Nothing but Crippling Doubt

Nothing but Crippling Doubt

I vote for PEACE

called the divided tribes.

But in this land stability

equals submission.

These villagers pose as

wide eyed citizens.

Posing

because their private ballots stalls

carry public holes on their walls.

I refuse to vote

whisper none united voices.

Fear is braided with doubt

Here, only the "Fou" shouts

And here we live,

in the land of giant shrimps.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

Para mi abuelo

I have so many faults.

Like the earth I tremble.

I break and separate.

I get over heated and explode.

I flood my static with tears.

I self destruct and

and

rebuild. And

I know you did too. And

you planted seeds. And

started from itch

to teach your kids how to truly be

rich.

You are half of your son

and a quarter of me.

And. You came to my sister for her wedding day.

I was too young to see clearly.

When will you come see me?

Too young to know what you built after the

scratch. But you sculpted it through your son.

And your son became your sun.

And he became mine.

And I still want to speak to you,

Even though I have no idea what’d I say.

To your statue I’ll continue to pray

in my times of earthquakes, hurricanes and decay.

With only the few memories of you,

hoy is not today,

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

Left to Right

When I watched I stared.

When I heard I listened.

After staring I painted,

After listening I sang.

The portrait contains what keeps me

restrained,

I cautiously combined the colors to convey the

pain.

But my sacrifices are not all cold

rain.

For the song that I sing,

expresses absolutely no

sting.

Because even though you can’t see it

it is brighter than yellow.

This song is my left.

It is me not leaving.

My painting is my right.

It is not always correct.

Right to Left.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

So I think I can solve all problems by myself well never mind, never mind, never mind, never mind, never mi-i-i-i-i-ind

Dear future PCVs,

I regret that I didn’t get to spend enough time with you guys, it was especially rough that I was not able to watch all of your introductions to the staff. I honestly think I didn’t have enough time to express to you what trainee life is going to be like. I remember talking a lot about life as PCV and not enough as a PCT. Well, the purpose of this letter is to tell you all what I feel I was unable to tell you with my short time with you regarding the experiences you will have as a trainee.

I want you guys to hold something close to your hearts in your moments of what seems like weakness. I’m referring to the moments when you wet the photographs of your family with the tears that slide off your nose. I’m talking about the days when you re-ask yourselves the questions you once seemed to be so sure about. These days, they are an uphill struggle, they are also days that you will experience a lot throughout your first three months. They are not easy.

You will only get through these days by being there for each other. The beauty about the strangers to your sides is that you share one infinitely binding trait. You all have the traveler’s soul. You have all sacrificed not eating your mother’s food to try someone else’s mother’s food. Not because you don’t like your mom’s food but because you are compelled to see the way other mothers around the world express their love to their children. You have the courage to experience life’s several emotions in a different way. Always remember that you are connected by the inspirations and aspirations you share.

Sometimes training can be exhausting not to mention confusing. You will discover that you won’t be able to count the number of challenges you’ve experienced in the first week with your hands. You will inevitably run into very difficult obstacles. French will be the majority of the bricks that construct these seemingly unbreakable walls. Just remember it is not only conversations that bind humans together. You can connect by showing your host brother that you too can juggle a soccer ball or know how to pretend that you can remove your thumb. Instead of using those fingers to count your challenges, use them to throw a Frisbee to your new friends (Cameroonians and Trainees).

Only together will you guys thrive. Use your combination of diverse expertise to answer questions anthropologists have been asking for decades. Answer these difficult questions together. Get your mind’s hands dirty by asking why Africa has a very different struggle than the United States, the Cameroonian rainforest is the perfect environment to have these reflections. I witnessed your inspiration simply by the way you guys gazed out of your windows on our bus ride to Hotel Jeuvance. Expose that inspiration to one another because that will be the engine to your inevitable successes.

After serving as a PCV in Cameroon for almost a year I cannot tell you that you will not fail. At least one of your projects will fail. You will at least lose the trust of one person. You will lose yourself at least one time. You will forget why you are here at least one time. These are facts that will lead you to want to return to the arms of your loved ones. You will catch yourself contemplating the kind of hypothetical thoughts you would ask on your flight home. They will sound like, “well at least I tried,” or, “at least I got to eat a mango on top of a mango tree,” or, “at least I got to see what development work is really about.” Instead of ending the sentence that starts with, “at least I,” try asking yourself, “What am I at most capable of in this very situation?” Throw your intellectual and spiritual limits away in the same way that Cameroonians throw away plastic. Throw them on the ground and keep climbing, but remember to always do it together.

Life as a trainee is mostly an uphill battle. The prospective you must always keep is the view you’ll get from the top. But let me remind you again, it is much easier overcoming the inevitable obstacles together. Your new friends will become family. Good luck and I hope to see all of you when you swear in.

Sept. 28, 2011

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

All the world’s ills sitting on chrome 24inch wheels, like that.

If you asked me one year ago why I joined the Peace Corps, I would have or probably did give a very superficial answer.

“I couldn’t find a job.”

“None of the internships that liked me paid anything worthwhile.”

“I am not ready to go back to school.”

“I gotta get back to seeing the world.”

These are the normal answers I gave. That’s right, none of my answers to this question mention anything about actually volunteering. What is a volunteer? Why is it important to volunteer? What does a good volunteer (international or domestic) actually accomplish?

I have always known I wanted to live the majority of my life as an expatriate. The friends that I have connected with the most throughout my life have been the people with the traveler’s spirit. They are people with actual ambitions to try something new, to live somewhere different. Expatriates (well a good chunk of them anyways) tend to have this spirit. Sure I have been comfortable in Mexico and the US but I never truly felt like I belonged. I belong with people like me but from different places. Peace Corps was just a way to jump start my return to traveling, not to actually volunteer. It was completely a selfish reason.

However… my reasons for staying in Cameroon are completely different. My first year back living overseas has reminded me of not the traveler’s spirit, but that of the volunteer’s. Thank God I have reconnected with this very fundamental necessity.

Let me list you some reasons of why volunteers are needed:

-When the earthquake struck Port au Prince, citizens actually believed it was the apocalypse. They waited for Jesus to show up.

-There is an ongoing war that is compared to WWII going on in the Democratic Republic of Congo. They say the war has ended but then why and how is it that people don’t even know what the concept of free will is there.

-When Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc on New Orleans people compared the city to a third world country.

-What is said to be the most prosperous region in the world (Scandinavia) has recently had an unfathomable attack on innocent people by one of its own citizens.

In every community that the sun light reaches there are challenges waiting to be overcome. One does not have to be rich in order to contribute. If he or she has the will to help, the sense of unity to contribute, the selfless desire to proudly overcome that challenge, then they are qualified to be a volunteer. I am not referring to Peace Corps Volunteers merely volunteers. The community does not have to be in a developing country in order to have volunteers.

Why am I here? Why have I stayed this long? because there are challenges here in Meidougou. I am a member of this community now, not just that, but I am a very unique member of this community. I am an outsider who has sacrificed time away from his own family to help out in any way I can.

Meidougou has so many challenges; I don’t even know where to start. There are not enough teachers, not enough nurses, the gov’t cannot pay the salaries of their social workers, people do not trust each other, they do not see the benefits of volunteering, poverty is rampant, any type of health issue you can think of hides in concessions all over the town. Problems, problems, problems and the lack of will and solidarity to turn them into solutions.

Why am I here? To do my part. I signed up for this and damn it I am going to do everything I am capable of to tackling the infinite number of problems that plague my new home. I must never forget to do this wherever I live in the future. Volunteering is necessary because it is the action of compassion, unity, courage and hard work. Volunteering is a humbling action that every capable citizen of the world should consider. Living in an impoverished nation like Cameroon has constantly exposed me to the consequences of poverty and fear, consequences that exist all over the world.

Now turn off your computers and sail your selfless soul.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

September 15, 2011

The glass is full, the glass is broke

A few days ago I saw a volunteer say goodbye to a post-mate. Sometimes a volunteer will be placed in the same town, allowing them to work together for the limited time they have. Post-mates more than not end up getting very close. Together they get to be the intertwined string that forms a rope.

When the volunteer said goodbye to his post-mate he had to hide his overflowing watery eyes. The woman wrapped around his arms let hers flow. They became more than friends during the short time they were allowed together. They are now lifetime friends. Whenever they reunite in the future they will experience overwhelming joy. Their conversations will reignite their souls from the connected memories of their shared humbling experiences.

How do I know this will happen? How am I so confident?

Although these two specific people I’m referring to does not include me, I did experience the same heartbreak two months ago. Recently I too had to experience saying goodbye to one of my post-mates. I had the rare pleasure of attending her gonging-out ceremony. This is the ceremony when volunteers officially become RPCVs, a title that she will wear with pride for the rest of her life. During the ceremony the attendees get the opportunity to say a few words regarding their service. When I stood up to recite the speech I had prepared for her I was unable to speak. I was too afraid of tearing up. I had to cut my words in half, something my post-mate did not deserve, for she deserved every word I wanted to dedicate to her.

These are the kinds of bonds you form when you serve. Volunteers share everything from near death experiences to preparing meals together that it becomes nearly impossible to not love your peers. They have your back and you have theirs. You become colleagues as well. You bounce ideas off each other for community projects. The team you inevitably form exponentially improves your work.

There are days when volunteers need what we call, ‘mental health days.’ These are the days when you want to go “home.” These are the days when you break down from the nearly impassible obstacles. These are the days when you want to close yourself from the country you convince yourself everyday you belong in. These are the days when you need, your post-mate.

Together you will share beers and tears, reciprocate respect and trust, and organize time wasting activities. Your post-mate is the kid on the other side of the see-saw, keeping you up and helping you down. You guide each other through relationships, losses, longings, pain, accomplishments, everything.

It was not easy saying good-bye, but it was a ‘good’ bye because of the unforgettable experiences we now share. I want to dedicate this entry is for every volunteer that has ever had to experience this loss, but indescribable gain of friendship.

For you will continue to be post-mates in this ever connecting world.

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

September 2, 2011

Alright, don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy

Carlos, what do you want to do for the rest of your life?

Travel?

Why travel? Why the question mark?

Because I’ve been doing it for most of my life and because I’m not completely sure about that answer.

Do you feel good about that answer?

I do, I like learning new things. When you travel, that tends to happen.

When you didn’t travel, did you learn new things?

Well of course. During the times I was alone I learned, during the multiple conversations I had with good friends too.

So technically, if you lived in one spot you would learn new things too, maybe you should find another reason or defend it with a clearer explanation.

It is something I’m used to. Lets go back to the original question, I like traveling because I get to see the world. The world is a fascinating place, you do not discover the world when you stay in one town your whole life. Sure there are countries that offer most types of climates and terrains but not languages or food.

But when you eat at restaurants you order the same things anyways. If you stayed in the country that was your favorite you could just do that, couldn’t you?

I guess, but sometimes a conversation with a new friend that I met in a different location will encourage me to try something new. Sometimes that something new is better. So in a sense, I want to keep traveling to see which is the best, or simply to keep looking for something better.

Okay, so I guess its safe to say that you want to travel for the rest of your life. Are there more goals on the original question?

I want to serve people. Mostly the people who are looking to be helped. People who are looking to improve their lives for the better by experiencing something different.

So technically they don’t even have to be poor, why do you want to serve people?

First of all, poor is a stupid word. I’m positive that in the eyes of some billionaires I would be considered poor. I don’t consider the dadas in my concession to be poor and they live in a very “poor” country. Poor can mean bad quality, people with low incomes don’t necessarily have bad quality lives. I have met several people who may or may not make more money than I do and are generally cleaner, more respectful, more giving and genuinely good people. That doesn’t mean that they are “poor.” So yes, I do want to just help people who want to be helped. I just have to make sure I’m qualified to help them.

Okay, it seems that you are pretty confident about that. What is it that you want to be qualified in, in order to help people who want to improve their lives?

I’m not sure. Living here for a while has exposed me to some problems that may (or may not) be leading people to a crash. There are an abundance of health issues here. But then I get into conversations with some friends here that tell me public restrooms in the U.S. are no cleaner (germs wise) than a public restroom here. Or that washing your hands for 30 seconds in the U.S. really doesn’t do anything more than what one would think (other than waste precious water). And to be honest, the biggest health problems in the U.S. seem to be psychological ones, there seems to be less of that in “developing” countries. I don’t know which type of health problem I would rather have but I think I have an idea of which type of health problem I would rather be in the process of helping.

So you want to go into health?

Actually I take that back, I don’t know which one I would rather be involved with. But to answer your question, no, I don’t want to be in health. Personally, I don’t think I’m that great of an example of somebody mentally and physically healthy.

Soo, you want to help improve people’s lives, you want to travel and you don’t want to work in health?

Correct.

You have told a lot of people that you are thinking about staying in development or diplomacy, sometimes you even mention business.

I’m pretty set on choosing one of these three. I do think it’s a pipe dream but sometimes I dream about writing screenplays for a living. They would be films on the world’s… problems. So I would say one of those four. Traveling has exposed me to several of the world’s inefficiencies. I think there is a lot of money in improving those inefficiencies. That’s where the business idea comes from. But I’ve never been good at handling money (at least money that is mine), I don’t think I would be a very good investor either though. Sometimes I think I’m good at settling disputes but I don’t think that’s what diplomacy is. Diplomacy, at least these days, seems like shopping in the local market here in Meidougou. Everybody is just trying to get the best deal for themselves while trying to rip the other person off. I thought modern economics solved that problem but people aren’t seeing the benefits of cooperation. So if diplomacy is like business, I think I better stay out of it.

It seems like you have ruled out two. Looks like you’re either going to become a screenplay writer or a… international development worker (?) ?

Yeah, looks like I’m going to be poor for a long time too.

It’s familiar but not too familiar, but not too not familiar.

 Here in Cameroon everywhere is a bus stop, I mean this both literally and philosophically.

I’m at a meeting, a women's meeting. We call them village saving and loan associations where the mommas come every week to save a few hundred francs BOOM a woman pops out her boob to feed her baby. I’m on a bus riding to the capital of my BOOM a woman pops out her boob to feed her malnourished baby. I walk down the street BOOM another boob, and another and another and another. I probably see an average of about twelve boobs a day, and I don’t mean six pairs.

It’s the little cultural differences that crack me up here. For instance one of my favorite socially acceptable things to do here is to pick your nose. There is so much damn dust that people just spend their time digging their noses for gold. I feel freer here, ask my older sister. She used to poke fun at me for the mining I would do. Here, I am FREE!

I remember episodes of ‘Friends’ where Chandler and Joey kept two pets, a duck and a chicken. The randomness of these fowls made the show funnier. However, here you will see random chickens everywhere. In fact, sometimes it just doesn’t feel right without them. Whether it’s in a fancy restaurant or a chicken running in between your legs in a crowded bus, the chickens run free here. Goats, sheep, even cows lead free lives here. Its interesting how so many vegetarians who come to serve here end up eating meat because they see that the animals run free.

I was walking with my friend Andrew to his house the other day and we saw a little monkey just chillin outside one of the houses. Apparently it was the family’s pet. That was another pet on ‘Friends’, Ross had a pet monkey. Here, it is simply normal.

Cramming a family of five on a motorcycle, or people that travel to Nigeria so they can come back with two motorcycles on the back (packed up of course) is the standard. A bus that is supposed to hold 30, they somehow find a way to pack 50. Again, normal. You have to crawl like Spiderman to get to your seat sometimes (actually always). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve jumped out of the window to get out, it is simply easier.

Actually, traveling here deserves its own post. It’s such a pain in the ass, yet sometimes it’s hilarious and fun. I’ll give it an entry some other time.

Everyone here knows how to dance. It’s awesome. The babies, the kids, even the grandmas cut the sand with their beat producing heals. I’ll play music while the kids play with the blocks I bought them and their shoulders and necks start to flow with the music. I’m sure if you ask the volunteers who serve here, at least 75% of them have pictures or videos of their concession kids dancing.

Children here are butlers. They are expected to do everything. You want to add avocados with your omelet? You’re out of powdered milk? Your backpack that you’ve never washed in your life is dirty? You need to get water from the well? Oh, you’re feeling too lazy to get a motorcycle so you can get to your meeting? Your cat’s liter box is full? INSERT CHILD’S NAME HERE can do this for you! For a total of 0 CFA!

There are of course the things that are not so happy.

It is seriously impossible to refuse food here. They treat you as if you ran over their dog if you don’t eat what they give you. Actually the people here treat dogs like s***, maybe a better example is that they treat you like dogs. Even the most elaborate excuse to avoid it is like catching a fly with your hands, only Obama can get away with it. You WILL inevitably lose and you WILL eat what they give you.

I can’t find a single f***** flyswatter here! Where are they? Will someone please send me one? No matter how much I practice my fly catching skills I do not improve. The flies here should be called soars. Because they don’t fly, they soar, that and they make my life a living… sore. (Come on, don’t act like you weren’t expecting at least one bad joke)

There is no such thing as being in a hurry here. Oh my God “African Time” is such a migraine inducing norm. Volunteers know better after a few weeks, we simply do not leave our houses without a book to read while we wait the additional hour or two it takes for everyone to arrive to our meetings.

The other day I was cleaning my room. I lifted my mattress and wouldn’t you know it, the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for the last few months was chillin in between my two mattresses. I got a f*****n cat to catch it and this mouse still scurries around like he’s paying the rent.

I walk around my house at night sometimes to see spiders the size of iPods casually crawling on my walls looking for their diner. I’ve stopped killing them because they get rid of the more annoying insects like nocturnal screamo band crickets.

Its funny, I have a love/hate relationship with prayer time. Five times a day (I have all the hours memorized now) the villagers will go to the mosques to pray. This causes all shops to close during their praying hour. The hour I memorized first was the 5am one. If the daily 5am prayer call doesn’t wake me up then the neighboring babies do. I can’t remember the last time I tried to sleep in. Did I mention my mosque is around 50 feet from my front door? WELL IT IS. The love of my relationship with this particular pillar of Islam is explained… lets just say when the megaphones come a preaching, playtime is over and the children have to leave my living room. Sometimes I like it when the power goes out, it means the mosque’s megaphone doesn’t work. Actually, this is the extent of my pleasure with life without electricity. Sure the candlelight dinners are groovy but too many nights without it can make me moody.

I was going to list corruption on here but I think that too deserves its own journal entry.

Instead I’ll leave it here. Some of my latest entries have been a little serious so tonight I decided to write a light-hearted one. I’ll send you a postcard if you can figure out which band wrote the lyrics of this entry’s title (hopefully it will actually arrive to your mailbox). Peace Corps Out readers.

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

I love you, I love you, oh brother of mine

Its funny, I was in Africa when Bin Laden struck the Twin Towers and I am in Africa again when he was killed. I was 10 years younger, 14 years old. I was so far away from New York. I remember being so ignorant to the attacks. I was playing video games and my friend Taz came into the room telling us what had happened. I didn’t even know what the Twin Towers were so I kept playing Smash Bros.

When it started hitting me that this event was a much bigger deal than I had thought I started being more observant to what was going on. I went to a very diverse school. We had a student named Muhammad. He praised what happened to the towers. We had a student from Queens, New York who was shaken and told us all of his friends were fine. Our history teacher who was from Ohio took a day off to discuss what had happened. People were calling Bin Laden a mad genius for the way he turned the tables on the United States. I was not in the U.S. on 9/11 but I know one thing for sure. In Ethiopia I saw mixed opinions and I’m sure there was only one opinion on American soil: revenge.

I am now 10 years older, 24. I was told by my friend Kelsey that Bin Laden was killed as I was ready to extend my sleep that morning. I instinctively jumped up and ran towards the computer to read the news myself. It was true; Bin Laden was in fact… gone. Finally. I took a Peace Corps car that morning back to my village (I was in Ngaoundere for a meeting and banking). During the car ride we discussed what the death of Bin Laden meant for the U.S., for the world.

I remember before the Obama/McCain election I had a discussion with a friend on my floor of why I supported Obama. I told Aimee that living overseas exposed me to the absolute hatred the international community had for the United States. I told her that Obama’s victory would single handedly change the opinion of not millions but billions. She told me she respected me less for that opinion. The truth is she had never left the United States (and probably hasn’t yet either). There was no way of making her understand my point of view. Another truth is that the majority of Americans of whom I have met consider taking a cruise to the Bahamas leaving the country

The truth is I myself was once part of that demographic. I too once hated the United States. I realize now it was because I did not understand what the U.S. stands for. I now understand that ignorance is the first step to understanding something new. The truth is, I was young when I met people who praised Bin Laden’s actions. Aimee only got to see them cheering and burning American flags on CNN, she did not get to speak with them.

Obama did change everything. I cannot tell you enough how many Cameroonians I have met that praise Obama and America when I tell them I am from the United States. There are little children and adults who wear Obama t-shirts, holographic Obama belt buckles, Obama key chains or even Obama underwear! Obama’s victory gave millions of people hope for a (somewhat functional) democracy. Personally I don’t think the timing of the Arab Revolution starting directly after Obama’s victory is a coincidence.

Bin Laden is gone. Peace Corps and the American Embassy warned all of the Peace Corps Volunteers not to celebrate publicly the death of Bin Laden. They said it could potentially put us in danger. If I were in Niger, Morocco, Egypt or maybe Pakistan then maybe I would be in danger. But here in Cameroon, Cameroonians who actively sought my opinion praised his death. Some even told me they felt safer for it. Of course some also think that his death is a lie.

Bin Laden is gone, Arabs are demanding that their voices are heard, European help is being sought to remove oppressive dictators, African leaders are uniting to solve African challenges, progressive developing countries like Brazil are learning from the mistakes of developed countries’ welfare programs because they are now rich enough to provide it, the information age is opening the minds of the planet, more and more poor people are being empowered and educated, and people are calling this the end of the world? I don’t think so. This is without a doubt one of the best times to be alive. The way I see it, the world has never been falling apart. It never does. It has been putting itself together since the beginning of time. It is always the best time to be alive, as long as we all do our parts to help put it together.

May 10, 2011

Somehow we'll make it because that's what we do

African Night

Good night

The radiant rain releases a rusty aroma right into my memories

As the melodic tunes bounce into my ear drums

Thoughts swing back and forth in my mind

I stare at the screen, the keys feel abnormally hot.

Sitting on a cushion I bought with my own money

I smell the scent of the freshly finished cooked meal floating into my nostrils

I write this collection of contemplations

A fly gets caught in a web, it buzzes its last bad byes

Great night, good night!

April 17, 2011

Civil Storm

Storm on the war

Fulfill the feeling

Stealing what remains.

Stained where it hurts.

Dirt on your face,

Trace where it came from.

Drums in the background

Around the corner store.

Doors are slamming shut

But is it the storm?

Adore what is lost,

Cost of what is missing?

Crying to fulfill

Fulfill the feeling

April 28, 2011

Bridge

Take me away,

Take me away.

To the place in your mind,

when you wrote this lyric.

To the person who inspired

you to let yourself go.

Introduce me to that moment.

Let me be its acquaintance.

Take me to that playground,

Where your imagination spun,

Round and round, up and down

jumping off the swing set,

climbing and sliding.

Creative bliss

Take me away,

Take me there.

Don’t open your eyes.

Stay in the chorus.

Don’t close your mind,

Channeling inspiration.

Close your wings,

Let yourself fall.

May 5, 2011

How the hell’d we get here?

I was having a great day until I watched Blood Diamond.

Without certainty, I was sheltered growing up in one of the poorest countries in the world. Peace Corps Niger was recently evacuated because it is too dangerous to live there. Apparently Al Qaeda has finally made its way through. I don’t remember my age but I remember when President Bare was assassinated. I recall my American friends thinking that they were probably going to be evacuated. I had no idea what was going to happen to us. Looking at the situation as an adult I’m sure only the American Embassy workers and their families would have been evacuated.

I also remember a classmate, Khalipha, we were eating at lunch and he was telling us that his dad was in the room when the assassination happened. I am positive this was not true, we were just a bunch of kids competing for attention back then and children always lie to outdo each other. I do remember he reenacted the way Bare was killed. He stood up and shook his body as if he was having a seizure and dropped to his knees, then his stomach. He told us it was the machine gun fire that supposedly made his body shake like that. Back then I thought he was telling the truth.

After watching Blood Diamond again tonight I realized a few things about myself and Africa. The first time I watched it I was with my girlfriend at the time and I left feeling as if the movie hadn’t changed any of my opinions. I acted as if I had already known what was going on in Africa just because I had lived there. I remember being all nonchalant about the film. The truth is I did know the facts but I regrettably ignored the feelings. I realize now that the feelings, especially when it comes to countries in war that those feelings are far more important. What a cocky little prick I was back then. I hope I’m still not like that.

Apparently Burkina Faso is about to erupt now too. Thank God Ivory Coast is finally cooling down. Africa. This is Africa. But what is Africa? There was a line in Blood Diamond that Djimon Hounsou’s character said, “I know good men from my country that believe there is something wrong in our blood, that we were better off when white men were ruling our country.” What compels somebody to believe that? When he said that, all I could do was drop my jaw. Throughout all the twelve years that I spent growing up here I never encountered one person saying that about Africa. I am here for seven months as an adult and I have heard several people in my village say that.

I’m absolutely thankful that my parents did not surround me around people who believed that as a child, what would I have grown up to think about Africans? What do these African children grow up to believe if there parents say that all the time? Where is the pride? Where is the hope? Where is the trust? Is it even really that harder to find these essential human features here than in any other place in the world?

God I could use a beer right now, actually tequila or whiskey would be better. Be right back.

There was another line in Blood Diamond, about the Peace Corps. I’m just paraphrasing right now but DiCaprio’s character said something like, “Peace Corp Volunteers only stay here long enough to realize that nothing they do actually helps people.” I laughed when I heard this. Personally, I think he is wrong. In fact, f*** the writer for writing that. But at the same time I understand why he would write that. I have always been optimistic, I relate most to both Connelly’s and Hounsou’s characters. I am optimistic but I have to question why some people do what they do.  Come to think of it ‘development’ is an ironic word to call this field of work.

Today one of my favorite people to work with told me something (insert your own adjective here). He told me the director… actually… I won’t give you specifics but he said that an influential figure who I will be working closely with for one of my projects is very corrupt. Apparently he made young kids make bricks and kept the money for himself as well as some other bizarre things. I told him I would love to call out this director on his wrong doings but it simply is not place to do so.

My friend also told me that I shouldn’t work with this other farmer because he was not to be trusted. I told my friend that I don’t trust anyone but I do trust my judge of character. He was basically telling me to not work with a man who gave his kids an option between school and working on the fields. His children chose school and now he makes sure they do it right. He makes them study; finish their homework and everything else that is necessary to succeed in school. I told my friend that I appreciate his advice but my parents didn’t raise no fool. I will always listen to people that give their kids an option between school and working on the fields.

When it comes to trust here, I simply don’t. At least right now I don’t. I haven’t been in Meidougou long enough. Personally it takes a very special moment to trust someone. Whether it is an enlightening conversation, or if they stick with me during a tragedy, or if I notice that they are always there for me, or if we share some sort of life changing moment, I can’t forget history, if I have a long history with a person I tend to (at least most of the times) stick around with them.

Good company is usually not too difficult to find however finding people that reciprocate respect, keep their words, pay back debts, feed your pets while you’re out, help you paint your walls, hand you their last cigarette, clean up your πss, return your phone calls, this list can truly write a trilogy.

All in all what I want to say is that Africa has good company, trustworthy people, respectful men and women but what I’m praying for is that the less educated Africans soon realize that it is just as hard to find these people in any other corner of the world.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 21, 2011

Teardrop on the Fire

What was I thinking? I should have been using only candles long ago. They are way better than lanterns or flashlights. There was a violent storm earlier today and this usually means that there will be no electricity for a while. No big deal, I have candles now.

I know I complain a lot about the kids in the concession, but I do love them. Since the power went out I thought it’d be a good idea to use all the tomatoes in my fridge so they don’t go bad. There was also a lemon in the vegetable drawer. Today was an insanely busy day. I’m teaching a women’s group who I’m working with how to make soap. The plan is to sell it at the health center and educate the mamas on hygiene. Did I mention tonight was the first time I have ever made soap in my life? Anyways by the time I was done working with them I scrambled to start cooking dinner. It was around eight o’clock.

I asked the kids if they wanted to help me. “BIEN SUR!” They respond. This is, ‘of course!’ in French. These four are named, Amadou (who I like to call Amadamadou), Ibrahim, Yaouba and my favorite, Yousoufa. I’m not supposed to have favorites but he totally is. Keep in mind that there is no electricity; all I have are four candles, one lantern and my heavy duty Mag-lite. I light the four candles on all corners of the kitchen and place the lantern on the counter. The kitchen has never looked so cool.

Amadamadou said, “We can’t start without washing our hands!”

By the way, I taught him that (he also covers his sneezes with his shoulder now too).

I bring in my bucket with some reserved water in it from earlier and we wash our hands with that. The four of us start cutting the onions, garlic and tomatoes. I light the stove, pour some olive oil in my pan, slide all the vegetables in the pan and begin to stir. The kids all watch me. I shake some oregano, thyme, paprika, black pepper and salt in the pan. The kids all watch me. I decide to put some music on, my mom sent me some speakers that work with batteries for my birthday. The kids request Neon Bible by Arcade Fire, its one of the few songs I know how to play on the guitar and they love that song. I get out some tomato paste and mix it with filtered water; I pour that into the pan too. The kids all watching me. After a while I finally decide to start boiling water for the macaroni impulsively decide to squeeze the lemon in the sauce too. Luckily earlier I had asked Yousoufa to get me some macaroni and onions as I was making soap with the women, without him there would be no dinner tonight. I pour the macaroni in the boiling water.

The kids watched.

It’s a custom here to share food. It’s rare when the Dadas (mamas) of the concession (compound) don’t offer me what they cook. They usually end up giving me what they make even after I say, “No thank you.” This simple way of life has compelled me to always share what I cook, no matter how much I prepare. This is also the reason I never have leftovers.

I realized that the bag of macaroni Yousoufa bought was a little too small after I’m done pouring out the water from the pot. There is only enough for three servings. Dang it. I decide at that moment that I wouldn’t eat tonight. There would only be enough for the kids, the mamas, and my landlord (and his wife). I serve the two bowls and the third one in the Tupperware (for my landlord, Salihou). I ask Amadamadou to give one of the bowls to the mamas and other kids and ask Ibrahim to give the Tupperware to Salihou. When the two got back I handed them the third bowl. They instantly asked, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

I replied, “No, I’m not hungry, I just wanted to use the tomatoes before they got bad.”

They didn’t believe me. They knew I had not eaten because before working with the women’s group, the five of us were working on the garden and before that I went to the middle school for my English lesson (which I didn’t get to teach because of the rainstorm). These kids immediately stopped eating and handed me the rest of the bowl which was still practically full. I accepted. They asked me if they could play with the blocks and the puzzle of the African map I bought for them. I respond,

“BIEN SUR!”

I place all but one candle in the living room for them. I leave the lantern on the floor and enjoy my meal with pleasant music by the candle light. Sometimes I envy the volunteers in villages without electricity. I join them in the living room and open Three Cups of Tea (given to me as a gift by my older sister, Isis). After a chapter and a half, I get inspiration to write this entry. Reading by candle light with music in the background is officially one of my new favorite past times.

Merci, Yousoufa, Amadamadou, Ibrahim and Yaouba.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 19, 2011

They say rap has changed, they want to know how I feel about it

I have been writing a lot. Enjoy some poetry.

MaPa

When I get lost I look for my Ma

When I get lost I remember my Pa

The givers of my life

The reason I’m alive

The writers of my name

The editors of my thoughts

The publishers of my inspiration

Mi Ma y mi Pa

Juntos,

Together

They not only gave me my life

But give it to me every day

Cada dia

I get lost a lot.

Cada dia,

But there are never problems

Only challenges

Cada dia

I erase my limits

And review my direction

But before I look through the telescope

I look for my Ma

And remember my Pa

Y digo gracias a Dios por mi MaPa

Carlitos J. Fernandez-Torres

January 1, 2011

Ill Regal Immigrant

Stop kissing my hand

Stop passing me the ball

Get me off of this stand,

Stop worrying, I’m not going to fall

You see the color of my skin,

So you triple the price.

I can’t let you win.

I can’t be too nice

I can’t give you money,

Children, please stop starring

This attention is scarring.

Men claim to know

everything about the whites.

Maybe they’re right.

I’ll tell you what.

Hand me that cup of tea

Sell me that lantern oil fairly

I’ll show you some pictures,

Some new music too

And we can go out dancing

Then we will

know,

understand,

and simply stand

One another.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 14, 2011

Fire on a Canoe

In this very moment,

two different lights are

at my front.

I am facing one,

the other is facing me.

The one I am not facing,

Is a flame.

a fire that dances within

a sphere of a golden silhouette.

It delivers inspiration,

smoothly,

It descends transcendently,

Like a river’s source

from a mountain.

Decorating the tip of the wick

is a glowing red charcoal.

It does not have much time

left. We both burn.

The other

light,

will stay bright

for exactly five hours

and fifty five minutes more.

This light does not

dance.

It does not

inspire.

Instead this fire,

waits.

For me.

For my thoughts to be transferred

inside.

Instead in this light I confide

everything I choose to hide.

This modern typewriter

is the mouth of my

river of contemplations

and revelations.

Here.

The three of us

wait.

Each with a purpose.

Wait!

Tragic or perfect?

Neither,

of

us

have

enough

t

i

m

e

.

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

April 19, 2011

I’m coming to take you home

I remember when I first moved the Michigan. I remember lying down on my cousin’s trampoline with my fingers laced behind my head. I looked at the summer sun hiding behind the tree’s leaves and branches, they wear waving back and forth. The summer breeze was warm and humid. I remember asking my two younger cousins, “You know what the difference is between the sun here and the sun in Africa?” They responded in a confused tone, “no?” I answered, “Nothing.”

Another memory I’ve been thinking about was the first rain I witnessed in Michigan. I was so excited, I was beaming with enthusiasm. I couldn’t wait to smell the rain, to smell the dust thrown into the atmosphere by the drops of rain. I was so disappointed. The aroma never really arrived. It was so faint that the experience was stolen from me. I could never really figure out why the scent never arrived.

Until now

This week has been radiant. The last two weeks were split into two parts. The first was what we call IST (In-Service Training), a one week seminar filled with sometimes useful workshops. The second week was all traveling. I visited the northern part of Cameroon. I was so close to my previous home, closer than I have ever been in the last ten years. I got choked up. It is good to be back at post, this week has been very proactive but reminiscing my travels in the Extreme North region of Cameroon also comforts me.

I saw Nym Trees. I inhaled dry air, really dry, so dry that some of my friends got bloody noses. I took a walk through Maroua. Maroua is the capitol region of the Extreme North. I hate to admit it but Maroua is more beautiful than Niamey. Maroua has Nym trees on every single street, providing shade to every single pedestrian. The motos in Maroua are not very comfortable but their old classic looks complement the city’s character in an eclectic way. I got lost in Maroua, both figuratively and literally. On my walk I stopped to chat with some kids collecting the berries from the Nym trees. I asked them why, they told me it was to make cooking oil. Mangos were ripe in the Extreme North. The skin was green but their fibrous insides were bright orange. They were naturally divinely delicious. I was reminded of Niger. The city of my adolescence, the city where I got to know the sun so well.

In Maroua, I lied down on a hammock type seat and stared at the Nym trees waving at me for hours. A part of me wanted to head to the bus stop and see the rest of the region but the other firmly decided to take in the Nym trees.

The reason you can smell the rain here in Africa better is because there are less paved roads. There is just so much sand and dirt everywhere that when the raindrops hit the ground they throw the wet dust into the air. The aroma comforted me as a child, it meant that the dry season was over and life was coming back. Michigan is filled with grass and paved roads. It is actually difficult sometimes to find dirt patches in Michigan. Here it is not so.

I love the sun here too, but it is no different than Michigan’s sun. I thought the exact same thing when I was on my cousin’s trampoline. I love the sun everywhere. But I also love the clouds. I love it when there are enough clouds that they pour rain and life onto the ground. I absolutely love it when it rains here.

…

I’m confused. Most days I’m sure this will probably be the last time I live in Africa. I enjoyed Asia so much. I would love to work there some day. Bangladesh lassoed me to that region so much that I’m planning on visiting Pakistan after my service here. However, there are days. There are days like the one during my voyage to the Extreme North where I had a sorcerer tell me how many kids I’m going to have. He added that I’ll be traveling throughout Africa with them some day. This old man spit on a crab, placed it in a pot filled with water, sand and dried up clay. Pulled it out, recited some sort of prayer, spit on it again and told me how many children I will have. To be honest, I like the thought of taking my future family throughout Africa someday. It’s a beautiful contemplation.

I guess I still have time under this galaxy’s sun to figure out just what and where the hell I’m going to be for the rest of my life.

It’s strange, I reminisced a lot of Africa while I lived in Michigan but I don’t reminisce that much of Michigan while I’m here (except for going to the cinema of course). Writing this entry did make me think of two other special things I love about Michigan. The first is definitely the scent of a freshly mowed lawn. The other one was the first time I saw snow. I was sitting in Mr. Savage’s American Government class and I saw the flakes dance their way down to the grass. I remember dropping a few of my own rain drops on my textbook that day; the snow was simply that stunning.

Jesus, now more memories are coming. I better stop before I get even more confused. Like I said, I have the rest of these two years to figure this shit out.

The crab said three by the way.

April 17, 2011

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

If it breaks your heart, it won't take your soul

 Okay, so for those who remember I said earlier in this series of blog entries that it would be unique. I also said earlier that my sort of post-mate and I assigned each other monthly writing assignments. Well I've decided that I'm going to post my first writing assignment on this blog. Just a warning, I have not written something like this in a long time so I decided not to be too deep. Actually its not deep at all, I kind of used the opportunity to just practice my writing and get warmed up. So this is the result, please excuse the profanity but it is something I use. Enjoy!

Life Granted

By Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

“Actually, I’m going to go ahead and add some of this Wrigley’s gum too,” said Grant, impulsively. He was shopping for an ankle brace, some cowboy killers, a lighter and now some gum. Grant went for a jog earlier and mildly sprained his ankle.

“That’s how they get your money you know, I’ve been working here for two years and I’m convinced this is where Walgreen’s gets most of their profits,” remarked the twenty-something cashier.

The cashier was cute, was this her trying to start a conversation? Grant wasn’t sure but even if she was, there was no way he was going to try and find out. His self-esteem level was hovering around 50% that day, no different than any other recent day of his life.

This cashier’s name was Lynn. He could tell by her name tag. She had massive green eyes, shiny red hair and sharp cheek bones. Her Tina Fey glasses complemented her freckles, she seemed bored. She was also hiding a book by the register, he couldn’t really make out the title but he knew it must have been interesting and most likely hip. It was definitely not a Twilight book, thank God, Grant thought.

“Yeah, I think I’ve read that somewhere,” finally replied Grant. He was certainly not satisfied with the response. He instantly thought of five cooler things he could have said, but then he thought he would have regretted saying those too. Grant suddenly couldn’t wait to leave the store.

There was an awkward silence as she was handing him back his credit card.

“So, what happened to your ankle?” asked Lynn engagingly.

“Oh, I twisted it a little during my run through River Walk Park today,” Grant replied.

“Sorry to hear that, wait, you’re a smoker and a runner?” she continued her questions as she put everything in a plastic bag.

There was no one else in the store.

I can’t believe she’s talking to me, what the fuck do I say, Grant thought.

“You know how some people live dangerously? Well I live ironically,” Again Grant instantly regretted his response. In fact he couldn’t believe he just said that.

Lynn responded with a short laugh then breathed out, “Aren’t you just living dangerously though?”

“I guess, well thanks and see you later,” replied Grant curtly. Wait, did I really just end the conversation? He began to limp towards the exit. Damn it! Really, see you later? Yeah, like that will happen.

Grant’s thoughts guided him to his usual bar, his favorite, The Broken Trombone.

He limped to the bar, there were several empty stools. Two guys were playing pool with a flickering florescent light lighting their game. A couple was sitting together in the corner, it looked like they were fighting. The bar was not very lively. The bartender was drying a beer glass with a shredded towel.

“How’s it going, Joe?” greeted Grant.

“How the hell do you think its going?” impatiently replied the bartender.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“This bar is always empty, and when I do get people in here they’re all fucking assholes.”

Grant immediately knew Joe was kidding and smiled.

Joe’s smirk proved his dark humored greeting, “What the hell happened to your foot?”

“You call me a ‘fucking asshole’ and now you want to know what happened to my foot?” playfully retorted Grant.

“You tripped over the tampon that fell out of your vagina huh?”

Grant laughed, “Just give me a beer will you!” Joe turned around to start both Grant’s tab and tap.

Grant had his hands laced to each other gripping the back of his neck. Staring at the ceiling he was contemplating the different things he should have said to the Walgreen’s cashier. Joe started walking towards Grant with his beer. Grant noticed very curiously how Joe’s eyes got extremely wide as his eyes stared towards the entrance. He saw fear on Joe’s face but immediately thought it was another one of his pranks. It wasn’t until Joe dropped his beer and instantly threw his hands in the air that Grant thought something was seriously wrong. He instinctively looked at the reflection of the mirror behind the bar to see what Joe was staring so intensely at.

He vaguely saw a man wearing a ski mask holding what he thought was a sawed off shotgun walking towards Joe. As Grant turned around to see if that was really what he was looking at, the man with the sawed off shotgun threateningly shouted, “Everybody this is a stickup! If you try anything stupid I will shoot you in the face and steal whatever you have anyways! The faster you slide your wallets and cellphones to me the faster this will all be over!”

Freaked out, everyone immediately followed his instructions.

Surprisingly, Grant’s first thought was the fact that he heard a sense of fear in the thief’s voice. At first this comforted him, he thought, “well this guy surely won’t kill anyone because this might be the first time he’s tried something like this.” He asked himself, “How crazy could an amateur be?” Then he realized that he would rather be in this same situation with a thief with experience. Experienced thieves wouldn’t accidentally shoot anybody in the head.

The bar was as silent as a church. The thief was pointing the sawed off shot gun to Joe’s face.

“Give me all the fucking money in the register, NOW!” shouted the thief.

Without hesitation Joe opened the register and started gathering up all the bills. The thief turned around to check if any of the other people at the bar were trying anything brave. He immediately caught the man from the couple doing something in his pocket. The woman was crying hysterically with her hands up.

Right away the thief shot his shotgun towards the floor. All three women in the bar screamed. Some of the men looked around to make sure no one was hurt.

“You think I’m fucking around here? Get your hands out of your pocket, RIGHT NOW!” Threatened the thief with the shotgun pointing to the man’s face.

The man immediately followed his instructions. The thief demanded that the woman take the cellphone out of her boyfriend’s pocket and drop it on the floor. Grant decided that exact instant that he would not try anything stupid.

The thief demanded, “Okay everyone, I’m about to get money out of the safe from the back room. All of you line up on this wall right here. I’m going to watch the bartender get my money from the back room while I also make sure none of you try doing what this asshole just tried doing!” He angrily pointed to the man from the couple with his shotgun.

Grant, the three women and the other three guys that were once drinking all stood up to follow the thief’s instructions. Joe then cleared his throat to get the thief’s attention and pointed to a sign that said, “Only the owner of the bar has the keys to the safe.” which was hung up by the office door.

The thief took the handle of the shotgun and smashed Joe’s face with it. Joe hit the floor. The handle had hit his cheekbone and blood began to gush out onto the floor. The thief then scoffed with a rage, “We all know those signs are bullshit. Do you take me for a fool? Get up and get me my fucking money!” Grant slowly started to limp towards the wall the thief pointed to, the others carefully followed.

Grant now realized that this man was an experienced robber. His next thought was, “If I don’t do anything, I won’t get shot. But what if this guy actually accidentally falls down and I get killed because this idiot trips over some spilled beer?”

Grant then realized that this could be the day that he dies. He began to pray, “Please God, if this asshole does kill me, please let it be quick.” Then he realized that he might never see his family ever again. He thought about his mother crying after she heard the news of her son’s death. He began to sob. All of a sudden it wasn’t the cops he wanted to call but his parents. He thought of his older brother, his brother had just recently asked for Grant’s advice on how to propose to his girlfriend. Grant started praying, “Please God, let me go to my brother’s wedding… alive”

The thief was holding the bar’s office door open and pointing his sawed off shotgun to Joe who was kneeling down in front of the safe. The thief continuously turned his head from the office to the bar.

Grant wanted to wipe his tears but he couldn’t because his hands were held up. He didn’t want to move them with the fear that he would either get shot or smacked in the face like Joe. Grant looked at the hole on the floor caused by the gun blast. He stared at it and began to think of his ex-girlfriend, he thought, “Why the hell am I thinking about her, she treated me like shit. I’m not wasting what could be the last moments of my life thinking of that bitch.”

Instead he began to reflect on how much he regretted not saying anything to that cute Walgreen’s cashier, Lynn. He wanted to go back and return his cigarettes.

Joe finally finished handing all the money to the thief from the safe. The thief zipped up his backpack and curiously dialed a number on his phone and hung up right away. Everyone, including the thief, were thinking the same thing, “this is almost over.”

There was a loud screech outside the bar. Grant immediately realized that the thief called his getaway driver. The thief walked cautiously towards the door, turned around to the people leaning scared on the wall. He pointed his shotgun to them and said, “Don’t follow me,” then walked backwards out of the door.

Joe was lying on the floor completely shocked from what had just happened, somehow he managed to squeeze out a joke, “See Grant, I told ya all the guys that come in here are assholes.”

Grant smiled, he wanted to help him but his ankle ached way too much, instead the two guys who were playing pool went to help him out. Grant slid down the wall to sit down; he didn’t have to wipe his tears because they had dried. He closed his eyes and thanked God he was alive.

The bar was still as silent as a church. Only Joe and the two pool players were talking. Joe asked them to call the cops, one of the others responded, “How? That fucker took all of our cellphones.” Joe pointed his bloody hands to the office phone.

Grant was barely paying attention, he wanted to leave. The guy on the phone hung up and informed everyone, “No one can leave, the cops are coming and they want us to stay for questioning.”

“Perfect,” responded Grant sarcastically. At this point all he wanted to do was return his cigarettes. He now knew exactly what he wanted to tell the cute cashier.

Joe finally got up, he picked up the phone and dialed the bar owner’s number. Grant wanted so badly to smoke one of the cigarettes from the pack he just bought but resisted. He looked at the couple from before, the young woman whispered to her boyfriend, “I’m breaking up with you, where do you get off putting my life in danger like that!” Her voice rapidly got louder. “Seriously? Seriously? What were you thinking? Did you think you were being brave???” She shouted.

The man, now her exboyfriend, responded, “I was trying to protect you!”

She headed towards the door, “I’m not staying, tell the police that you came in alone and you sure as hell will leave alone!” She stormed out.

Joe got off the phone and informed everyone, “I just got off the phone with the owner and he is offering anyone who wants to stay free drinks for the rest of the night.”

Grant asked, “This man just got robbed and is now offering us free drinks?”

“The guy is loaded and he has really good insurance, he’s confident they’ll cover the losses,” answered Joe.

“Are you willing to stay and serve us?” asked the now single guy.

“Psh, I know one thing for sure kid, we could all use a fuck’n drink right now, especially you,” replied Joe half jokingly.

Two cops finally walked into the bar. The uniformed men immediately noticed the hole in the floor. The older one took out his notebook and pen and said, “Okay, we’re going to have to talk to all of you individually.”

The next few minutes felt like hours. After Joe offered everyone free drinks Grant had slightly changed his plans. He wanted to drink but he also wanted to go see the cashier. He was hoping that the cops would finish before midnight. Grant predicted that midnight was probably when Lynn’s shift ended.

Grant assumed that the cops had to talk to everyone individually to make sure that it wasn’t an inside job. When they finally finished, the older cop handed a paper to Joe and said, “You’ll be hearing from us in two to five days. Leave this form for the owner.” They thanked everyone for their patience and casually walked out.

Joe who was now holding an ice pack on his cheek proceeded to ask everyone, “So you guys stay’n or what?”

Everyone looked at each other. It was pretty clear that they all wanted to stay. The taller of the two pool players said, “Let’s get drunk!” Everyone laughed and agreed.

Grant told Joe, “Joe, there’s something I’ve got to do. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure kid, yull have a cold one wait’n for ya,” replied Joe.

Grant limped out of the bar and headed straight towards Walgreen’s. The closer he got the less nervous he got. His ankle barely even hurt anymore. For some reason his confidence was flying. When he got to the pharmacy he saw Lynn walking towards her car. Lynn noticed Grant right away. It was a well lit parking lot.

“Came back for more cigarettes Sparky?” wittingly asked Lynn.

Grant expressed a crooked smile.

“Actually, I came here to return them,” He replied.

“Oh yeah? What happened to living dangerously?”

Grant was hoping she would say that, “Oh I lived dangerously tonight all right.”

She looked at him curious and intrigued, “How so?”

“Well, you know the bar ‘The Broken Trombone’?”

“You mean that joke of a bar a few blocks away from here?” she answered with a question.

He smiled again. “That’s the one.”

“What about it?” she asked.

“Well it was just robbed and I was in there when it happened.” He answered.

“Get out of here, seriously? What are you doing here after an event like that?” Lynn asked concerned.

“Well I had three revelations while I had that gun pointed to my head tonight.”

Lynn was beginning to think that this was an elaborate lie. Grant noticed this by her expression.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Lynn.

“There’s a big hole in the floor from a gun shot, I’ll show it to you.” He offered.

Lynn had one eyebrow higher than the other. She was definitely intrigued and could tell that Grant was an honest guy. Grant could tell she was debating whether or not she would go with him.

“What were your three revelations?” interrogated Lynn.

“Well first let me tell you that I’m Grant, and the first revelation was that I should tell my family I love them more often, the second was that I’m glad my exgirlfriend broke up with me and the last was that I should have asked you out earlier tonight.”

Flattered, Lynn smiled as she looked at Grant.

“Okay then, show me this hole in the floor.”

End