OJAY BRAIN MORGAN!

He was formerly associated with House of LaDosha…but now he is focusing on his on project Zebra Katz.  Here is their newest video- “Ima Read”. There is a bit of adult language but nothing you haven’t already heard.

While I am here sharing videos here is a trailer for a documentary that really made me think about my self-imposed exile from people and also reflect on the degree in which we matter to each other.

So think about it…would anyone miss you? Or even noticed you are gone?

I am learning that there is no prize to be given for navigating life without anyone. For showing everybody that you don’t need them. There is no award given for never crying on someone else’s shoulder, for keeping in all the hurt. Because if there was…

But I also know there is no prize for having the most people in your life. You don’t get an award for putting up with people who add no value to your life. No one is going to congratulate you for keeping the same toxic person in your life since elementary school. 3,500 friends on Facebook mean absolutely nothing in the real world.

So I am trying to negotiate a space between self-imposed solitude and thinking everyone is my best friend.

My birthday yesterday, was quite different from my previous one in Haiti. I spent it in Arizona. I took myself to a movie (New Year’s Eve), had some Ethiopian take out, went rock climbing, went to another movie (50/50), ate french fries, downed a bottle of champagne and called it a day.

I have been called cocky on more than one occasion. I prefer the word confident. I am well aware of my strengths and I am very honest about my weaknesses. I try to be sincere in all that I do. I am good friend.

I am strong believer that people will treat you however you allow them to treat you. Many times the way other people treat you is a reflection of how you treat yourself.  When you set standards people will either rise to them or they won’t but you have to let you expectations be known. There is a huge difference between the work ethic of a child who knows their parents only accepts A- work out of them, versus the work ethic of a child who parent doesn’t set any goals for them. This is the same thing with any type of relationships; let people know your standards and expectations. What are your non-negotiables?

For me, the two things I must have in any close friendship, relationship or partnership are reliability and consistency. This does not mean I need you to talk to me every day, I just need your actions to be consistent. And when you say something I need to be able to believe it. This is what I NEED. And no matter how beautiful and smart you are. How amazingly cool and perfect you are…if you can’t give this to me I have no problems cutting you out of my life. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. There are several people that I have cut out of my life or no longer hold them in such a close space- that I love so dearly and would still do just about anything for them. But I love myself more and I can no longer allow them the same access to my life because they are not willing or able to give me what I need.

I spent my 24^th year breaking down-physically, emotionally and spiritually (more on that later). My “inner-circle” has also been broken down. The states of my relationships have so drastically changed in a years’ time. I am looking forward to building up this coming year. Since I am quite vain I am starting with my body, I have my first Crossfit competition in January. It is all about that core strength aka my abs.

I think I have proven to everybody including myself that I am able to make it alone. I have traveled to foreign countries by myself. I have moved halfway across the country with no friends or family remotely close. I have spent both Christmas and my birthday alone. I go to movies alone. I eat alone. I live alone. Safe to say I can do just about anything by myself and not want or desire another person with me.

I know that for sure.

But what I don’t know is if I can survive with someone else. Could I travel with someone? Could I live with someone? Hell, can I be friends- real friends with someone (I am talking Oprah and Gayle style)? Will I ever allow myself to be able to depend on another human being? The thought of depending on someone else is more terrifying than being alone in the slums of Honduras at night.

I have a habit of saying “No one really matters anyway.” That comment is usually preceded by an expletive.  I had friend who always got mad whenever I said it, she said the comment hurt her. Truth is people matter to me a lot and rather than face the disappointed of no mattering to someone as much as they matter to me, I force myself to believe that no one really matters in my world. I am always ready and expecting people to leave.

So let’s see what 25 has in store. Let it be monumental or unsubstantial. Let it be audacious or low-key. Just let it be.

~Just Tab

It’s Saturday night and I am home alone, just like I was on Friday night. Got invited out by a couple of people, all of which I declined. I left the house today for bread and to walk the dog. I don’t answer my phone. Half the time I turn it off. People keep inviting over for Thanksgiving…I keep declining.

I was thinking…If I could hang out with anyone in Maricopa County today- who would I choose? I realized there would be no one I would choose, there is no one in this county I really care to see or spend time with. There was a time that the answer to this would have been so easy. I would have chosen her with little or no thought. I would have sacrificed sleep just to have talked to her. Gotten out of my bed just to spend 10 minutes with her. Changed my whole day just to see her face. But now…not so much. Honestly, I am debating if I ever want to see her again. It’s not that she has done anything so wrong. I guess I just feel like a kid who believed in Santa Claus with all their heart just to find out there is no North Pole with elves making gifts. That it is just a story they tell children. There is no old man sliding in to chimneys giving gifts to all the good boys and girls. Thankfully, I never believed in Santa Claus, but I did believe in the tale of a forever friend and I know the feeling of someone not being as great and wonderful as you believed them to be to find out what everyone was telling you was a lie. Or maybe this forever friend does exist and I just need to find fault with “friends” to push them away before they leave.

Honestly, I feel sorry for any of you who believe we are friends. I been without heart for a long time. Sooner or later you will figure out this “closeness” you think you have to me is about as real as Santa Claus.

In many ways I grew up shelter from much of popular culture. Most shows like Power Rangers or The Simpsons were considered demonic and I was forbidden to watch them. My parents canceled cable when I was around 6 years old. My only opportunity to watch videos was through “The Box” and that was only if the rabbit ears could get a good signal. Even then I still had to hope that someone would order a good video. My exposure to secular music was pretty low, but my parents did let me listen to Christian rap. I had a DC Talk album. We listen to a ton of Yolanda Adams who I hated for years. My first secular tape was “Gangsta Lean” by DRS. My God sister brought it for me. My first secular CD was the Space Jam Soundtrack, I still remember being in Best Buy when my mother agreed to buy. It was a big deal.

I really don’t know how I came to care about Tupac so much. I guess I heard his music at relatives houses, I remember my older brother having one of his CDs. Somehow I became acquainted with who he was and possibly his music. On Friday September 13, 1996, my siblings and I had a sleepover at my cousin’s house. They made me watch scary movies all night, I was 9 years old. At one point as they were changing the videotape, MTV news came on and stated that Tupac Amaru Shukar was pronounced dead. I don’t even remember knowing he was shot. My young emotional self, immediately begin to cry and call all the adults who number I knew by heart (at 1AM) to tell them the news. For some reason his death affected me so.

As the years went on my interest in him intensified. I spent the summer going into 8^th  grade researching every piece of info on his life and compiling it into my “Tupac book”. I was well versed in all the theories about his death. You name it, I knew it. Every book and article I could find about him I devoured. I remember asking the bus driver in 9^th grade for permission to announce a moment of silence on the anniversary of his death. Part of me wanted to believe he would return after 7 years and that he was living in Jamaica or someplace. I remixed a gospel song “Tupac’s not dead ya’ll, he’s still alive.” I realize that’s a bit sacrilegious, but I was serious about Tupac. I had posters of him in my room until sophomore year in college. That’s when I became too grown for posters. His name was supposed to be my first tattoo. I was 11 waiting to be 18 so I could get a Tupac tat.

I was committed. You think I am obsessed with Oprah, you should have seen me at the height of my Pac-mania.

I am not as obsessive but I am still in love with Tupac and what he represented to my generation. I can trace my “consciousness” to the seeds that were planted because of Tupac’s life and music. In many ways I interact with his  memory on a daily basis in my life. Tupac died at 25 years old. 25 years old. I turn 25 in 3 months and I am wondering what would be my legacy if it all ends there. It is hard to believe that it has been 15 years since Pac walked this earth, but his music remains so relevant today. I just wanted to take some time to pay homage and respect to a man who has played such a vital role in shaping the person that I am today, despite not being physically on this earth.

I can go on for days about my Tupac but I won’t. I am including this first part of an episode of Different World were Tupac guest starred, his energy- his smile was so contagious and beautiful.

RIP Tupac Amaru Shakur June 16, 1971- September 13, 1996

“There can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability; there can be no peace, and ultimately no life, without community.” ~M. Scott Peck 

“When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability… To be alive is to be vulnerable.” ~Madeleine L’Engle 

Hi. My name is Tabitha and I have the incessant fear of being vulnerable. This fear most often plays out in my desire for control and my extreme discomfort of not being in control. If you know me at all, this is nothing new to you. You will rarely, if ever get a call from Tabitha in tears or some extreme emotional state. Despite my mental or physical state my response to “how are you?” is always “I’m good,” because the Tabitha that I prefer to show the world is always good and always in control. I have a tendency to deprive myself of things I enjoy be it food, an activity or even a person just to prove to myself that I do not “need” anything. Since I am far from okay with “feeling” things from a personal stand point, I find myself preferring highly emotional music (i.e. love songs and country music), depressing documentary and tragic romance movies. These have become a safe outlet for me to express emotion without the feelings of weakness or personal connection. I have no personal connection to the dog that died in that random country song or the heart that broke in the movie. This allows me to sympathize without personally feeling that pain.

I have an incredible gift of making others feel very safe, open and vulnerable with me without ever reciprocating the same vulnerability or openness with them. I will give my body, my time, my money before ever considering giving my heart to others. I imagine that many people share my fear of vulnerability and the underlying problem of worth. At our core we all desire to be loved and give love freely. Will others still find us worthy of love if we expose all of us? In my heart I know and feel I am worthy of love. Self-esteem issues have never been associated with “that pretty pretty girl” or “The Great”. So what is keeping me from “tearing” down the walls that prevent me from displaying vulnerability in a real way? My independent nature kept me from a lot of the “peer-pressure” issues that many of my friends fell into, but it is also keeping me from forming real connections with others. I hate the feeling of depending on something, mostly because of the possibility of being let down. We have a way of manifesting both our dreams and fears, the energy I have spent on thoughts that people will let me down have manifest into people letting me down. In two separate occasions this month I feel like I’ve expressed to two members of the “inner circle” of Tab, that I needed them in a specific way- something that rarely occurs, for whatever reason they were not able to provide the support I desired from them. Which only strengthen my resolved of independence and desire of not ever needing to be in a position of “needing” anyone in my life. While I have purposely distanced myself from those two individuals, I do realize they probably do not know how I am currently feeling about them. Perhaps I was not as clear about what role I needed them to play as I thought I was. The mature thing would be to express and discuss these feelings with them, but I rather ignore and repress until I am over the disappointment and resentment.

I really wish I was writing this to tell you that I am actively facing my fear of being vulnerable, but I am not. I will probably continue to speak more candidly Oprah’s life than my own. Sharing random news stories or celebrity gossip rather than giving any tangible news about my life. My answer to “How are you?” will continue to be “I’m good. I’m always good.” I will maintain some aspect of distance from all of those around me, never truly trusting others with all of me. While also realizing that in order for me ever to really grow as a person, friend or lover- I will ultimately have to face those fears of vulnerability.

~Just Tab

I really hate these types of blogs- the emotional/ self-reflective type, but when a girl can’t sleep at 4am her thoughts have to go somewhere. I promise there won’t be much more of these type of blogs…

We pulled into Ft. Pierce a city that holds so many childhood memories for me but is currently more like a ghost town in my head. We passed where R.J. Gators used to be…where the Orange Blossom mall- the place my grandmother would drag me to get dresses and when I was a little older I would go on those Black Fridays after church. I pointed out to my father the direction of a church I remember  being at as a young child for mother’s friend Vicki’s funeral, he told me the direction was right but it was further back closer to my friend’s Tasha house. That brought back whole other set of memories. We picked up my Uncle Allen who was mad at me because I had been ducking his calls for a couple months. I brought back 3 souvenirs from Central America in total, I gave him his shirt and the man’s whole demeanor changed.  I was his favorite niece again. As we drove my father and his older brother would point out things- remember that used to be this or that and blah blah lived there and so and so died then. A few blocks later we pulled up at “Sarah’s Memorial Chapel,” the local black funeral home. As we waited for the funeral director to see us for our appointment my father and uncle talked to the staff about their kin folk. Telling the funeral home director’s nephew how much he looked like his father and asking what his mother was up to now. Small town talk, while I just sat. Mr. Rufus Jerry Alexander III the licensed funeral director was finally ready for us and we went and sat in his office. I would later learn that Rufus used to be my father’s protector from older boys when he walked home from school. This man’s office was filled to the brim with all kinds of “stuff”. There was two couches one directly in front of his desk and another next to it closer to the door as well as a loud AC unit. For the next hour or so he gave us the run down on funeral arrangement, told us about packages, showed us different programs and caskets, flowers and music and gave us price breakdown. While I am able to bet serious money on the fact that I have been to more funerals than anyone reading this, I had never been on the planning side. I sat their quietly watching my father and his brother listen to this man tell them about this casket and that. I thought about how it must feel to know that your mother death is in very near future, I thought about others that I knew personally who were probably in this same room after their mother’s death making the same arrangements. I thought about having to pick out my own parent’s casket. And I really thought about how ridiculously expensive a casket- that people would see for 6 hours max was. Just burn my body and scatter it in the ocean or something and do something useful with the money you save. The man would occasionally say something to me like about getting pictures for a memorial DVD or something technologically related. I had trouble hearing him because of the AC and because I was in my own world. When he finished he gave my father the printout and said he would not put “mother’s” name on it, since we were just talking and she was still with us. We left and dropped my Uncle off at his house. As we drove to my grandfather house my dad pointed out other places in Ft. Pierce. A couple blocks from my Uncle’s house is the site of Zora Neale Huston’s grave. I asked my dad what ever happen to the man who ran into the church and shot a preacher because his wife was spending too much time there. Ft. Pierce is death and long church services to me.

My grandfather was outside in his garage as always. He like my grandmother looks frailer and wearier every time I see them. Once such a big man- I am talking 300pds, my grandfather is now significantly smaller, walks with a cane and very hard of hearing. My father went in to use the bathroom as I open the car door for my grandfather and helped him in. You know I got those pimp skills. We drove to Vero Beach to go see his wife. Each of the previous two times that I have been to the nursing home were on Sundays, I was not prepare for the hustle and bustle of a Tuesday. We signed in and went to her room, the previous times she would be in one of the common areas- never in her room. I think I forgot to say that she was just released from the hospital, part of the reason we came was to talk to the nurse about her status. My grandmother was sleep, her 80-something pounds curled up with some sort of IV wrapped up around her arm. Her hair was white and wild; the picture of frailty.

My grandfather called for her to wake up and asked her did he know who she was. She opened her eyes and just stared at him.

Her eyes got noticeable brighter and she began smiling. Not speaking but just smiling at this man. As he keep repeating “Kayeola, do you know who I is”. I doubt she would have been able to say remember his name, but the love in her eyes and in her smile said she knew who this man was. I am not a fan of marriage for a lot of reasons and most people would see this display and think aww so sweet. It is sweet. But I would never want this in my life. I would never want the person that I been with for years not to have the ability to say my name or not to remember my love’s name. For me this is just one more reason why I never want to get married.

We spent the rest time just hanging in the room. There were several baby dolls in the room, I would later find out they are used for to help Alzheimer patients in “baby doll” therapy. My grandfather held a doll for the whole visit. Remarking how much he liked the doll and how he wanted one. He would tell my grandmother look at his baby, while holding and playing with it. This sounds quite odd but dolls have been shown to be soothing to seniors. Especially those who can no longer take care of themselves, it gives them a sense of importance and responsibility.

My grandmother would occasionally talk but her voice was so low, I could barely hear her. She asked me questioned and what I could not understand I made up in my head. She was on a lot of medication so she would slip back to sleep occasionally. When she was up sometimes she would look at me and just smile. We sat with her or a while, waited for her to go back to sleep and before leaving. I gave her a kiss and left. Very much aware that would quite possibly be the last time I would ever see my grandmother alive.

I posted part one on last Sunday night/ early Monday morning. Monday I talked to my father and he told me they were going to probably put my grandmother in hospice. I had a “sleepover” Monday night.  My guests were asleep in the living room. I was in my bed and glanced at my phone, it was around 7ish in the morning. I had two missed calls, Jeremiah (my brother) and my father. I called Jeremiah back first and the first thing he said was “You talked to dad?” Immediately I knew that my grandmother had passed. I asked “She’s gone?” which he affirmed.

Two weeks to the day that I had last seen her-was the last time and I did know. She was the only grandmother that I have memories of and I am thankful for those memories. I am thankful for my nana. I am grateful that I got to see her and her smile one last time. I am appreciative that she transitioned peacefully. I am exceedingly blessed to have known Kayeola Chester as my nana (Special shoutout to her collard greens).

~JustTab

This version with Anthony Hamilton and The Blind Boys of Alabama is how I remember hearing this song growing up.

However I really like the arrangement that The Staple Singers version uses.

This may be my last time
This may be my last time
It may be my last time i don’t know

I never really understood how real those words were until I got older. Thinking about times I said goodbye to someone not knowing it would be the last time. Then there are the times you say goodbye knowing it is a good possibility that you will never see that person again. While in Central America my father told me that my grandmother, his mother was not doing well. The last time I saw my grandmother was last August before moving to Arizona. She lives in a nursing home about an hour and a half away from my parent’s house. Since she moved there three years ago I have visited three times, the third time being last Tuesday (July 21st). My parents always go on Sundays after church and I have other plans. The drive takes too long. I don’t want to drive alone. My parents never tell me until they are just about to leave. I can come up with a million excuses why I have not seen my grandmother more. But the real reason I don’t go is the woman that I knew as my grandmother is no longer there. The woman who yelled at my brother for pissin’ in the bed or yelled at my grandfather for telling us stories of all his secret white girlfriends. The small but feisty and strong woman, who knew my name has been gone. In her place is this fragile often confused woman who does not know who I am. The last time I saw her, my nana was my college graduation in 2004, but even then she was slipping away from me.

When I went to my parents hotel room after graduation with my friend David, who has since passed away she asked me was he my boyfriend. I just giggled and said “no Nana.” The main reason why she came was to give my grandfather a break, her Alzheimer’s was getting worse.

The following Christmas she came and stayed with us for about a week, to again give my grandfather a break from the constant care she needed. I tell this story a lot- about how my grandmother began complimenting me on my beautiful legs then later ask me did I have a girlfriend. I thought she was asking me if I was gay, I told her no, she smiled and whispered “It’s okay. You can tell me.” It would not be until later I realize she asked me that because she thought I was a boy. My mother will try to explain to her that I was a girl, but she wasn’t believing it. I told my mom it was cool, let her think whatever she wanted. The whole people thinking I am a boy thing has become way too common on this blog, I need to change something. She clearly no longer had the same mind as she did before. She would wake up in the middle of the night asking where “Mr. Charles” (my grandfather) was. I would have to find my dad to calm her down to go to back to bed. Shortly after this visit my grandmother went to live in a nursing home, it was too taxing on my grandfather’s health to care for her anymore. When I became a boy to my nana, I knew I lost her to this disease. The first time I visited her in the nursing home was Memorial Day weekend 2008. Summer 2008 was filled with so many growing pains that it deserves its own volume in the forthcoming autobiography (you know the one I will write when I am rich and successful). But back to my grandmother, my mother and I visited her because my father was gone to Uganda. I had a little bit more hair, but she still thought I was a boy. This time when my mother explained to her I was a girl, she believed it a bit more. She shrugged and said “I guess”.

For whatever reason the next time I went to visit her was August 2010. This time I went with both of my parents one Sunday after church. I would be leaving the area to move to Arizona the following week. I saw a bit of the grandmother I remembered from my childhood. Her feistiness- trying to stop my mother from touching her. “Who is this lady, tell her to leave me alone.” It had been a while since I had seen my grandmother and my father together. They looked so similar. When you can see the mortality of your grandparents the realization of the mortality of your own parents becomes so clear and undeniable. Due to my father’s profession I spent countless Sunday’s visiting people in hospitals and nursing homes. The thing that is the hardest is the look on their face when they realize you are leaving them. My grandmother really did not know who my mother or I was and was pretty annoyed with my mother. I don’t blame her, who would want some strange lady touching her. I do not know if she knew who my father was specifically but she understood he was one of her children or someone close to her and needed to be “distracted” so that he could leave. Nursing homes are hard not just because you have to leave your loved one behind but also because the other people you have to see while you are there. The ones who families never visit, the eyes of the ones barely holding on and the faces of those who seem not sick “enough” to be there. I always feel guilty that she is there and for never coming to see her.

And for proof that mother was annoying my poor grandmother the whole time…

This is actually not what I was planning to tell write, the set up took a bit longer than I anticipated. So think of this as the prequel. Part II will be coming soon. Writing this helps me remember how much things have changed. I completely forgot that I only knew my grandmother as “nana” growing up. As this disease has progress the way I refer to her has become less personal and more distant, just like we have become to each other. I been struggling with how I felt about my grandmother sickness for a while now, this is just my way of sorting it out.

~JustTab

I mostly explored the town, red, ate, went to waterfalls and talked with Emilio. Saturday night I stumbled on some kids break dancing in the park.

One of the reasons I went to Esteli is another couchsurfer’s profile Asha. She works with disabled children and was always looking for volunteers. I accompanied her and her boyfriend (who she had met through couchsurfing and after a month they moved in together) to the school. She does animal therapy so we brought dogs and geinuie pigs for the kids. One of the kids took my camera and took some shots.

Esteli was cool. I really liked Emilio, even though it was different being hosted by a man. We didn’t have the whole men suck thing to bond over. Instead we talked about music, race and class. Oh and the uselessness of marriage. Sunday after visiting the waterfall, I headed to Leon.

I stayed with Carlos, who Asha’s boyfriend Rudy put me in contact with him. I found Carlos easily enough. He was tall and he walked in front of me, giving me a chance to check out his muscular back and swag. He rents rooms and was in between two houses. He showed me where I would be staying and we walked to the other house, along the way he found a stray kitten. He has 5 animals at the second house, glad I wasn’t staying there.

I wanted to volcano board and do a 2-day trek while in Leon. When I first heard of volcano boarding my first reaction was “White people already making up new ways to die”. But I saw some pictures and it look safe enough. Yeah, the volcano was “active” but it hasn’t gone off since 1995. I get to the place Monday morning, earlier enough to eat breakfast there. As I was eating breakfast I notice this girl with this huge burn on her arm. I got a bit nervous looking at it. So I asked her if she got that volcano boarding. She replies “Yes, I am Sarah and I will be your guide for the day.” I got really nervous. She said she does it every day and she is bound to have scrapes and bruises, but I should be fine. Before leaving I got an email on my phone (shout out to wi-fi on BB’s) informing me of a deadline for a book review for a journal I agreed to do in March. Life was calling. Eventually our group of 20 begins to boards the truck for the bumpy 45 min ride to Cerro Negro. Once at the base of the mountain they threw us bags with our “protective gear” and plywood boards. I don’t think any of us realize that we had to carry our boards up the volcano.  The next hour and half was physically the toughest experience of my trip. It was hot. The terrain was rough. The sun was beating our faces and the heat from the active volcano was on our feet. There was a certain way we had to hold the boards so that it wouldn’t get to hot on the paneling before we got to board. We stop a few times to rest, which gave me time to really think about the intelligence of my decision. Oh and I really had to use the bathroom. She would tell us random facts about volcanoes and the area- I felt like I was in the Volcano episode of the Magic School Bus- auctually traveling inside the volcano. We were able to look inside of craters. I could feel my head pounding from the heat and my clothes were soaked as we walked. Eventually we made it to the point where we would be boarding. She led some others to another point of the volcano, since I felt like I was dying I stay put and waited for them to return. Oh, while we were walking she pointed to another volcano close by that erupted 2 weeks ago with people on it. Why was I on this active volcano again. Poor Sarah everyone in our group was punks. As she explained how the record was 86 km per hour, all we cared about how did we go slow. Apparently she believed our goal was to go ridiculously fast and break this 86 km per hour record, we did not agree. We went in groups of 2, the first couple of groups sucked- taking forever to get down. Sarah called this the worst day ever. I don’t know why she was so annoyed- she was still getting paid. When it was my turn, I did ok. I was going really fast, but the faster you go the harder it is to stay centered and not flip over. I flipped twice. When I got to the bottom I discovered my “injury”. Hopefully my pretty legs aren’t scarred for life. They passed out cheap beer and these tasty cookies at the end. I don’t drink beer, but it was cold and I was hot. I had about a quarter of the beer before throwing it out. Pretty sure they called it Cerro Negro because everyone is black after that mountain. I am about 4 shades darker and my bra was full of black gravel.

Once back at the hostel they had mojitos waiting on us. I stopped drinking liquor about 3 years ago. But I was thinking I need to stop placing limits on myself, all these rules on what Tab does and not does not do needs to go. Plus the mojitos were free. So I had one. This mojito was probably made of the cheapest rum and reminded me why I don’t drink liquor- I don’t like the taste. I eventually made it back to the place I was staying. I was tired from the mojito, the sun and the hiking. Carlos was there telling me something about him leaving for Managua and what was my plans. How long would I be in Leon? At this point I was over my desire to go on a 2-day hike, so I told him I was leaving the next day. Of course I had no idea where I was going. I woke up from my nap still feeling sick. I had a book to read and a review to write. I figured I would go to the beach and stay there for a couple days. No internet. No distractions. Woke up the next day still sick. About 20 minutes before I was about to leave to go to Las Penitas. I decided I was over packing my stuff and moving every 2 days. I researched how much it would be if I changed my flight and decided it was too expensive. So I decided to take my but to Managua, the capital and the city I would be flying out of and just chill until it was time to go. I haven’t really had the energy or desire to do much in the city. The first night I was here the transformer blew and I was without electricity for 24 hours. I spent the second night still ridiculously sick. I woke up about 4x throughout the night to use the bathroom. I was tired so I never turn the lights on but the first time I noticed some water on the floor. The second time the floor seemed a bit wetter and I thought I should put on shoes. The third time I turn on the lights and saw that the pipe to the toilet overflew, which not only got the floor in the bathroom wet but also parts of the room.  My jacket, socks and a couple of other things got soaked in this lovely water. Since I was feeling weak and sick I went back to bed, opting to deal with the mess later. Of course my stomach issue awoke me a 4^th time, I decided to just stay up and wait for the hotel owner to wake up. He gave me another room and washed my stuff that got wet. So why was I sick? I blame it on heat exhaustion from volcano boarding, cheap bear/liquor and me eating everything people made for me. For a while I thought I was low key lactose intolerant, I am pretty sure of that now. Central America and their affinity for milk and cheese have not been good to my stomach. I felt the healthiest ever when I was vegan. I am off meat again and will be veganish until I finished those frozen girl Scout cookies in my fridge in AZ. I decided to stop eating out. I went to supermarket and made dinner Thursday and Friday night and breakfast in the  morning. Thursday night’s pasta was vegan, no animal products used! I was tired of eating greasy mess and I am grown, all grown people should be able to cook for themselves. Still not at my best but feeling a little better. I am still having these chest pains. Finished the book, now on to writing the review. Went and saw a performance at the National Theatre last night. More about that and me not being a man here. Shout out to the trannie prositutes I encountered when I left. My flight leaves here at 1:11 Sunday morning. I pretty much have a whole day to kill. I ended up not meeting up with anyone from CS here in Managua because I am really not that social. I had my fill of meeting new foreigners. I am really ok with…

~JustTab

I had trouble understanding his Spanish because he was a bit intoxicated. I would later find out that he was the first person she ever hosted through couchsurfing. They have been together for a year. So I guess CS is a good way to find love. It was late but she took me to get some baleadas- traditional Honduran food. When we got back I wondered where I would be sleeping. She made me a pallet on the floor. Ok. I can do this. To the left of me was a big outdoor grill and to the right of me was Cudot and Gaby’s bed.

The next day consisted of me helping them with the golf park and signing up for a snorkeling tour for the following day. The golf park actually looked pretty nice. They plan to open it in a couple of weeks. Sorry, Atira they are pretty much done so I can’t design a hole.

The first place I went to didn’t have enough people for a tour the next day, so I signed up with Garifuna Tours which had 2 other people on their list. Gaby had mention in her correspondence that her friend was coming, Delny arrived that afternoon. The second night I slept on the floor with Delny. Ok. Different. I can still do this. 4 people in one room is not excessive. I slept in the bed with 5 people in college (David K., Dorian, Ke’herra and Kristin). On Valentine’s night I slept in the bed with my L.P. her son and 5 dogs.

The next morning when we woke up Gaby made us all breakfast and I headed out for my tour. When I arrived at the spot there was a large group of college aged U.S. Americans paying to go on the tour. I quickly learned that they were returning from a month of missionary work in rural Honduras. I am not the biggest fan of missionaries, even though my parents have done missionary work as recently as last month. I’m actually quite opinionated on this subject. I think as a whole historically missionaries have done more harm than good, especially on the continent of Africa. I could go further in how civilizing and “saving” Africans were ways that enslavement of African people was justified. I really never got the whole “saving” aspect of being a believer in Christ. I never really spend time with missionaries. Of course, my parents and other friends of mine have been to various countries performing religious missionary work. But I know them as people first and not “missionaries”. Plus Rev. Dr. Daddy has become quite accustomed to my rants about Europeanized Christianity. I honestly think the most effective way to get someone attention is not by telling them why they are wrong, thumping the bible at them or arguing your case- just be about it, live what you are saying. I can honestly say this is what this group did at least the short time I was around them. Amazingly beautiful and open people, they were the epitome of letting your light shine. I feel blessed to have met them and I glad I was open instead of immediately shutting down because I have some ethical issues with “missionaries”.

Back to the day trip. We took a boat from Tela to Punta Sal, which is an island and a national park.

The water magically changed to a beautiful aqua color as sailed to our destination.

The beaches in Tela could use a serious cleaning. When we arrived we were immediately greeted by jellyfish. We saw about 3 when we got close to shore, as we past the place where we would be snorkeling later that day. We saw a school of them- 15-25.

We were told the likely hood of us snorkeling was very low that because the jellyfish were hogging the reef. When we finally docked we took a hour hike into the jungle to be feasted on by mosquitoes. We saw nice big poisonous spiders random and random hybrid fruit (avocados that smell like licorice). The highlight were the monkeys, the guide had us all clap our hands together. Which made the monkeys roar and swing from the tree.

We got back on the boat, to investigate the snorkeling area once again. We saw one. However a brave soul name Adrain decided he would snorkel any way and jumped off the boat.

The rest of us went to the shore and got did a lil swimming away from the reef. While I love the beach I rarely get in the water. I can count maybe one other time I was in the ocean in the last 7 years. Adrain came back and claimed he didn’t see any jellyfish but he saw all these amazing fishes and corals. So we all decided to go. It was nice. But after about 10-15 min I remembered I was black, I can’t really swim, there were jellyfishes in the water and I didn’t have my glasses on so I was kinda blind. The shore seem far off and they were swimming farther away.

I returned. Eventually we all left for another part of the island to have lunch-plantains, fish, rice and beans. I gave my fish away. All was well as we prepared to leave. No one wanted their life vest on because they were wet and sandy, thankfully the people insisted. We ran into some kind of ridiculous storm on the way back. Rain and wind. The top of the boat kept trying to come of it. The missionaries were loving it but me and the other passengers-not so much. I was wet and cold. Once we got close to Tela we had to jump off the boat and push it, not fun.

While I do not generally like people, people generally like me- especially when the first meet me. Of course the missionaries would be captivated by my charm and invite me to have dinner with them. It was their last night in Honduras before going back home. The dinner was fun. The girls were so nice and cute and just excited about life. The missionaries insisted on taking me home after dinner. They all piled in the van to take me to Gaby’s house. I was thinking these people are going to think I am crazy…sleeping in a place with a metal door! When we approach the place Gaby was throwing a bottle out the door which was only partially closed and a little boy kept throwing it back in. The missionaries were all like…so this is where you are staying?!?! When the door was fully open I noticed two more people. These skinny white girls with dreadlocks. I said goodbye to the missionaries and went inside. I quickly learned that these girls had stayed with Gaby previously and just came back from the Bay Islands. One was from Spain and the other from Argentina due to the cuddling I noticed later that night I think they might have been a couple. Anyways there were now six of us sleeping in that one room. An mattress suddenly appeared for me to sleep on. Delny left at 4am to catch her bus to San Pedro Sula for work. I left at 5:30 am to go to La Ceiba, the air mattress lost most of its air during the night.

La Ceiba is about 2 hours away. Once there I took another bus to the Omega Jungle Lodge. A eco-friendly lodge ran by some Germans. They had an outdoor solar power shower, a fresh-water chemical free pool and toilets where you could actually flush the paper.

It was 30 min outside of town so if you were going to eat- you had to eat there. The reason I was there was to go white-water rafting. For a person who does not do water- this was a big deal. We went the following morning, my group of 5 were divided into 2 boats with a guide on each. They taught us how to paddle, terms and made us jump off to practiced saving/getting saved. Then we were off. It rained the night before which allowed us to raft about 4KM more than the previous’s day group. We all had on life vest and helmets. It was so much fun “riding the rapids”, eventually we got to this rock. They told us to get off and jump. I was told them I was  sorry I am Black, I don’t do things like that. After much peer pressure I climbed up and jumped with my glasses tied to head with string. My first time jumping off of anything. I did not die. Later towards the end of the river there was another rock. This one was 6m the first was 2m. The South African lady and I were the only ones who decided to try. I was nervous as hell and she was so calm- until it was time for her to jump. It took her about 5 min before she jumped. I was quoting bible verses for her to give her courage. She did it! Then it was my turn. I was up there for about 10 min talking to the guy about what to do and what not to do. He kept telling me I had to stay straight when I jumped or else I would hit another rock. I was repeating EVERY bible verse I knew. “For God has not given us the spirit of fear…” I really really wanted to do but my shaking legs would not jump. I am sure I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me bout he was not giving me much strength. Eventually I jumped off a lower part of the rock about 3m. I came up coughing/ choking because I swallowed water. But hey I jumped- my 2^nd jump ever! You don’t have to be proud of me but I am proud of me. We came back and I took a shower in the outside shower- perfect. I will have an outside shower in my home. We ate lunch together and I left for La Ceiba.

I spent the night there before my 7.5 hour ride to Tegus, the capital. I ended up sending a last minute message to some people on couchsurfers as I used Pizza hut’s wifi to have dinner and drinks. The girl responded and agree to meet me. She, her friend and I all went for dinner and drinks. It was fun. I got back at 1 am and was locked out my dingy hotel. I had to bang to get in. The next morning I left for Nicuragua. Here I am staying with Emilio. Who is Emilio? Well he owns a Mexican restaurant and lives in a REAL house!

All in all Honduras was cool, besides their Taxi drivers who all try to rip me off.

~JustTab

Randomness: On the bus to Tela we stopped for dinner. I walked into the bathroom and this woman comes up behind me and says. “Esta bano es por mujers, el otro bano es por hombres.” I pointed to my “breast” which are pretty non-existent with my sports bra (I am actually wear bra’s here) and smiled. When I wasn’t being mistaken for a man I was being told how beautiful I was…

The development and house that Carmen lived at looked like any other gated community that I have visited. El Salvador even uses American currency as their official currency. Everything I was doing, I could pretty much do at home. Carmen wanted me to stay another day, but I decided I wanted to visit Suchitoto. This town is away from the big city, safer and historic. Since watching the film “Innocent Voices,” I have been really interested in the civil war in El Salvador. The U.S. spent over a million dollars a day for years supporting the El Salvadorian army. Currently, with the massive influx of American franchises and businesses it is easy to see why the USA had such a vested interest in El Salvador. As I shed my Republican/Capitalist skin, I have been embracing my leftist and socialist side. I still really like George W….sue me. Suchitoto was a major stronghold for the FMLN, the guerilla forces who fought against the army during the civil war.

Noble intentions, right? Now for the part of the story that’s a short chapter in my “This is what you don’t do” book. Tuesday morning Carmen dropped me off at the bus station. I left my water bottle in her car, I am still upset about that. It was so perfect and my favorite color pink. Sadly, it was the wrong bus station, so I had to take another bus to the right station. So imagine me and my HUGE backpack and my smaller back on my stomach waiting at the bus stop along with all the other El Salvadorians going to work or whatever. As much as I like to show off my strength (see the million pictures of me picking up random people) carrying mi mochilla- which probably weighs at least 45 pds around with me is no fun and I think it marks me as a target. I might as well walk around with a fanny pack and Lonely Planet. This guy approaches me, David. He told me where to go, about how he used to live in the U.S., his divorce from his American wife and his job. Of course this ended with him giving me his number and telling me how he wants to take me out. David was pretty cute and under different circumstance he could have got it. In Guatemala, I rarely got approached by men. As I go further down south, this is changing-rapidly; this might have something to do with people getting darker and “curlier” hair.

I finally got to Suchitoto, with no place to stay. I had a vague idea about where I could possibly stay, the options were pretty limited. It was either really cheap ($7-15) or really expensive ($75-200) a night. I went with the cheap. Vista Al Lago. It got pretty decent reviews, but I should have thought about the source Lonely Planet. I think those books are written for an audience that is dirty and a bit punkish. Their idea of clean or unsafe is not exactly the same as mine. My room was basically a wooden box, with a fan and a bad light and no windows. The bathroom was outside, but was fairly clean. The owners were really nice and the view was good.

I spent the rest of the day exploring the town, mailing postcards and getting my tour set up for the next day. After this I went to this cyber café to plan my life or my next move. I wanted to leave El Salvador, for the capital city in Honduras. There was a theatre festival going and Thursday was the final day. Since I stayed in Guatemala an extra day I missed my chance to see a play in El Salvador. I basically had 2 options to get to Honduras.

1. To leave directly after my horseback tour for the Honduras border using a series of “public” buses to make it to the border. Once in Honduras try to make it as close as possible to the capital before calling it a day. I researched places to stay at various place en route to the capital. The problem with this is no one could tell me how long it would take me to get the border.
2. Go back to San Salvador after the horseback tour and try to catch the last “luxury” direct bus leaving for the Honduran capital. If I missed that bus I could stay another night with Carmen. Maybe go out dancing or something. Then take a direct bus from San Salvador to Honduras at 5am. I would still be able to catch the final performance of the festival.

While I was using the internet another woman came in. After I a while I decided to ask her eat with me. You know the whole hating to eat alone thing, plus I always need to practice my asking out skills. Her name was Kelly or something she was from England and was spending a year in Central America. We went to a bar that was owned by a man who parents were guerilla soldiers. The bar was covered with Che, FMLN, Socialist and leftist poster. He told us more about the war, which got me more excited about my tour the next day. It was pitch black as I walked back to my room. When I got to my room I started rethinking my decision to stay there. I Lysoled the sheets but was still not happy with cleanliness of them, so I slept in my sleeping bag. I didn’t want to shower or use the bathroom because I did not want to meet the animals that might be outside at night. I had to listen to my audiotape of Maya Angelou to fall asleep. I woke up at 5am, with the urgent need to use the bathroom. It wasn’t until 6 am that I had the courage to use the bathroom. It was cold in the morning and I did not have the desire to shower in the cold water outside. So I got dressed, packed and read until it was time to get picked up for the horseback riding tour. I figured I would eat later.

I don’t know why I thought a 5hr tour on a horse was a good idea. 5 hrs on anything is too much let alone a horse. Saddles were either not designed for women or designed to be a torture device for women. As good as I am at riding and I am pretty darn good, I think I prefer to be ridden. The tour was informative, I liked my guide. My horse, Katrina was slow as molasses and prefer to eat grass rather than walk.  We were riding through the jungle. At some points there was no path in my opinion, just trees and branches with the desire to harm me. Of course Katrina did not make it any easier, I swear she was trying to get me hurt. I got scratched by branches and Katrina ran my knee into a tree…I bled. After 3 hrs I was uncomfortable on the horse that I pretty much tuned everything out. I was also thinking about a possible scar that could be forming on my sexy legs. When we finally made it back, I was sore.

Still had not made a decision on what I was going to do next. After returning to town and getting my stuff I decided to make a run for the border. I knew I wouldn’t make the bus in San Salvador and I did not want to ask Carmen to wake up at 4am to take me the bus station. I left at 2pm took 2 buses and made it to the border at 5:30pm. I spent most of this time waiting for the busses to come. It should have taken me no more than 2 hrs if I didn’t have to wait on buses so much.

When I got to the area before the border, this kid took me on his bicycle contraption through immigration and border security for a $1. I then took a cab to the bus station in the town. I knew that there was a “direct” bus to Tegus that left there at midnight and since all the buses to other towns had stopped for the day I decided this was my best option. Now this is where stupidity takes over. I decided this was smarter than staying in a hotel and leaving early the next morning. I could just stay at the bus station!  Think about how pretty I am, I cannot possible be smart as well. I brought my ticket from this older toothless fellow name Luis. Then went to find food, at this point its 6:30pm and I have not eaten since 8pm the day before. The food I got was disgusting and greasy and nasty. I went back to the bus station. I thought the restaurant in the hotel next to/ attached to the ticket office was the waiting area. It was not. The waiting area was this semi covered area between the restaurant and the ticket office. In the back was a hotel, which seemed more like apartments and the front faced the street. This is where I was going to spend the next few hours. Then Luis came over started talking to me, about how nice and pretty I was. And where the “morenas” lived in Honduras and how much he likes morenas. He asked if I had a boyfriend. I told him yes. I learned to say yes to this question after a man repeatedly told me “Me gusta tu” as I waited for a bus earlier, followed by an invitation to his house. He told me it didn’t matter if I had a boyfriend when I was abroad. Luis was a little more touchy feely then I am comfortable with. This is when I started to think about the intelligence of my decision to stay at a bus station all night. At some point Luis goes back to the office. This other comes around and starts talking to me. He says he is going to clean one of the busses outside. I try to lay down on the chairs as I listen to music. He comes back shirtless and asks me if I wanted to sleep on the bus with him. “No, gracias. Estoy bien.” I tell him. I am starting to feel real vulnerable. I won’t say I forget that I am a girl sometimes, because I don’t. I always feel like a girl. However, I often forget how the world views my femaleness, particularly men. Just because I feel/ think I look asexual, does not stop others from sexualizing me. Many men worldwide have the tendency to believe that women are here solely for their pleasure. After all God did make Eve for Adam right? This tendency to see women as here for them sometimes makes men believe they can do whatever they want with us. Scary thought. Especially when one is alone in foreign country being approached by men who language and customs one is not familiar with. I am always reminded that a Black woman can not be raped.

I started thinking about my L.P. who always has a huge knife with her. Whenever we are hiking or going to see a play, she reminds me she has it in case someone acts up. She took ot her huge blade as I was paying for parking at ASU, I kept telling her she was scaring the white people. If I am going somewhere alone, she asks me if I want her knife. I always make fun of her knife. Suddenly, carrying a knife seemed pretty darn smart. I go back in the room where my bag was being kept and slyly found my knife and put it in my pocket. I was ready to cut somebody if anyone tried me! Luis left at 9:30. They shut off most of the lights and closed the area that led to the street. I was secure in the sense that no one could come off the streets and get me, but unsecure in the sense that I was pretty much locked in. I waited from 7-12:30 am for the bus to come. Once the bus came it was already pretty packed and not the cleanest vehicle. This was supposed to be a direct bus. Their definition of direct was very different than mine. It was supposed to take 9hrs. It took 12 hrs. We were always stopping either to let people off/get people or for the police to search the bus. I would wake up randomly to 4 police men on the bus. It was hot and nasty. Most people would use the side of the road for bathrooms. The places we stopped with bathrooms were disgusting. I longed for the mini-America of El Salvador and Carmen’s 3/2 cookie cutter home. There were always people coming on the bus trying to sell us random food and drinks. I am sorry, but I am not buying fruit or tamales off people who carry them on their head all day. At one place we stopped there was a black guy selling stuff. He immediately started telling me about how he used to live in the states but his baby mama got him deported for child support. He then went on to tell me about how God told him he needed a woman like me in his life…um ok.

I finally got to Tegus around 1pm. I had not showered since Monday night. If cleanliness is next to godliness, I was kicking it with the devil fa sho. No food since the crap I ate the night before. I got to hotel. Took a hot shower! Hot! I haven’t had a steamy hot shower since I been here. Put on a nice clean dress. Felt so fresh and so clean. Back to being next to godliness. Then went directly to a Pizza Hut which I have been craving since I had some in Guatemala City, my first in years. I went back to my room and slept. You know in a bed. Not next to somebody in hot dirty bus.

Once I got up I headed to the National Theatre of Honduras “Teatro Nacional Manuel Bonilla” for the final performance of the festival. I have been dying to see a live performance here. I kind of enjoy theatre, just a bit. I have only spent the majority of my short life being involved in some aspect of it. I was not concern about not really speaking Spanish because good acting (and bad acting) conquers language barriers. Also the name of the festival was “Encuentro Centroamericano de Mimo,” it focused on mime performance-which made the language difference mismo. The only issue I had was with the last piece that was very language heavy, angry and very confusing. The show started late, so I spent that time writing a very confusing and abstract letter to my parents about “life”. I am still writing letters, even out here. I have sent about 14 letters and 5 postcards. Take a wild guess who has gotten 3 letters and 1 postcard from me so far. Anyway the show was good. The theatre was old, historic and beautiful. People brought their children, Me encanta familias en teatros. I wish I had my camera, I took some shots with the Blackberry though.

Apparently people are told not to use flash photography in theatres in Central America.  So was it worth it? Being on a bus for half a day, not eating or showering for hours upon hours… I am reminded of the lyrics to one of the songs in A Chorus Line “I won’t forget, I can’t regret what I did for love.”

Lessons learned. I am sure there are more but this is all I could think of now…

1. As down as I am with the people. I refuse to take transportation “common” people can afford to take on destinations more than 5 hours away. My republican side takes over and I can’t be chilling all dirty. If I took the “luxury” bus that was 2.5x as much I would I have arrived at the same time and they serve meals on there!
2. I am woman. That makes me vulnerable to the sexual advances of men. I will keep my blade close. As I typed this its clip to inside of my jeans. Very easy access.
3. Don’t try and “spend” a night in a bus station.

I am done with Tegus. I arrived in Tela Friday. It’s on the Carribbean side of Honduras. I am ready to chill at the beach. Sunday I am going snorkeling. I won’t lie, I am kind of excited to see some dark skin people with nappy hair like me. I like think that a lot of my life and what I do channels Zora Neale Hurston. The whole father being a pastor, growing up in Flordia and being brilliant…she sounds just like me! Zora did a lot of anthropological work in Haiti (check) and Honduras (check)- she was one of the first to do work all over the diaspora on African people. Once again I will try to find out more about the Garifuna and other African descended people in Central America, it didn’t go so well in  Guatemala. I am staying with Gaby and her boyfriend. Who is Gaby? Well according to her profile she is building Tela’s first mini-golf park…

~Just Tab

The biggest shout out to the Creator, God, Allah, Jesus the Christ, Oshun, Shango, Saint Peter, etc. for keeping me safe. It ain’t nothin’ but the blood, grace and mercy that keeps me safe.