I was walking near the warehouse’s in the Bronx. I held the door open for a business owner and guess what he gave me?
A huge chunk of natual African Black Soap along with an eight ounce bottle of shampoo.
It’s my first time at Bay Plaza Mall. All the people here look like me, so I feel welcomed but not exactly at home. It’s a weird feeling. The building and its structure does not give me the feeling of pride, like if my people have arrived. Some of the stores are the same stores that once did not allow my people to enter or at least its workers seemed to dislike my people. And, even though they are now in my neighborhood, close to home, it seems things are still the same.
I look up to see Macy’s. I was never a fan of Macy’s. It was never an option. Now, it is, being much closer to home.
But something about this mall in all its glory and lights, is depressing. It really is.
I walk into Aldo shoe store and watch a store clerk tell a young lady the shoes really are one hundred and fifty dollars. The young lady places them back. It wasn’t the only time in the mall when I watched people put things back because of their prices.
Then I remember, this mall reminds me of a mall I went to in Argentina. A mall that was placed in a poor neighborhood. The people could only window shop.
However, in this case, these people are still buying. Could they afford the items? Well in America, you can dress up like you are a part of a different class, even if you are not in that class. Poor people don’t always look poor. In America, you can shop like you are happy with your financial situation.
There are plenty of people with bags. They seem to be proud of their bags. They carry them with long necks and talked with wide smiles. The names on the side of the bag seem to matter more than the items in the bag. American Eagle. Gap. Aeropostale. Victoria’s Secret.
I didn’t shop. I couldn’t shop. So, I told my sisters they could go on without me. I sat down and tried to get a hold to my thoughts.
When I sat down, I thought about what I saw as soon as I entered the mall. I did not see the long lines or the big stores with their big names. I only saw the images of the model and those huge pictures in the windows. Almost all the pictures were of white women, white men, and white children. All the people around me were different shades of brown. The people shopping and the people working were all brown but the pictures hanging in the stores showed almost only white people.
I saw a handful of white people at the mall. I even saw a white janitor and one white worker. There were some white people shopping.
But for the most part, I see a sea of brown. They run the mall but they don’t own the mall. Those who run the mall place their images up, to remind us who run the mall, who really owns it.
Today we went to a lecture by Ezequiel Adamovsky. (nice name right?)
The place where we went is called La Cazona De Flores and while I don’t understand fully why it’s so significant I do know that it is where a lot of learning takes place and many educators such as writers and authors give speeches there.
To welcome us into the place was an anthropologist named Nicolas Fernadez. He sat us down and told us a little history about La Cazona De Flores. It was an upper class house full of paintings owned by a rich family. However, when the city begin to grow, the neighborhood swallowed up the smaller rich neighborhood.
Now it’s an open space used for studies. He told us that It connects study courses with employment. I guess that’s the equivalent to an internship. “The house has achieved prestige among the intellectuals, he commented, and the neighborhood of Flores is associated with Afro-Argentine families.” I think this means a lot, but currently I am not sure why I think this.
Fernadez switched the topic to race in Argentina and I jotted down some of his quotes that I thought were intriguing:
The meaning of race has been a challenged myth of the country since the beginning
The problem with the stereotypes is not that they are false but incomplete.
Education and violence is what constructed the nation and the false ideas that race doesn’t exist
If you want to evolve, leave your ethnicities behind
The difference is the resistance of the people and how change comes (his comment in regards to other nations and their response to inequalities)
During the discussion, we spoke about how the government is in control of maintaining the history of Argentina and telling the history of Argentina. He then showed us the 100 peso. There are currently two circulating. One of them, the older one, has the father of the disappearance on it, Julio Argentino Roca (we spoke a little bit about him at the Recoleta Cemetery) and the other peso has Maria Eva Duarte De Peron picture’s on it.
One thing I take for granted in America is the fact that I am noticed. What I mean is, in America I have the privilege of seeing people who share my skin color and hair texture in the media everyday. I can list a slew of black actors and actresses and radio personal. Heck, the president and I share the same skin tone!
However, in Argentina I felt lost. I looked at ads and passed newspaper stands slowly hoping to see a black face on at least one cover. At least a beautiful Indigenous person, but never was I satisfied.
When I saw the above ad I thought about the many pictures circulating in America that are set up the same way- 5 close up shots- but it is set up to show diversity of some sort. Not just 5 white men.
I didn’t like that there was very little diversity in Argentina. Very Little.
When you are traveling, the longer you stay away from home, the more you begin to get used to where you are staying. It is usually in the beginning of your stay, while your brain is still making the adjustments, that you learn the most (about the people and the place) with great eagerness.
I went to three fairs while in Argentina and before each fair Dr. Anderson encouraged us to talk to the merchants and try to bargain with them- not shake them down- but make fair bargains with them.
I made great bargains at all the fairs but it was at the Plaza Francia Fair I was able to not only buy two shawls at a great price but to connect with the sales lady and learn the meaning of the indigenous people’s flag.
Each square and each color means something within the universe and more importantly, the meanings also have a lot to do with the women’s body. This is what I picked up:
the white square means the women
the yellow square means the children
the orange square means the youth
the red square means the men
the purple square means the knowledge of the Elderly people
the blue square means the knowledge of the cosmos or universe
and the green square is the earth
The 7 colors represents the 7 days and in total there are 49 squares. 4+9= 13. The 13 represents the 13 months of the year of the original people. They don’t / didn’t have 12 months. It’s 13 months because each month has 28 days like the cycle of the women. There are also 13 bones in the column and 1+3 = 4 which stands for north, south, east and west.
The flag also stands for the elements of life: fire, water, air and the earth. The top of the flag stands for the head, the two sides stands for the hands and bottom for the feet. In the original language, feet and earth meant the same thing.
The center of the flag stands for the connection of the earth to the unborn babies and the harmony of the earth and 4 elements.
I think I may have missed something in translation so I made a video of her teaching me and posted it on youtube.
When my sister invited me to the 33rd Annual Making Brooklyn Bloom event, I didn’t know what to expect. Little did I know, Karen Washington, an urban farmer and food justice activist, who also sits on the board of the Mary Mitchell Center (where I work) was going to be the Keynote Speaker.
As time moved on, everyone in the Coffee Palm House (where most of the congregation gathered) conversation switch over to one main question, ‘are you going to the Keynote address’.
I didn’t know who the speaker was and I thought for sure I didn’t care. I was not planning to go until someone said, Karen Washington is speaking. I looked blankly at him and said, Oh, I know her. I should have said, I know of her.
Until then, I had only knew her on the surface. Even though I’ve seen her around the Mary Mitchell Center and at different events, our paths didn’t cross much. I knew her enough to know her name, face and had distant memories of her.
My ‘don’t care attitude’ became an automatic yes. I was eager to know who she really was and why so many people were excited to hear her speech.
I can’t say that I know her now, but I do know more about her.
She is a baby boomer who grew up in the Bronx in the NYCHA projects. Even though her grandparents and parents were not farmers, in 1985 she started her own garden. Her love for gardening extended to her love for her community. She found herself at community meetings with strong desire to change the mindset of the community and politicians who didn’t make a connection between food and justice.
Her speech was very welcoming and she set a family atmosphere in the room. Her main theme was the generational gap in the food movement. She asked the audience, ‘Who will be there [many years from now] to grow food in our community?’ She bought up many difficult topics like race and age, using humor like ‘I just got my AARP Card!’ and the truth like ‘yes, slavery happened but that’s not who we are today’ to avoid the sting in the room. There was no ‘icy chill’ in the room that one may feel in such circumstances. Everyone seemed to be open to talking about the differences and more importantly, the solutions.
The following is one of the statements Ms. Washington left with the crowd: ‘asking is powerful and silence is the weapon that keeps us from being engaged’. She made it clear that asking is not easy for anyone but it’s a task that has to be done. She encouraged everyone to continue to garden and grow but to ask the young and the old for help. She said, start a dialogue because if you don’t, those you don’t know will and our history will be forgotten.
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