Today is February 21, 2010 and I would like to talk about humans. However my talk is the cliff notes version.... Just simple thoughts.
I am an American girl with values from all around the world. I have lived in the states my whole life apart from one year when I lived in Morocco. While living in Africa I traveled to Spain many of times, Switzerland, and England. I must admit that I decided to move to Morocco for selfish reasons, but I left with a better perspective on the world and the people who live in it.
Before I can share my opinion of the people I have crossed paths with, I must introduce you to myself.
My story begins before I was even born:
I didn't know that I was meant to be a “worldly” person. I never knew that I was meant to understand the differences and, more importantly, the similarities of people. I like to believe that my fate started when my mother conceived me. See my mother, she is Caucasian and Irish. She comes from an Irishman that has a love for a good beer and a White American woman with a love of tending to family. My mother was always expected to marry; that was the expectation of her era. However she did not marry, but she fell in love. She fell in love with a black man, my father. Then I came along.
Jumping forward a bit: As a bi-racial kid, I knew I was different. When I was in grade school the kids were still separate. The white kids hung out with the white kids and the black kids with the blacks. I didn't know where to go. Name calling was not unusual by both groups. It was very common in a days time to get called a nigger by my white classmates and an oreo by the black kids. I never knew where to go...so I just listened and watched. It wasn't too longer before I realized how similar the two groups were; they all wanted the same thing.
Summers would go by and I would spend them out in the country with my grandparents. I would wake up every morning to the smell of eggs and biscuits in the oven. Hang clothes on the line in the evening with my grandmother and snuggle by the fire place at night with my grandfather. My grandmother used to my hair straighten and I always wondered why she didn't like my curly hair? I found out years later she straightened my hair b/c she owned a ceramic shop in a town where the chief of police was apart of the KKK...if people found out I was half black my grandparents would have hell to pay. So each summer I had straight hair, and blue eyes. The eye color is real however, I think that is the only reason that the lie was halfway believable. I mean what Negro could have blue eyes? Anyways, as the years past people started to find out my real background. My grandparents lost customers, I lost friends, and that is the real reason why my grandfather kept a shot got in each corner of the house. But apart from all the lost connections my grandparents and I still had one thing that we would never lose.
My blessing was my curse....
Life started to make more sense:
The first lesson: It was a cold night. About 11:30p. A friend used to hand out food to the homeless in my city. He wasn't with a group, and he did it on his own time. He would drive to some chicken joint, buy lots of chicken, and take it to homeless people on the street. He asked me to join him one night. That night, was a turning night for me. The people on the street were all different. Some white, some black, some young, old, fat, some skinny yet they all had one thing in common: they were human. I didn't get to hear any of their stories. Mostly b/c I was scared. This was the first time I interacted with people who weren't like me. But I knew that underneath dirt, the old clothes, the soiled blankets, they wanted what every human wants: love.
The second lesson: I had made it to Africa. Yeah! No more problems, no more bad weather, no more bills, just fun fun fun for one whole year. I had plans to do everything. I wanted to take holidays while on a holiday. I wanted to go to the ocean everyday. I wanted to dance with Spanish. Well I did all of that and no doubt it was fun, but before that I learned a little more about life and myself and most importantly people.
Moroccans are not like Americans. Moroccans smile, they smile about life. They smile b/c they put food on the table. Not some big fancy meal, but rice and maybe a meat. They smile b/c they got their hair cut. They smile b/c they had the opportunity to have a guest at their house. They smile b/c the sun was shinning. On average Moroccans live on about 30$ a month. Now 30 bucks will get you a lot. I went to the grocery store(while in Morocco) and spent 20$ on that trip....the food I got lasted me for two months. The point is life is simple for them. The men wear Nike shirts and torn pants. The women wear traditional Moroccan clothing and/or what we know as rags with a ha-jib(head scarf)...however nobody complains. They work hard and try to marry their children off in the hopes of giving them a better life. Nobody complains about the lack of money, nobody complains about the lack of resources, b/c they want and have what every human wants: love.
I am an American girl and I will always be an American girl. I was different before I was even born. I have values of an American, Englishman, African, Spanish etc. I no longer let my confusion stand in the way of learning. My blessing is no longer my curse rather a wonderful teacher. I have let people from all walks of life show me that underneath it all, we are the same. I am in American girl and I want what every human wants: love.
