What does it feel like to be the minority?-- A work in progress

Now that is a fantastic question.
While this question can apply to a lot of self-identities here-- namely nationality, language, class, sexuality, and culture-- I think that most of the time people are asking me about race. While I can't really talk about one of these things without talking about all of them, it's about time that I talk about my whiteness here in Martinique. It is something that I can't really get my head around yet. I think that I will probably spend the rest of my life learning and unlearning what it means to be a part of systems of oppression. En tout cas, here it goes.

I am white.
I have spent a lot of time (here and elsewhere) talking about other people's whiteness. On more than one occasion, I have caught myself thinking and/or saying something like: "At least I'm not like that white person." I'm slowly admitting to myself that by constantly pointing at the whiteness of others, I am trying to remove myself from my own. In this way, I am trying to avoid thinking about the racism that I have inherited, that I embody, and that I perpetuate.
I am trying to say what so many other people have said before me, but what many of us white people have the privilege not to listen to. As one of my history professors said, "we live in a bi-polar society: master and slave. This framework didn't go away with the abolition of slavery. It is still in every one of us."

True, I have never owned slaves, but I do directly profit from the empires that have been built on their backs. I can walk down the street, into a store, or into a job interview and instantly be perceived as trustworthy, intelligent, capable, and attractive. As Jessica said yesterday, "people take one look at you and one look at me, and instantly, they don't trust me. They trust you. I'm black, your white, and it all runs deep."

What does it feel like to be white here? To be real, it feels dirty.
Before I came here, I constantly surrounded myself with white people. I was reaping all of the benefits of racism, but didn't see most of it, because all of the people around me where enjoying the same unearned privileges that I was.

Since being here, it's a hell of a lot harder to ignore when I am being treated differently than the person next to me. When I walk down the street, I am literally called "princess" by people who have never seen or talked to me before. I can ride for free on the bus, while five minutes later a black man is publicly ridiculed for not having the money to ride. People assume that I have money, that I'm intelligent, that I am kind, and that I am worth listening to, before I have ever spoken with them. Yes, these factors are directly tied to the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, but also the various other identities that cannot be found at the surface.

So when people ask me: "how does it feel to be the minority?" In all honesty, I am constantly going back and forth between confusion, anger, relief, ignorance, and guilt. What I really want to say though, is why are you asking ME? Why am I the credible source on what it means to be "the racial minority?" After all, the interests and privileges of white people are constantly being represented and protected in legislation, media, job markets, and basic social interactions. That doesn't sound like what it means to be the minority to me.

Tips: cockroach edition

Lessons learned the hard way (except for 4c, which is hearsay): 
1) Shake the cockroaches out of your pants before you put them on your body.
2) If your sink is plugged, think twice before you reach in to unclog it with your hand. It may be a pile of cockroaches making a new home in your drain.
3) If your cereal box feels heavier than the last time you picked it up, it is probably full of cockroaches.
4 a.) If you've sighted a cockroach and seek to kill it, but seem to have misplaced it, no worries. They're actually not going to hurt you.
b.) Neither will tarantulas.
c.) Kill the millipedes though. Supposedly those will take you out.

In the sun-- simple and growing

And now for another long over due blog post. It's true what they say, time does fly-- and I'm pretty sure that it's been taking me with it.

During the weeks since my last post Sara came to visit, we had a house party, Joscelin moved back to the metropole, I learned to make accras, school got real, Coco narrowly escaped death (again), I've gotten back into painting, I've received many letters from loved ones, I've gotten very homesick, I worked on a farm, and of course, I've spent heaps of time at the beach. It's been a whirlwind.

While Sara was here, we became very acquainted with the taxicos system. Most days we just picked a location on the map, found a taxico, and then spent the day walking through the town and getting to know it a bit. I have to admit that it was a wonderful relief to have her here with me-- coming from similar places, seeing the same things, and sorting through some of it together.

Having Sara here made me revisit and question a lot of the things that I had become desensitized to. It was a merging of two entirely different cultures: Martinique's and Willamette's. More so than before, I noticed my identities shifting-- some of them feeling stronger, while others fell toward the background. I'm still white, female, queer, and a U.S. citizen-- but I'm learning that those words don't mean the same thing here. It's almost as if they're culturally constructed, go figure...

Amongst the whirlwind, there are two things of which I am certain: My love for her and my love for accras












They are essentially deep fried glory. Youma, Tilds, and I spent the majority of Easter making them for the family. Behold, The Accra:

Tilds and I left Schoelcher to spend the rest of Easter vacation at Macabou, the most beautiful beach on the island. In exchange for free room and board with some family friends, we worked in their "garden." Their garden was a 15 hectare farm and it was incredible. Tilds and I only went to the beach once. We spent the rest of the time caring for donkeys, watching chicks hatch, planting tomatoes, weeding, jarring honey... and so on. I cannot describe how good (and how necessary) it was to get away from town, away from people, and work in the sun where things are growing and simple.


Fun fact about extracting and jarring honey: you have to do it in the nighttime while the bees are asleep. All night long we felt like queens, (accidentally) bathing in fresh honey.

One last thing: Hey, Mama, here's me learning to climb a coconut tree at one of the most beautiful places on earth. It was tough, just like you said it would be. I didn't get very high off the ground, but I figure it still counts. I'll keep working my way toward the leaves, but you might have to come out here and show me how it's done.

Just a reminder: We can do incredible things

How to describe the last couple weeks? It all feels like strings of moments and dreams that may or may not have happened. In the past couple of weeks, my sisters have come and went-- reminding me that this island and the Pacific Northwest that I came from are both part of the same world. Cass, Krys, and I experienced the island at hyperspeed, which is exactly what it felt like-- a whirlwind. We trusted each other to walk on ledges and gave our bodies permission to carry us across cliffs and oceans and cultures. We grew closer together as sisters, as friends, and as people who share history with each other-- reminding me what a beautiful thing it is to know others and to truly let yourself be known.

Le Bain turc, the subject of my exposé

After Cass and Krys left, I remembered that I am also a student here. I wrote my first art history paper and presentation-- eight pages of French, which as it turns out, wasn't easy. My housemates', my classmates', and my professor's enthusiasm and encouragement were yet another reminder of the support system that I am a part of here. Not just for the record, these people rule.



 
This weekend, Joscelin, Matilda and I climbed Montagne Pelée. Beginning at five in the morning, we caught a taxi-co to Prêcheur where we began our hike from the ocean to the summit. The whole seven or eight hours that we were climbing, all I kept thinking was "our bodies can do incredible things" -- and it's true, they can.

As I told my mama yesterday, my soul was dancing up that mountain. When we made it to the top,  the clouds covered everything that was much more than twenty feet in front of you-- but it didn't matter. We didn't climb it for the views... I think we climbed it because we wanted to prove to ourselves that we could.

And I must say, that I have never feel more free than I did on top of that mountain as we yelled to the wind words that didn't even matter, because we all knew that we were there and that together we can do incredible things.

In many ways, the pictures say more than I ever could-- but of course, there are always some experiences that I can never really find the words to describe just how they felt, what we saw, what it meant, or why I feel in my soul that it matters. Luckily, we have our whole lives to try and share stories with one another, taking turns listening and explaining and trying to understand. Sometimes, I get wrapped up in all that I'm doing/seeing/learning here and I forget that you all are growing and changing as well. I cannot wait to share stories when we come together again and to hear about the moments that make you feel most alive.

Lessons on becoming a woman

"I've completely removed the word 'should' from my vocabulary. I've just taken it out. I have to trust that if I can do something, I will-- and I just let the rest go."

This is just one of the lessons that my housemate, Jessica, has taught me. 

Jessica, Youma, and so many of the other women I've met here possess an undeniable strength and grace that is unlike any of the strengths that I have known before . This example, along with that of the many other un-perfect, ever-growing, brave women that have raised me, fills me with the pride and courage to claim the name woman for myself. I feel so fortunate to be stretching my wings alongside these warriors, these women, as I continue my journey in learning what it mean to be un-perfect, to be worthy, to be learning, and to settle for nothing less.

Cooking 101: always add banana

Joyeux Noël! (Merry Christmas!)
En Martinique, the greeting "Joyeux Noël" or just "Joyeux" can be used every day. This is both a joke and also as an expression of love and genuine interest in the other person. As Joby's brother explained to me, the joy associated with Christmastime can be shared all year round-- so why not?

Le Musée de la Banane

Yesterday I went with a few folks to Le Musée de la Banane in Sainte-Marie. I definitely want to come back here next week with my two sisters, so I don't want to spoil it to much. So let me just say that it was fascinating. Of course, my pictures do not do it justice, but it was a kind of beauty that I had never seen before-- totally breath taking.

One of the 1000 different types of bananas

Matilda and I tasting one of the 300 different types of edible bananas
Each banana takes about 1 hour and 40 minutes to digest
(so we ate a lot of them)

Me standing next to the tallest herb in the world!!

I also went to Trois-Ilets a few days ago with these folks. To me, the boat ride to get there was the best part.

 Of course, the beach was pretty good too :)

And check out this really cute piña colada. Generally, I can't bring myself to pay for drinks (c'est trop cher!), but the pineapple is what sold me.

Les vacances de Carnaval have been incredible-- but now it's time to get back to school tomorrow (and mountains of homework today.) Funny how that happens. Sunsets like this one sure make it hard to complain though. I am so fortunate to be here-- most of the time I still can't believe it.

À plus...

Mercredi des Cendres

The final day of Carnaval was by far the most beautiful. Joscelin, Youma, Joby and I drove to Saint-Pierre to spend the day at Joby's parents house. From 11h00 to 20h00, about 25 of Joby and Youma's relatives danced, ate, made music, and of course, chatted. I feel so honored to have been a part of this year's Mercredi des Cendres.

Joby's brothers and nephew crumble bread
to make the first layer of the meal

Lunch was probably my favorite part of the whole day. Not only was the food incredible (3 day old bread, sliced bananas, chicken, and spiced sauce), but it was prepared, eaten, and cleaned with so much community, tradition, and grace.

Joscelin, Joby, and other male family members
wait around the table, singing, drinking, chatting,
and generally looking hungry

For starters, women prepare the table and the plastic cloth (traditionally a banana leaf) so that the men can serve the food-- a layering process where no dishware is necessary. During this time everyone is singing and moving about the room. When the time comes to eat, everyone squeezes in around the table (standing) and places their left hand around the person to their left and then starts eating from the communal pile with their right. Traditionally, only men could eat this meal but the times are a-changing so now all folks can join in. This was such a beautiful experience. Talk about really being connected with what you're eating and those who you are eating with.

After the meal, everyone washed up and the men headed outside to start making more music while some women stayed behind to clean up. The music playing and dancing went on for hours (and was only interrupted to get more drinks or to stand and cheer on the Carnaval marching past. Carnaval in Saint-Pierre is much more intimate than what I experienced in Fort-de-France. The parade was generally made up of about 30 people, but the noise and energy that they made could have outdone a parade of 200.

Youma singing along

Joby rocking out after lunch