Speeding on the Highway
Off Loading
1920s Pick-up Trike
The Yellow Trike Man
The yellow trike
Having the time of my life, hanging out with trikers
Trike Mania!
Trikers are for families
Getting geared up for a trike ride after a dinner of hot dog and burgers.
Heading out to the Trike games
Freedom Trikers, right here in Fairfield, Iowa!
The story of my day hanging out with the trikers is coming soon…
22
Jul
My first day in Iowa, I saw this sticker on a truck. I quickly learned that Iowa is part of the bible belt.
I grew up with 7 dogs and 3 cats. People in the Congo said my household was weird. The kitten loved to suck milk from the female dog’s breasts. And our Dalmatian-looking dog was best friend with a monkey.
With all my experience with pets, Americans thought I had enough credentials to take care of their dogs. And so throughout college, I earned a good portion of my living dog-sitting.
On my first assignment, I had to take the dog out for a walk. Never having done so (the dogs back home roamed around freely), I didn’t have any plastic bag with me. I was totally unprepared when the dog stopped on the sidewalk and pooped. I went to a nearby Pizza Hut and asked for a plastic bag. They gave me a handful. But how do I scoop the manure? I didn’t know. I ended up using all the plastic bags to finally get the job done.
All was well until the dog decided to poop a second time…
My African friends in the U.S. always cracked up laughing when I had to leave a party early to take a dog out. I must have been the only African they knew who had such a job.
Later on, I got promoted. I took care of two dogs at the same time. A family was traveling abroad, so I housesat and took care of their portuguese water dogs for a week. I got a call from the owner. She was calling long-distance from the Middle East, sitting at a restaurant with her husband and her two youngest children.
“How are my babies?” she asked me.
“What?” I was startled. “I thought they were with you.” I thought to myself, weren’t her children traveling with her?
“No, I mean my babies. How are they?” she repeated.
“You mean, your DOGS?” I finally understood.
This new way of looking at animals like one’s own children baffles me. My African friends have a feast about it and often ask me: “Who are you babysitting now? A human baby or a dog?”
“Animals are wonderful, because they put you in a great emotional state,” said James Ray, an American philosopher in the book, The Secret. “When you feel love for your pet, that great state of love will bring goodness into your life. And what a gift that is.”
I get that! I understand the love that one has for another creature, but do people in the West sometimes go too far?
A few years ago, the Canadian government sent back 150 Chinese refugees who tried to dock their boat in British Columbia. Canada sent back everyone, except one refugee _ a dog, for which offers of adoption poured in.
In Chicago, I saw lots of adoption signs on the train. Tons of them! But none of them were about adopting a human baby.
Isn’t this madness?
3
Jul
I was looking at a neat and useful blog, http://www.peaceloveandhappiness.org/?q=node/356 and run accross this painting. It was painted by a chimpanzee named Congo. The ape lived in a British zoo and painted. How interesting! This reminded me of a gorilla back home named Marcel, who lived in a zoo in Kinshasa. He smoked cigarettes. Not as interesting as painting, but to a child, a smoking gorilla was fascinating.
1
Jul
I’m feeling alive again. Yesterday, I started dancing.
Nia Dancing from http://www.earthdaypensacola.org/demonstrations.html
I moved my body in ways that I had forgotten how to in a long time. The last time I danced was at a wedding last month; and before that, at the Ethiopian New Year celebrartion last September.
In the U.S., I find myself standing and barely moving like the Western people around me. Except for when I am talking with very close friends and fellow Africans, I don’t talk loudly anymore or with big hand gestures. This used to startle many Americans when I did that. It’s kind of restricting to live trying to fit in my surrounding.
So the dance floor is my escape. When I dance, I forget about the cultural milieu I am in; whether it is in the U.S., in France or in the Congo. Cultural differences disappear and skin colors blend into a rainbow. Dancing liberates me.
The dance class I went to last night was called NIA; the instructor told us to feel ‘joy run through our body.’ I felt like a little girl, dancing in my backyard in Kinshasa. It was wonderful!