences.  Nigeria: no luggage for 3/4 my trip.  India: only one bag arrived.  Japan: only half of my luggage allowed to go. Perhaps this would be different.  However, I had learned from those experiences that your carry on is more than just a holding case for equipment and books to read on the plane.  I had enough clothes and toiletries to last me a week.  I was good either way.  Once the belt began and the luggage slowly began to disperse I was surprised at the extremely friendly, communal and helpful nature of the people.  Everyone helping each other lift luggage.  There were many excuse me and thank you's.  With the exception of Japan, this was the first country that everyone was so helpful to each other.  I thought to myself: this is going to be a good trip.  Shortly after, my luggage came.  A man helped me lift my bag as I walked through the gate, hoping that Horatia would be waiting for me. 

I smile as I saw her wave to me.  I'd met Horatia a few years earlier when I was working at a lab after undergraduate school.  She was working in the lab as an intern and was one of the five people of color within the laboratory department.  She was a fun, blunt and honest.  I had not seen Horatia in over a year but she remembered that I'd told her that whenever she returned home to Ghana that I wanted to accompany her.  She called me up earlier this year and said: Sistah Gurl, I'm going home for Christmas.  You game?  I hoped that financially, I would be.

I greeted Horatia with a big hug as the driver relieved me of my bags as we walked to the truck.  I had previously informed Horatia that I was due in on Saturday.  As such, she had planned a bus trip to a neighboring city, Kumasi.  The trip would take five to six hours.   "Sistah Gurl, our bus leave in three hours, so you have just enough time to take a shower then we gotta go."  I told her it was cool, as I tried not to show my jet-lag fatigue.  Off to Kumasi!

Really? President Barack Obama

It is post-election night and the entire ordeal seems surreal.  But I was there.  I stood three hours in line in my old neighborhood back in Detroit, excited to place my vote for a man that I believed could effect change for our nation.  A man who stirred hope within myself and so many other Americans. A man whose demeanor and intelligence has redefined what a black man is and can be.  Yes, I was excited to vote for Barack Obama.  

I'm currently a graduate student in Illinois but I didn't trust an absentee ballot to make it through the mail.  I had witness two previous elections "stolen" and felt that I had to visually witness my ballot being counted.  As such, I headed home on a bus to awake at 6:00am on Tuesday, November 4, 2008 to place my vote.  Everyone...and I do mean everyone knew the significance of this moment.  I wanted to return to my hood and stand with my people.  The people who I grew up with as a child.  The people who shared the joys and the sorrows of my neighborhood.  I voted at my elementary school: St. Suzanne. The school had since closed and was now a charter school.  My parents and I arrived at 6:53am to a line that was stretched around the building. (A great sign) I felt they unseasonably warm 70 degree temperature and knew that God was smiling on this historical day.  I watched my mother's nervous smile and my father's cool, yet, anxious stroll as we took our place in line.  We would stand there, with hundreds of other people, for the next three hours.  I wanted to experience it all.  As a writer, I stood with my book bag and my black leather journal which kept and consoled all of my thoughts.   This is what I will hand to my grandchildren one day.  I was pleased to immediately see childhood friends, whom I'd not seen for years.  After hugs and what up's? we all stood and waited.  

The emotions I felt standing in line to vote in Detroit were similar to what I felt as I stood in Grant Park last night.  I caught a bus back to Chicago and arrived in the "Obamacrazed" city at 9pm.  I quickly dropped off my luggage (great thing I lived downtown) and walked the five blocks to Grant Park.  My friend Radia accompanied me and was so ecstatic, as were the other hundred thousand people lining the streets.  I felt the energy but my emotions were dazed.  As I stood shoulder to should with strangers, who I felt immensely intimate with, I thought to myself: I should be crying.  I should be shouting with everyone, but all I could do was stand there and take it in.  I couldn't move.  Watching the man who has shattered the ceiling speak to us...I almost felt void.  Completely numb.  Unable to detangle the the emotions that bubbled over inside me: happiness, proud, hopeful, anxious, fear, disbelief...it all caused me to go numb.

Today, classmates approach me with tears in their blue/green/grey and brown eyes and ask me: were you there?  How do you feel?  

I believe it hasn't hit me as of yet. In the past, when I've been presented with situations and environments which overwhelm me, I often become outwardly emotionless.  While inwardly my body is a swarming pool fluctuating in temperature and temperament.  It's all so surreal.  I think I'm afraid to actually open my spirit up to what this means for me.  For my community. For the world.  

I wonder if this is how my ancestors felt when they heard that they were free.  Did they believe it?  What exactly did "freedom" mean?  What was next?

What is next?

Where did my Zen go??

Clearly I must be back in the States because I no longer have time to sit and ponder the wonders of the world:(  Nope.  It's back to the grind.  

Honestly, I'm too exhausted to even type this now.  Well (sigh), I guess it's official.  I'm a true American.

Sunday in Yokohama with Etsuko

Such Altruistic People!

I've spent the last week here in Japan alone.  No, it's okay, I've been keeping myself busy.  When a co-worker of my host found out that I would be here alone, she informed me that I should call her.  Now in America, this is generally the "polite" thing to say.  However, I'm learning that when abroad, people actually mean it.  (even if they don't, I jump right on it:))

Well Estuko meant it.  She previously asked me what I would like to do and since I had not yet visited a museum, I suggested that.  I figured we would be gone for three maybe four hours.  Wrong!  We spent the entire day in Yokohoma.  Starting at the Yokohama Museum of Art then off to do some shopping.   I was so impressed with her altruism and patience.  We were gone literally the entire day.  

I'm so happy that I continuously encounter people who are willing to extend themselves to me.  It's a reminder for me to make time for others when in the midst of my Gianinaness.  Thanks Etsuko!!

How Wondrous ....

Mt. Fuji!

How Wondrous Are Thy Works!

When asked if I wanted to climb Mt. Fuji, I replied: sure, without so much as a second thought. It wasn't until we were in the store shopping the night before the climb, watching as my fellow climbers purchased everything from energy bars to oxygen. Oxygen? We're going to need oxygen, I inquired? I was given a dumbfounded look as they replied: uh...yeah. It was then that I thought perhaps I should've investigated this more. This was only going to take a couple of hours, right? 3...maybe 4.? Just a few miles, right? I heard an exasperated laugh before hearing: yeah, okay, if that's what you think.

The next morning we arose early to catch our train that would ultimately lead us to a bus that would take us to Mt. Fuji. I had seriously contemplated not going because the truth of the matter was: I didn't really feel up to. I would have much rather preferred to spend the money on a new pair of stiletto's from the outlet mall that I was looking forward to visiting. But...that's shallow. Yes, I know. But as I stated...I'm not really the rustic type of girl. I love competition and I'll be your most fierce competitor, however, I just wasn't in the mood to climb a mountain. I sighed and thought: come on G, how often do you get an opportunity to climb Mt. Fuji? Many of my random, slightly insane, adventures in life start with this same question. But as always the response was: okay, why not?

I arrived at Mt. Fuji determined to make the best out of the experience and equipped with 2 liters of water, 2 albuterol inhalers, 2 bottles of oxygen, 8 energy bars, 5 cups of mott's cinnamon applesauce, a pack of hand wipes, a jacket and a pair of fleece pants. I no longer had the problem with over packing, I had learned that lesson: pack light:) I was set. It was 1:30pm. We started to ascend and approximately 20 minutes into the hike we hit our first incline. I felt my muscles tighten as if to ask: what's going on? we don' did our 20 minute work out! However, forty-five minutes later I made it to the next station: station six. Our group of six had become two as I realized that I wasn't mentally strong enough to help anyone but myself. If someone moaned and said they wanted to quit, I knew I would be the first to "amen" their suggestion. So I decided that if I was going to make this climb, I would have to become mentally strong and focused. And to do so, I may have to go at it alone. (Tough lesson I've learned...)

I was surprised and encouraged to see people of all ages making the hike. You saw children as young as five to senior citizens as seasoned as in their 80s. There was one lady (there is a picture of us in the slide show above) who had to be in her seventies. Her back was bent and her smile gentle as I watched her make the hike: slow and steady her body seemed to say. I thought to myself how wise the elders are and how much stronger they are just by their lived experiences. The distance to station seven was eighty minutes. I just wanted to be there already. Isn't that how we are? We just want to be air lifted into the sunrise without having to go through any of the twist, turns and discomforts that the journey is guaranteed to bring. That thought made me laugh as I became more determined to make it. I had my hiking partner within view as his paced slowed and I began to take deep breaths from my belly. Okay Lord, keep my lungs open.

As we ascended, the humid air cooled and I decided that it was time to put on the fleece. As I replaced the bag onto my back, I realized how much lighter my load had become. Isn't that how life is? When you start something new it's always heavier, harder and more complicated in the beginning. However, as you buckle down and work at it, it becomes easier, lighter, more rewarding. Stay the course. That was my next thought as I guesstimated that I should be approximately 20 minutes from station seven. What I need is some motivation, some inspiration, some music! Gospel music. I reached into my bag and took out my ipod. Gianina's Gospel Tracks. I have a mixed assortment of gospel songs which are untitled, however as soon as the first chord struck, I knew the author. This author wouldn't be known as artist of the year. As I heard the first verse, I knew I was in trouble. I wouldn't be able to continue. I've gone through the fire and I've been through the flood. I've been broken into pieces, seen lightening flash from above. My steps began to slow. ...But through it all, I remembered, that he loves me, and he caaaares, and he'll never, put more on me, than I, can baaaarrrreeeee...my feet became heavy as I felt surrounded by the presence of my ancestors. Those who sacrificed their lives for me. My lips began to tremble. My lungs tightened. I was having problems breathing. I knew it was time, I had to let it go. Before I could give myself permission, I felt the tears falling down my cheeks. It wasn't up to me. My spirit was in control of this...not my mind...but my spirit. As the verse repeated I reflected upon my past. I thought back to a childhood stricken with asthma. I thought back to endless nights of breathing treatments. I saw the faces of friends murdered in the streets of Detroit. I remembered the despair of working a mindless job after graduation. I remember dreaming and wishing that I could be used for my purpose. To feel joy about my contribution to life. To be something different than what the statistics stated. I looked into the dark sky and saw the flash of lightening. Then it hit me: I'm climbing Mt. Fuji. I'm climbing Mt. Fuji...without so much as a wheeze!! I'm in Japan...I just left India! I was, literally, above it all. I actually had to look down to see the clouds. Then I heard the words: his word said he won't, I believe it, I receive it, yes I claim it, It's mine! I could feel the warmth of their smiles. My deliverance, my healing, my joy, yeeeaaahhh, it's mine, it's mine, it's mine...Their blisters bursting with pride...you can't have it, their unshakable faith...he'll neva put more on me than I can bare. I felt my arms raise to the sky as my constricted throat opened: thank you, thank you, thank you. Who else but the creator could bring me to this place? Who else but the creator could create this? I'm not here to debate or argue about who God is but to acknowledge and respect his/her/its presence. Thank you God. Thank you ancestors for your resilience and strength. Humbly, I sing, I scream, I cry...THANK YOU!

My First Earthquake!!!!

I'm wondering if eating bar-b-que chicken, potato salad and a mixture of mustard and collard greens right before bed, was the best thing to do.  

I dreamt that I was in a very dark place taking pictures.  Of what....I'm not sure.  The next thing I know, this dark place was my parents basement.  The next picture I took had the glow of a ghost.  I double check the LCD monitor on the camera  and noticed that it was a white glow of two gorillas.  Gorillas in daddy's basement.  I quickly ran up the basement stairs to show my father what lurked in his basement.  "Daddy, daddy, look!  There are gorilla's in your basement!"  My father replied: There ain't no gorilla's in that basement girl!"  Uh huh, I replied.  I showed him the picture that I'd captured in my digital camera.  "See," I said.  My father looked confused and upon closer inspection, we noticed that there were also monkeys in the picture.  "Well," my father stated, "we'll just have to wait for a couple of weeks before we can get that taken care of."  Wait for a couple of weeks?? I couldn't believe my father was going to let anything, whether it be finances or time, prevent him from getting these wild animals out of our house.  

I went to sleep and suddenly felt my bed rocking.  Oh my gosh, the monkeys must be in here.  I waited a little longer to see if my mind was playing tricks on me.  There's no way that the monkeys would have climbed the stairs, unlocked my door and started rocking my bed, was there?  However, I was lying on an inflatable mattress, perhaps, it was just losing air and that's why it rocked so hard when I turned.  But I wasn't turning and the bed was definitely swaying back and forth.  Leave me alone you evil monkeys! I just wasn't going to lie there and take it.  Okay, it's now or never.  I leapt to the bottom of my bed and was surprised to find no monkeys.  I lied back underneath the covers.   Maybe it was the monkeys spirits shaking my bed.  The shaking had stopped.  I fell back to sleep.

The next morning, as we prepared to head out to Mt. Fuji, my friend asked: did you feel the earthquake last night?  What earthquake, I replied?  

Yogom Park PtII

Yoyogi Park on Sunday's

Meji Shrine

Japanese Wedding at the Meiji Shrine

Harajuku

Today, I visited an area called: Harajuku.  It is located in Tokyo.  My first stop was at the Meiji Shrine.  The Meiji shrine is dedicated to the deified spirits of Emperor Meiji and his wife.  When Emperor Meiji died in 1912 and Empress Shoken in 1914 the Japanese people wished to pay their respect to the to influential Japanese figures.  It was for this reason that Meiji shrine was constructed and their souls enshrined on November 1, 1920. (http://en.wikipdia.org/wiki/meiji_shrine) Check out slide show.

While there I was fortunate to witness a traditional Japanese wedding.  Like most brides, she wore white and maintained a demure demeanor.  There wasn't any cheering or outward displays of extreme happiness from the attendants or the public.  Everything was very quiet.  This was a serious, spiritual occasion.  Check out slide show.

The last place I visited was a park called: Yoyogi.  This place was an artistic haven!  There was everything from street performance artist, tap dancers, musicians, rappers, dancers, you name it!  I was in heaven.  Taken it all in and loving the freedom of expression.  If you weren't directly participating in the outward form of expression, you were blessed to be the recipient of it.  I walked, danced, clapped, chilled and just took it all in.  The energy of this place was great.  It put me in mind of Chicago during the summer festival months.  I thought to myself:  show me a place where art doesn't live and I'll show you a place that's dying.

Dinner at Yakiniku

Dinner at Yakiniku

My first dinner in Japan was at the restaurant: Yakiniku (which means grilled meat) in Zushi, Japan.  You buy the meat raw and cook it at your table.  I was served a huge bowl of rice, which I quickly devoured, and 4 small cutlets of meat.  It's interesting to see how my host communicates with little mastery of the Japanese language.  Most people do not speak English and if they do, it's very little.  Thus, we communicate by pointing to pictures.  Hey, when you're abroad, whatever works.  The food was pretty good.  A little expensive.  However, with the depreciation of the US dollar, life is quite expensive here.  Which equates to it be equivalent to prices that you would pay in the US.  Check out the slide show.

Sayonara

Welcome to Tokyo, Japan!

WELCOME TO TOKYO, JAPAN!!!!!!

After 11 hours, two planes and one lay over, I have arrived at my next destination.  The first thing I noticed is how serene and peaceful I felt.  Perhaps, it was due to the flight attendants who offered a sweet smile and courteous bow upon departing the plane.  Or maybe it was the sound of waterfall playing throughout the terminal.  Yes, you heard right.  Instead of hearing Jazz, Hip-Hop or unnecessary chaos on the P.A. system,  I heard sounds of the ocean.  Having studied the principles of Feng Shui, I am definitely a believer in "organizing" the flow of energy.  When boarding the transit train which would take me to the immigrations terminal, the sound of chimes sounded as the train proceeded.  Nice.  It was hot, humid and extremely muggy on the train, however, everyone seemed relaxed.  

As I walked through the immigrations line, I was surprised to see how quickly the line was moving.  Everything seemed to operate so efficiently.  I was even more shocked to see that I not only had to submit my passport for evaluation, yet, I had to electronically submit my finger prints and facial feature.  I've traveled many places and I've never had to submit fingerprints.  There was an electronic machine which took a copy of my fingerprints and facial features, just as you see them do in the movies.  Japan ain't messin' around! 

I passed through immigrations and headed to baggage claim, although, I was keeping an eye out for the lost baggage office.  (We know of my history with bags and international travel.)  I've learned that when traveling abroad, there is almost always an English translation.  So, after studying the information board to inform me which baggage terminal to head to, I was relieved to see that an English version flashed shortly after the Japanese.  Baggage Terminal B3.  Now, I was quietly telling myself:  what's the chances that your now....1 bag, actually shows up?  As I approached the terminal, I was tickled to see my red suitcase going around the carousel.  Well I'll be....I grab the suitcase and head towards customs.  Here's the part that I always hate.  TSA agents rummaging through your personal belongings.  I then saw a sticker on the back of my suitcase that stated:  Inspected by security.  I hoped this would save me the time of having to endure the strip search of my belongings. After about 10 minutes in line, it was my turn.  The attendant asked for my passport and asked me what I was doing in Japan.  I stated: tourism, visiting a friend.  He looked at me, smile and said okay as he handed back my passport. That was it?  I couldn't believe it!  Never and I do mean NEVER have I gone through immigrations and customs as quickly and efficiently as I had in Japan.  I could get use to this place.

Farewell Bangalore!

Wow, I can't believe it's already time to say goodbye. This has been an amazing experince and it couldn't have happened without the woman who opened her home, her time and her heart: Nikki, I love you lady. You have truly become my sister. I'm definitely going to miss our glutonous trips to Baskin Robbins:) You are a beautiful woman. I pray that God strengthens you, keeps you and blesses you abundantly.

With that said, Nikki and I celebrated my last day in Bangalore by treating ourselves to facials and to a great dinner. I also received a mahindi tattoo that morning. Then the time came: it was time to say farewell. I'm not really the outwardly emotional type of individual, however, when I hugged Nikki, something in my heart constricted. I was really going to miss her. After a few words, I felt her tears and I knew mine were a blink away, so, she quickly pulled away and said: no, I promised myself that I wouldn't do this. I can't afford to do this. I understood.

So, we departed. I entered into the airport and watched Nikki through the window as she patiently waited to ensure that I'd made it through. Upon checking in, I was dismayed to discover that I'd exceeded my bag requirement. How much, I asked? 25kg's. I hadn't taken the time to learn the conversion metric system from kg to lbs, so, I'm thinking okay, maybe I'm about 10lbs over. Whatever it was, I'm sure it wasn't more than $25-$50. The attendant informs me that it would be 18000 rupees for me to check my bags. I did understand that conversion. Since the US dollar is valued at about 42rupees for every dollar, I quickly calculated that I would owe about $450! So, back out the door I went (luckily Nikki hadn't left). Anyone who knows of my history with traveling internationally knows that my bags NEVER SHOW UP! I always have some sort of lost baggage issue. So, here I was once again, on the side of the road trying to remove clothes as the world looks at me pulling out my thongs and bras. I had to laugh...that's what you do...you just have to laugh at times. I instantly thought back to the first time my luggage was lost: Nigeria. I cried on the inside. I was so upset. Distraught. At a lost. Three years later, I'm shaking it off and making the best of the situation. If I've learned anything in life it's that sometimes you have to leave things behind you (own that truth). Sometimes, things are lost, never to return again (accept it). At other times, they're misplaced or post-poned until you can gain a better appreciation for them (understand that).

As I sat there on the side of the road trying to make a rash decision about what I absolutely had to have, versus what I could live without until I'd be reunited (hopefully) with, Eryka Badu's song: Bag Lady from her Mama's Gun album came into mind: Bag lady, you gon' hurt yo back. Draggin' all dem' bags like dat'. I guess nobody eva' told you, all you must hold on to, is you, is you, is yoouuuu. One day all dem' bags gon' get in yo' way. One day all dem' bags gon' get in yo' way. I said, one day all dem bags gon' get in yo' way, so, PACK LIGHT. PACK LIGHT. PACK LIGHT...OOHHHH...OOHHH.

At that moment, I decided to leave the entire bag. The entire dog-gon' bag. This journey was about many things: self-reflection being at the top of the list. I was definitely looking to de-clutter my life. To disconnect from all of the emails, meetings, assignments, television, noise...everything. I looked Nikki in the eye and said: you know what? I'm going to leave this entire bag.

Pack Light....

Pack Light....

And I'm on my way