Month: November 2013

White people…everywhere!

/ kalifadamani / 2 Comments

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I’ve been asked several times since coming here, “You must have to get accustomed to so much, what’s different?” I usually say the weather, or the manners of the people…never do I mention how odd it is for me seeing so many, and such a wide variety of white people. I mentioned that last week to a white guy though… he replied that where he’s from he doesn’t see much else but white people. I’m pretty sure that I look a bit strange to him in some ways. I know that my hair certainly is strange to some. There are white people with dreadlocks, straight hair, in gothic apparel, in bohemian clothes, in suits. It’s all very new to me, and ensures that a day walking, or just sitting and looking around would be absolutely fascinating. From an artistic point of view, everyone seems like a character, and I more often than ever feel like painting. The painting (with this note) was inspired by a lady living here in Cambridge for example… how can you not want to paint or sketch when you see someone who looks as interesting and cool as she does?

White people raking leaves, driving garbage trucks, white people doing all manner of things and from all manner of backgrounds. It’s outlandish to me, overwhelming at first. Ah mean, you probably could live your entire life in Trinidad and never meet a white person. Not only that, but the white people in Trinidad often have those office and managerial type jobs…not anything to do with manual labour and serving. I figure that in a country with a majority of white people, like England, someone has to do those jobs, but I don’t think it particularly occurred to me before I came here that many white people do those things. I know that it sounds naïve; but all my life I’ve been seeing the vast majority of white people do high paying work, having authoritative jobs, working in offices, living in the posh areas, being privileged…so it was weird having a white lady come in and clean my room. It just looked completely odd.

In a fair world it wouldn’t at all seem strange….but.

Whether to kill

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During my several 20-30 minute spans of daily walking to and from various sites, many thoughts bombard my mind…one of them is “This weather is going to kill me. England wants me to die!”
Looking out, through glass windows in a centrally heated house, the blue sky looks inviting, the yellow trees are like gigantic smileys and they all seem to say ‘Come outside and play! It’s a beautiful day!” And surely enough, they whisper this deceitful tune to all the English people…English people who have endured this fatalistic weather since birth and have come to accept all of its zombie-like, undead qualities as the epitome of loveliness. Consequently, for two beautiful (appearing) Sundays in a row, the very nice English guy from upstairs has said “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it”… I’m pretty sure that the weather has recruited him, certainly against his consciousness, to encourage me to step outside unsuspectingly so that it could freeze me to death.

You see, the sun and England had a huge falling-out years ago it would seem, and ever since then le soleil has been teasing the country. It shines and makes all appear beautiful, but it keeps its heat and its vitamin D inspiring goodness largely to itself. And poor me, who was once tight with the sun, now has to resort to layers upon layers of clothes for warmth, and supplements for Vitamin D… whilst some English people walk gleefully about with bare legs, or just stockings; and with skin fair enough to enable just the right amount of sunlight through to produce the vitamin D needed for survival.

English weather and I certainly aren’t friends, but I’m a fighter… and so I dare it to try its best. I shall stare at it boldly and laugh, both eloquently and defiantly, “Muahahahahaha!”

This took me a while to get used to.

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It is a bit strange to be in a small group, sitting around a table, with at least two Doctors there…sometimes three. It’s even stranger when you’re in class and you’re sitting right next to one of those doctors and they’re participating in the class in almost the same way that you are. 

In this particular pictured class we’re all assigned a reading each week. This reading is then discussed for two hours, around a table…by everyone. The format is typically that we introduce ourselves and a volunteer then begins the class with a review of the reading. Everyone then talks about words that they didn’t understand, and exchange definitions. After this, the conversation basically jumps to different issues addressed by the reading; and at some point in time, the guy with the glasses (Doctor numero uno) talks about some people who are relevant to the topic of the reading and shows us their books.
It can be quite intimidating at times, but it’s actually kinda fun and very interesting.

Now, this isn’t how all classes are; to be honest, this isn’t how most classes are. I just chose to talk about this one because it’s the weirdest format I’ve ever experienced a university class in. Still though, all of my non-training classes are small, and the lecturers don’t stand at a platform or podium but instead sit around the same table that the students do.

It’s a bit to get used to when you’ve been through several years of teachers standing or sitting at a separate table at the front of the class…but I don’t mind.

I saw this guy whilst walking through the town one day

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I saw this guy whilst walking through the town one day. He had just arrived there. He held his guitar, looked around and then, at the top of his lungs, began to sing. I stopped. I stopped and looked at him, listened to him…briefly. In that brief moment, I was struck; not by the melody of his voice, or by how well he played the guitar. Truth be told, I can’t recall either *shame face*. What struck me was how emotional he sounded, how quickly he seemed to have been swept away from his surroundings and into his music. 

It was almost as if one moment he was conscious, and a few seconds later he had disappeared to some different dimension far away. You could hear it in his voice, and you could see it on his face that he wasn’t just performing for the sake of it, but that he was driven by some need….and I began to wonder what that might be. Maybe he wanted to travel, maybe he wanted to become a famous musician, maybe he wanted to provide for a loved one, maybe he wanted to buy a meal for the evening.

I never found out, and I probably never will, but this guy was singing for something. Just as he sings, someone else is policing for something, researching for something, trying for something, fighting for something… believing for something. We’re all moving for something, maybe someone… and it’s beautiful to know that we can relate in that regard. We’re not alone in striving to connect the dimension of our innermost desires to a better reality.
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UPDATE

Whilst walking to Sainsbury’s this evening, I happened to see a guy with red hair singing and playing, but I didn’t want to stop and stare. My headphones were in my ears, and I just walked past, but then I thought, ‘Maybe it’s the guy who was playing music some time ago’…the guy I had painted. So, I decided to turn back around and go to see, and hear, if he was the same guy. He was. He was just in a different spot, wasn’t wearing a hat, or the bulky sweater and looked much smaller in size. I recognised his voice. I walked up and said ‘Hi’, and asked if he was the same person who was playing in another spot previously. He said yes. 

I then rose up my iPod and showed him my painting and his face just lit up! He smiled, laughed, seemed completely taken aback and kept repeating ‘that’s so sweet’ and ‘that’s so cool’, and “You f*cking made my day!”. He requested that we do an art trade, he’ll send me some of his tracks and I could send him the painting. I agreed. I didn’t ask him why he played though (which was what inspired the story behind the painting), and by the time I got back to the spot, after shopping, hoping to find out what inspired him…he was gone.

I may never see him again, but knowing that my piece made his day, made my day as well. I’m still smiling from the encounter now! Maybe someday I’ll be able to find out what or who he’s singing for.
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SECOND UPDATE

So, I found out why he sings..so the story has a conclusion of sorts.
He said, “I go busking (street performing) because I need to make some money! But I sing because I love to and its the only way I feel I can express anything and for far too many reasons to write on a page.”
— and for the very curious people, this is what he sounds like:https://soundcloud.com/tom-sutcliffe-official