Monday, April 26, 2010

"De Nile is not just a river in Egypt…"

I looked out the window of the plane as the pilot announced that we were starting our descent into Cairo. All I could see was sand, then sand-colored building, a river, and more sand. I also saw 3 large pyramids and several smaller pyramids and the sphinx in the distance. When the plane finally landed, I felt the heat outside as I walked from the plane to the terminal. After some confusion on whether I should go through Customs or the transit counter, I purchased an Egyptian visa without showing any ID for $15 from a bank. I then walked through customs with my own escort. (Aside: As I walked around in a circle, I saw various airport personnel pull out their prayer mats at different times and pray in a corner or an open spot on the floor.) I went to Baggage Claim and saw that my bags were the last 2 to be collected from my flight. I walked over to the information counter and asked about tours around the city. I settled with a company that would take me to the Egyptian Museum, outside the pyramids at Giza, around the city, to dinner, and then take me back to the airport.

My guide, Tarek, was very helpful and knowledgeable about the city and country as a whole. My first impression of Cairo was that it was dirty, but not in the sense of piles of garbage and waste everywhere. Rather, there was a lot of sand and dust everywhere because it’s the desert. It is a city of ruins after all. There was lots of traffic on the way to the museum from the airport. The 2-lane road became 3.5 (.5 for motorcycles). Tarek pointed out different buildings, like the Military Academy where Anwar Sadat, Muammar Gaddafi, and Saddam Hussein were trained. “Good things come out of that academy”, he said sarcastically. We passed President Moubarek’s gated estate, as well as palaces built by former kings. There was also a memorial dedicated to the October 1973 war with Israel, the last war between the 2 countries. It seemed like he uttered “mosque, mosque” every 5 minutes indicating that I should take pictures of yet another mosque. Egypt is a country comprised of 85% Muslims and 15% Christians, and “Everyone lives in harmony.”, according to him. At least that’s what THEY want us to believe.

The Egyptian Museum was amazing. The artifacts were either originals or replicas of pieces that were found in tombs and other excavated sites in the country. There was also a new exhibit on missing/stolen relics that should have been there and where the pieces were being held. The most prominent artifact was the Rosetta Stone, which is being held captive at the British Museum. (I know it’s there because I saw it with my own eyes.) In a small, almost hidden corner of the museum was a small collection of 10 or so Greek and Roman statues and busts. They looked so out of place relative to the rest of the collection. I took a few “unauthorized” pictures until someone yelled at me. I walked out of the museum at closing time to the sound of the call to prayer as the sun set. There was a mosque across the street. The rest of my tour would be in the dark.

We drove along the side of the River Nile, and then over it and took a few pictures on the bridge. Tarek asked if I wanted to do a dinner cruise on the Nile, but I thought that was a bit too touristy (says the tourist) and expensive. I wanted to see more of the city. He took me to the obligatory shops where most tour guides take their customers and get commissions form the stores. The first store sold glass, jewelry, and body oils. The owner showed me how they make the oils and handed me a list of all the scents and their purpose. I was not interested. Next, we went to a papyrus show where the proprietor showed me how the paper was/is made. The stalk is first cut into pieces and trimmed. Then, flattened as much as possible and soaked in water to cure. The strips are thatched together until the paper is the desired size and for days to dry. I walked around the shop and found a ready-made papyrus that could be customized with my name. I received a 30% “discount” because I was the last customer of the night. I’m sure I was still overcharged because they had to pay Tarek’s commission, but I really liked my selection and did not have time nor energy to look for something cheaper somewhere else.

We went to Giza to view the pyramids and sphinx from outside. I arrived minutes before they closed and turned off the lights. I could only see the silhouettes, but that was good enough for me. One day I will go back & see more in the daylight. I went to dinner at a restaurant that served traditional food without a menu. The waiter asked if I wanted chicken, beef, or shrimp. A few minutes later, he brought out a huge basket of flatbread surrounded by eggplant, cabbage, white beans, chick peas, and 2 kinds of dipping sauces. My main course was chicken kebabs with white rice and fries followed b ice cream. From my seat in the restaurant, I could look down on the traffic below, and I could also see 2 pyramids in front of me on the other side of the road, It was amazing to me to be sitting in a city where people built these great monuments thousands of years ago.

Tarek told me he was going to take me to “Old Cairo”. I thought I was already in old Cairo. The city has been there for over 5000 years. (It reminded me of when I was a little girl and asked my mother how new was the New Testament. She told me it was very old, and I asked her if it was older than my grandmother. I thought it was just written recently. Why else would they call it “new”?) Old Cairo was very crowded even at night, and most of the people out were male. That is the only area where I saw garbage piles and smelled unpleasant odors. There were many stray cats in the street. I noticed lots of stray cats around the museum too. I only saw a couple of stray dogs while there.

By that time, I was really tired. I kept yawning as he pointed out more and more mosques. I finally said I wanted to go back to the airport around 10:30pm. He was willing to drive me around all night, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I did not want to fall asleep in the car with a strange man in a strange city at night by myself. I camped out in a 24-hour restaurant in the airport. The manager told me it was okay for me to stay there until 6am when it was time for me to pick up my boarding pass for my 8:15 flight to Lagos. There was a long booth along the wall where I slept, read, ate, slept, and talked to the workers. There was also a restroom in the restaurant for me to freshen up. Later in the night, a man had the same idea as me and slept on the opposite end of the wall. Later, I saw him on my flight.

Six o’clock finally arrived and I bid farewell to the restaurant manager who checked on me off and on during the night. He even told me that he would wake me up so I wouldn’t oversleep, but I was already awake. He along with most of the other airport workers and people I met in the city were very nice and seemed to read from the same script. They would ask where I was from and then say, “Welcome to Egypt” or “Welcome to my country”. I picked up my boarding pass, checked my bags, and waited for my flight to start boarding. I had a little time left, so I walked around the terminal. There were a couple of shops and eateries grouped together. As I passed a bar, I saw Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time” video. I stopped to watch thinking how ironic it was that I was watching that particular video in Egypt.

A short time later, I went to my gate to board a bus that took us to the plane in the middle of the tarmac. I was no longer in 1st class. I sat in my usual window seat and thought I might have the row to myself. A few stragglers came on and a young man sat next to me in a row of 3. I thought he would move to the aisle seat when no one else came to our row, but he stayed in that middle seat. He seemed to have no awareness of personal space. I know that is a “Western” concept, and I am even more conscientious of personal space than most others, but I couldn’t understand why he thought it was okay for his newspaper to spread to my area or his arm to push my elbow off the armrest. His friend had a whole row to himself right behind us. This guy obviously was not going to move. I stood to go to the restroom and saw that there were several empty rows. On the way back to my seat, I moved my bag from the overhead bin and sat on one of those empty rows. I could finally relax. The flight attendant made an announcement as we started our descent to tell us she would be spraying the cabin with a required non-toxic spray to kill all the parasites we might be bringing into the country I assume. As the plane landed, my former neighbor and his friend stood up and walked to the back of the plane. The flight attendant told them to sit down, but they kept walking. He (flight attendant) yelled at them, they finally sat, then stood up again to look in a bag. The other passengers looked at them and shook their heads. I gave the “space invader” the side eye. When we arrived at the gate and everyone could safely stand to collect their items, those guys walked to the back of the plane again to the annoyance of all the passengers standing in the aisles waiting to deplane. I don’t know if it was their first time flying, or maybe they were unaware of the additional scrutiny placed on Nigerians since the “attempted bombing” in December that made people very wary of their actions.

Thank God I made it to Naija safe and sound where Onome was waiting for me at the airport. Renny and the girls were waiting in the car and drove up after Onome told them he found me. I was so happy to see them all, because our last time together was in 2008. Let the Nigerian adventures began.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Sunrise, Sunset…

Sunrise

My journey to The Motherland began on Wed. afternoon. My cousin took me to the airport where I checked my bags, ate lunch, and waited to board the plane. I took the longest route possible – Houston to London to Cairo to Lagos. I think the flight was so indirect because I used my frequent flier miles. I flew 1st class from Houston to Cairo, and watched the movie Precious while eating dinner. I sat there balling my eyes out 36,000 feet in the air surrounded by strangers. The flight attendant offered drinks and dessert while I was wiping my eyes; I’m sure she thought something was seriously wrong with me. After that movie, I only wanted to watch comedies the rest of the trip.


I opened my window to see the sun setting on North America before we crossed the Atlantic Ocean. I slept for a few hours and then woke up to see the sun rising over Europe. I’m glad we crossed the ocean in the dark, because seeing all that water scares me. Knowing that my seat cushion turns into a flotation device is not comforting in the least bit. I arrived at Heathrow Airport early Thursday morning. The airport knew that a special guest had arrives and made arrangements for a Benz to pick me up. I took pity on the other passengers and allowed them to ride with me to the next terminal. Actually, the airport shuttle bus was a Benz, but I know they planned it just for me. After arriving in the new terminal, I looked for my gate, but the gate # was not displayed. Instead, the screen showed a time when the gate # would be displayed 30-45 minutes before boarding. All passengers sat in the same waiting area of the terminal until it was time for their respective gates to be displayed. Basically, there is a mall 1/3 size of The Galleria inside that terminal where passengers are forced to wait until they know where to go. The retailers have a captive audience. Most people do not sit still while waiting; They walk around this “mall” and buy drinks, food, clothing, jewelry, electronics, etc. The genius who came up with this layout was probably given a key to the palace.

I walked around for a while since I’d sat so long on the plane. One thing that stood out in the Duty Free shop was a huge sign that said “Smoking Kills”. At first, I thought it was a joke or a sign posted by an anti-tobacco vigilante. However, as I stepped up for a better view, I realized that this same message was on all the cigarette cartons in huge letters taking up nearly the entire box. There was also another label that read “Smoking seriously harms you and others around you.” Wow, those Brits do not play with the tobacco companies.
Finally, my gate # was displayed, and I walked over to board the plane to Egypt. Muzak boomed (you didn’t know Muzak could boom?) on the speakers and "Sunrise, Sunset" was the last song I heard before stepping on the plane. I sat next to a young man whose wife and 4-year old son sat across the aisle. We chatted briefly as the rest of the passengers filed in. I asked him if it was his son’s first time flying, and he said he’s flown several times. In fact, he flew to India for the first time when he was less than 2 months old. That little boy is off to a great start.

I chose to watch “Up in the Air” for my in-flight entertainment while flying to Cairo. There were various points in the movie where the sound cut out and came back. However, at the end, there was a long section where I could hear music and see the mouths moving, but I could not hear the words they were saying. That was a bad bootleg. I told the flight attendant what was happening, and he restarted the whole system. I did not have time to start over and just to see the end. I will have to watch the movie again later to see what I missed. Please no spoilers.



Sunset

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Home Again

I made it home last night. I wrote a lot about about my experience, but I did not have internet access to blog real-time. I will begin posting about my trip later this week and continue to update until I get them all done.

Stay tuned...

Sunday, April 4, 2010

The Countdown...

Today, I celebrated Easter with the Iwus and their family. They answered some of my questions about Nigeria and told me that it is like nothing I've ever seen. I'm presuming that's a good thing. I also tried a traditional dish called moy moy (sp), which is made of beans. I have never liked beans or peas since childhood, but I really enjoyed the moy moy. I'm sure I'll have no problems with food in Lagos, because I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to food.

Tomorrow, I start taking the malaria pills. The recommendation is to take them 2 days before arrival, everyday while there, and 7 days after returning.

I will leave home on Wednesday with a long layover in Cairo on Thursday, and arrive in Nigeria on Friday. I've decided that I will get my Egyptian visa at the airport so that I can leave for a few hours to see the Egyptian Museum and have dinner before returning for my connection to Lagos. I'm not planning to take my laptop, which will be hard for an internet junkie like me, but I will definitely write about my experience while I'm there. If I have access to the internet, then you'll see me post updates real time. Otherwise, I'll post when I return.

Bon voyage (to me)!

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Travel Writer

Periodically, my mother tells me I should be a writer. I always disagree, because 1)she's my mother and she thinks every thing I do is great. That's just how mothers are; and 2) I don't actually like writing. I did it in school because it was required, but I've never really been a fan of just writing on my own. Except, sometimes I get in the mood for it. I might journal for several days in a row, then stop abruptly and pick it back up months (or a year) later. I actually enjoy writing about my experiences sometimes. Writing this travel blog is both creative and therapeutic for me. I also enjoy reading about other people's travel experiences, like those who inspired me to first chronicle my trip to India. I hope I inspire people to travel and write the way they influenced me.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a Facebook status saying that I want to be a travel writer after reading a couple of travel magazines and articles online. A week later, my friend sent me an email about a travel writing class at a local college. I will start that class later this month. I also joined www.blackatlas.com, a website sponsored by American Airlines for people to share and learn about travel experiences around the world from a black perspective.

I appreciate all of my "50,000 coaches", but especially my mother and my friend, Tiffany for encouraging me to pursue being a travel writer.

Stay tuned...

By the way, can anyone guess the movie with the phrase "50,000 coaches"? Reply in the comments for this post.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Buzz off, mosquito!

Several people have asked me if I'm getting any vaccines for my trip to Nigeria. Thankfully, I received the recommended vaccines for Nigeria when I went to India, and my company paid for them. If I had to pay for them on my own, it would be almost like buying another plane ticket. Many travel vaccines and medications are not covered by insurance. The only medicine I plan to take is Malarone, the malaria pills. I picked them up today at a cost of $153. Since I'm paying out of pocket this time, I will take every single one of those pills. No leftovers. I also have some Cipro left over from India that I never used. Maybe I should check the expiration date. lol


Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:
Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol - done
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress

Bright Idea...

I had a flash of brillance while on a flight yesterday. I keep seeing posters in the airport for all the countries where Continental flies, and it made me think of something. I am a member of their One Pass Mileage program, and they recently joined Star Alliance. My idea is to set a goal to fly on all 26 members of Star Alliance within 5 years. I'll revisit this plan periodically to see where I stand. My trip to Nigeria will cover 3 of the member airlines.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

You're going where?!?!

When I first interned in Houston in 2002, I had the good fortune to work with a beautiful lady with a funny accent. (I know, I know...I have a funny accent to someone too. lol) She introduced me to her family and we developed a great friendship. She thought I was a little weird because I would sometimes go to the (not so clear) Clear Lake to read during lunch...by myself. gasp
We kept in touch even after I left Houston. She moved to London for a year and I stayed with her and her family while I was there. I also had the opportunity to meet her sister in person in London after talking to her on the phone several times. After she moved back to Houston, her sister's family came to visit and I hung out with them again.

I visited with my friend last December, and she mentioned that her sister was going to their native place soon. I've told her since 2002 that I wanted to go with them, but the circumstances were never right. Either I was in school, I didn't have the funds, or it was a last minute trip. This time, I knew I was in a place where I could go. I connected with her sister through the magic of Facebook and told her I was interested in going with her family (husband and 3 girls) on their next trip. She told me her husband's sister was getting married in April and I was welcomed to come with them. That was all I needed to hear. I started making arrangements right after that.

Where am I going? I'm going to Lagos, Nigeria. Why am I going to a wedding when I don't know the couple? Unlike American weddings, Nigerians (and many other cultures) welcome everyone to attend their celebrations. The whole village will be there, and I'll be in the middle of it all. They will have a traditional engagement ceremony and a Catholic marriage ceremony. Everyone on the bride's side will wear specific colors, likewise for the groom's side. I'm included in the bride's family, so I will wear her colors. I'm excited about seeing a traditional ceremony, because I've only ever attended American weddings, which are basically all the same in my opinion.

I also have a long layover in Cairo on both legs of the trip, and I'm planning to leave the airport each time to do a little exploring. I have no idea what I'm going to do there, but I just think it would be a waste to spend all that time inside the airport when I could at least walk outside and get a meal or buy a souvenir.

Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:

Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol )- in progress
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress



Check back for more updates on my trip preparation.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I was there!

I arrived at BWI on Monday afternoon and waited for about 30 minutes for Super Shuttle to pick me up. I boarded the van with 7 other people. It was quite an interesting group - an older man from Chicago, a middle-aged woman with a landscape architecture firm returning to DC, a 30-something woman from Chicago, and 4 female professors from Seattle. We were all there for the inauguration. I was the youngest and the only person of color other than the Salvadoran driver. The 2 hour ride through Maryland was full of talk about plans for the week and how people felt about what was happening.

I arrived at my friend's house just in time to shower and dress for a pre-inauguration house party. There were several people at the party that I had not seen since FAMU. Some people were planning to go to the inauguration, while others were unable to go due to their flights. After the party, we took a friend to BWI. We finally got back to the house around 4am and I decided I would take a nap for a couple of hours. Before I laid my head down, my friend, who had been watching the news downstairs and saw the reports about the chaos already happening at the metro stations, told me I should probably just head to the Metro station without the nap. I had not slept since Sunday night, but I reluctantly got dressed (in layers).

I went to the Metro station and the ticket machines seemed possessed. I stood in line waiting to buy my ticket, and it flashed "Out of Service" as soon as I stepped up. I moved to the next line. Another machine would not allow a woman to enter her fare. I finally got mine, and walked through the gates to wait on the train. I had observed from the parking lot that the cars at the end of the train were practically empty, and people were crowding in to the middle. I got my seat at the end of the train and proceeded to DC. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I opened my eyes every time the doors opened and saw more and more people in my car. I embarked from the train at Judiciary Square station. It was 6:48am when I walked out on the street level.

There was a huge crowd on the street that was not moving. They would not allow anyone to walk towards the Mall until 7am. Those with tickets were directed one way and the others went another way. I did not have a ticket. There were volunteers on several corners giving us directions as we walked. We walked almost an hour on streets, through a tunnel, up hills, around corners, and finally onto the lawn of the Mall. There was no security check for the unticketed area. We were greeted by rows of porta-potties with lines already formed in front of them.

It was a few minutes before 8am. We still had a few hours until the ceremony started. What do a million people do in 20 degree weather for 3 hours? Keep moving. I walked onto the lawn and moved as close to the front as I could. I stood in front of the red castle in the first section of the unticketed section. I could see the Capitol in the distance ahead of me, the Washington Monument was behind me, and the museums of the Smithsonian flanked the sides. The concert from the night before was showing on the screens. I had a hard time viewing the jumbotron with all the tall people in front of me, but I could hear everything clearly. Everyone sang and danced to keep their spirits up and their bodies warm.

After over 2 hours of standing there marching in place to keep my blood circulating, I could no longer feel my toes. I was so afraid I had frostbite. The rest of my body was pretty warm because I dressed in layers, but I failed to layer my socks. That was a very dumb move for me. I will never ever do that again. I had to find some toe warmers. I left my spot up front and walked out to the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of Boy Scout volunteers and asked them where I could get toe warmers (heated packs you place in your shoes or gloves). They told me they were being sold at the concession tent. I walked the length of the Mall all the way to the back where the tent was. I didn't realize how close I was to the front until I took that walk. I stood in line for an hour and watched the procession of dignitaries on the screen as I waited. I heard Aretha Franklin singing, but could not see her just as I stepped up to order hot chocolate and toe warmers. I was so hurt when they told me they didn't have the toes warmers. I walked away just in time to see Barack Obama take the Oath of Office. I found a spot better than the original one (I could see the jumbotrons clearly) and stood amongst my fellow Americans beaming with pride, tears streaming down my face. It was so cold I thought my tears would freeze.

Everyone around me waved the flags the Boy Scouts passed out while cheering and celebrating this moment in our history. There was complete silence as President Barack Obama gave a very commanding speech. I was happy to share the experience with all the people around me. After the speech, some of the crowd started walking off the field. As I walked, I listened to the inauguration poem, and then the prayer by the legendary Rev. Joseph Lowery.

All 2 million people poured out from the Mall at the same time. Some people decided to visit the museums and stood in the long lines to enter. For those of us trying to get to the trains/buses to take us home, we were told to walk to 14th St. to exit, but they were not allowing anyone out that way. While I was walking, I finally found someone selling toe warmers, and put them in my shoes. I turned around and walked east going against the crowd headed west. I couldn't get out that way either. We couldn't walk north because Constitution St. was closed. I stopped to ask a few police how we were supposed to get out, and they said, "I don't know." It was pure chaos. There was no organization around clearing people out of the area - no signs, no volunteers giving directions, nothing. We felt like trapped animals. I found a set of stairs near a museum and stood there to get out of the crowd while I tried to figure out my next move. The crowd started thinning, and I decided I would walk south back across the Mall. I followed the crowd walking south where there were vendors lined up hawking their wares. I skimmed a few and kept walking when I didn't see anything I wanted. I looked at the map to find the closest Metro stations on the south side. I went to L'Enfant Plaza and was mystified by the crowd I saw waiting to enter the station.


crowd waiting to enter station



I was tired, cold, hungry, my body was sore from all that standing and walking, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I was on the verge of tears. I just wanted to get on a train and get out of there. I was surrounded by thousands of people, exhaust fumes from the tour buses, and the piercing sirens of police cars and ambulances parting the ocean of people in the streets every few minutes. I kept walking down 7th St., and I saw a line of people. I asked someone why they were in line. It was the line for the Federal Center Metro station with the yellow/green lines. I needed to be on the red line to get back to Rockville, but I was willing to get on any train that would take me out of the area. I could read the map to figure out where to go from there as long as I wasn't outside anymore. The line was wrapped around the building on 7th and down E St. I stood in the line which seemed to move a couple of feet every few minutes. After waiting in line for about an hour or more, I was finally on the escalator down to the platform. I walked through the doors of the train where I stood holding the straps for 2 stops before changing trains at Gallery Pl./Chinatown. I stood in the line to enter the platform for the red line to Shady Grove. I walked all the way to the end of the platform where the crowds usually don't go. The doors opened and I sat down. I finally exhaled. The ride to Rockville was pretty calm. I actually nodded off for a bit. I was so exhausted.

Would I do it again? Was it worth it? I would not have missed the inauguration even with all the drama and stress surrounding it. I endured the freezing temperatures for hours, walked for miles, and went without sleep on behalf of my unborn children. I want to be able to tell them I was there between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument on the day that President Barack Obama was sworn in. The people who participated in the March on Washington witnessed Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "'>I Have a Dream" speech over 40 years ago on that same patch of land, and I saw the realization of part of that dream today. America is finally living out the true meaning of its creed. We are not on the mountaintop yet, but we are definitely higher than we were before.



Sunday, January 18, 2009

On the Pulse of Morning

I looked down at the sheet of paper Mrs. Reed, my 6th grade teacher, was handing out to the class. It was full of words that the whole class had to memorize. There was a collective groan. "Do we really have to memorize all of this?" "I can't do this." "Why is it so long?" On the top of that piece of paper was typed, "On the Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou". It was the poem she wrote and recited at the request of newly elected Bill Clinton for the 1993 Presidential Inauguration. It was the spring of 1993.

I was born eight days after Ronald Reagan was inaugurated to his first term as President of the United States (POTUS). I was too young to know or even care about his subsequent election and the one after that. However, when I was 11 years old in the 6th grade, I became acutely aware of the 1992 presidential election. Mrs. Reed gave the class an assignment that required us to write a report on the candidates and their stances on the issues. This was before the internet age so I used newspapers, magazines, and the local news to write my paper. After we completed our research, there was a mock election for all of the 6th graders. We felt so empowered and excited to be able to vote for POTUS like the adults. Eight years later, I voted officially. My first real election was marred by drama. It was 2000. I was a student at an HBCU. I was in Florida. Need I say more? The next one wasn't much better.

I first heard about Barack Obama around the same time as the rest of the country. He was introduced to us at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I was impressed by his speech and looked forward to seeing him more in the years to come. Two years later, when he announced he was running for president, I did not jump on the bandwagon. I read his books and was fascinated by his life, but I did not think he was ready to be POTUS. So many people around me were buzzing with Obama fever. I had friends who were precinct captains and campaign volunteers, but I did not acquiesce. I did not want to commit to anyone until I had done my own research. Too bad I didn't know any 6th graders who could do the research for me. I refused to support him just because he was a black man. I was angered every time I heard that someone was voting for him because of his race. I was also angered every time I heard that someone was not voting for him because of his race. I made my decision before the Texas primary using data from http://www.procon.org/ and other sources. I voted early in the primary and then went back to caucus in my first national election in Texas. I was officially on the team - no turning back. For the first time, I actively participated in a national campaign by doing more than just voting.



I did not know what to expect when November 4, 2009 finally came. Would it take days to hear the final results? Would there be mass disfranchisement again? Based on all the watch parties and gatherings advertised for that night, people were anticipating good news. Shortly after 10pm CNN projected Barack Obama as the winner. Everyone had a reaction. They screamed, cried, stared at the screen in silence, jumped for joy, clapped their hands, hugged friends and strangers. My initial reaction was a shout of joy, then silence. I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Was it a dream? I immediately thought of the impact of Barack Obama's presidency on my 2 nephews. He would show them that they could also aspire to the highest office in the land and actually achieve it. They will grow up seeing a black man in the White House and will not think it is unusual. The next morning I cried as I thought about two little black girls living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They are not the daughters of slaves or servants, but of the President of the United States of America.






I knew I had to be there on January 20, 2009 when President Barack Obama was sworn into office. I'd thought about going before the announcement, but decided to wait until it was confirmed before buying a ticket. All I needed was a flight and an inauguration ticket because I could stay with a friend in the area. I sent my requests to the 2 US Senators and 1 Representative for my area and waited in anticipation. I received rejection emails from all 3 over the next couple of months, but that only dampened my spirits a little bit. I just wanted to be in Washington, DC to say that I was there when history was made. I want to tell my children all about the day the first person of African descent was sworn in to the office of the President of the Unites States of America.

I will board a plane to Washington, DC by way of BWI tomorrow morning to partake in the inaugural festivities. The profound meaning of that is not lost on me. I am flying into an airport named after the first black Supreme Court Justice to witness the inauguration of the first black President.

Here on the pulse of this new day, I say to my sisters and brothers, "Good morning".

Thank you Mrs. Reed.





'On The Pulse Of Morning' : An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.

January 20, 1993