I often miss the excitement of travel and the many variables of a more fast-paced life. Before moving to Joburg, my life was far from predicable. At college, there was always something new going on and the idea of having regular sleep or time for “slow and steady” development was out of the question. After college, I traveled for several months and then, when I first moved to South Africa in September, I spent over a month traveling and visiting the field bands around the country.

So, I have some mixed feelings about my new “normal” life. But, I’ve managed to plan a few trips over the coming months that should hopefully balance the competing interests of the fixed lifestyle I seem to need and the adventurous lifestyle I love. The first of my excursions came a few weeks ago when my parents came to South Africa to visit me.

It was really exciting to have them here. It’s rare that you get to show your folks a place that is intimately familiar to you, but which they have never seen before. My goal for the trip was to show them the absolute highlights of the country and it turned out to be one of the greatest trips of my life and a very special experience for my parents as well. They are already planning to come back in October!

The trip really did put things in perspective for me and gave me a sincere appreciation for the unique and inspiring qualities of this incredible country. The adventure took us around the country, from the game reserves of Mpumalanga, to bustling heart of Soweto, the haunting mountains of the Karoo, and the magnificent coasts of Cape Town.

I tried to balance the trip between natural wonders, cultural highlights, and “down-to-earth” South African experiences. To see the extreme luxury of some of the world’s most sumptuous game lodges without also experiencing the extreme poverty of some of the townships, would be a one-sided approach to touring South Africa. Likewise, a visit to the high-strung economic capital of Johannesburg without a trip to the laid-back and cosmopolitan city of Cape Town, would create an incomplete picture of the country.

This balanced approach really made the trip special and it was very refreshing for me to get out of Joburg for a bit and appreciate South Africa as a whole.

Please check out the slide show I’ve put together from the trip. I tried to cover a good amount of detail in my captions, but feel free to send me a message if you have any comments or questions.

Ok, so I’m going to let you all in on a little secret…For the past few months I’ve been working on producing a documentary, currently entitled CONTRA CORRIENTE, based on my research! Surprised, right? Well, I’ve been wrestling with the idea of producing a documentary long before I left for Panama. Last summer, I interned with a Colombian Television/Documentary producer (and Spanish Reggae enthusiast) who taught me the fundamentals of production (and gave me some valuable contacts for my research). He was confident that a documentary about Spanish Reggae would be very marketable. (Remember the success of Boy Wonder’s documentary about Reggaeton, Chosen Few, released in 2004?) The only problem is the funds allotted for my research don’t exactly cover producing a feature-length film…So, initially I was very hesitant to devote myself to this very difficult endeavor. However, I believe that a documentary film would be the best way to actually do something with my research. Not only is film a very powerful medium, but it’s widely accessible for many people. For me, it’s not enough that I have all of this knowledge about this fascinating musical form. I need to share my knowledge with others! So I’ve decided to give it a shot.

As part of my strategy to attract sponsors for my project, the US Embassy procured an interview with ELLAS, a weekly women’s magazine that is distributed with Panama’s leading newspaper La Prensa. Although I told only two people that I was going to be featured in the magazine, most of my Panamanian friends/acquaintances saw the article and congratulated me. I was even recognized by a salesperson who works at GUESS! I admit I rather enjoyed my 15 seconds of fame!

Below is my translation of the article. The interview was conducted entirely in Spanish. I was a little nervous about speaking in Spanish so early in the morning (8:00AM!), but I think the interview went well. You can find the original article online HERE.

In the cradle of Spanish Reggae

Fulbright and mtvU created a scholarship to study the power of music, and the only woman out of the four who were selected is in Panama. Larnies Bowen is conducting an academic study and documentary about “el reggaeton.”

by Vannie Arrocha

How did you win this scholarship?

Over 100 students applied for this new grant offered by the Fulbright Program and mtvU. I created a proposal to use Reggae music to study identity in the community of West Indian descendants who came to Panama for the construction of the Canal.

What did you study in college?

I received my B.A. in Caribbean Studies* from New York University. My research about Spanish Reggae is part of my post-graduate studies.

*(The official title of my concentration is Deconstructing National Identity in the Hispanophone Caribbean. But for the purposes of this interview, I said Caribbean Studies because it’s simpler.)

How did you become interested in researching Reggae music in Panama?

I’m originally from Washington DC, but I studied in New York where they listen to a lot of Reggaeton. A friend told me that Reggaeton originated in Panama. I wasn’t aware of this. I thought this music was Puerto Rican. So I decided to investigate and I realized that Reggaeton does have some roots in Panama.

What is Contra Corriente?

Contra Corriente will be a feature length documentary about the beginning of Spanish Reggae in Panama. With my documentary, I am trying to promote a positive image of the genre, so that people will understand that it’s not all about violence, sex, and drugs. It’s also a music about protest and self expression.

Which artists have you interviewed?

Chich Man, Renato, Rene Renegado, Ness, Kafu Banton, Suppose, Aldo Ranks, La Factoria, DJ Black, Principal, Killa Ranks, Bakan, and Almirante. I still have others I plan to interview.

Your favorite interview?

Until now, Chicho Man (Jeffrey Donaldson). He’s dedicated his life to God now and he says that he wants to inspire the youth so that they don’t become involved in gangs. He is very intelligent. During our interview, he spoke about his West Indian heritage, history, and identity and how reggae serves as a means of expression for people from the “barrio.” I simply asked him one question and he expounded on all of these themes. It was incredible.

Who is your favorite “reguesero?”

El Roockie is one of my favorite artists. He has a more romantic style. He speaks about God in many of his songs. My favorite song is “Nos ama tanto” (He loves us so much) which he sings with [Jamaican Reggae artist] Anthony B. El Roockie is a more conscious artist, and although he doesn’t speak about “guns,” he still sells.

Will we see Contra Corriente on the screens of MTV?

I hope so. It depends on the [financial] support of the Panamanians….

Let’s do the math: if you can relate to the following entry, then I guess we have something in common. If not, do not feel left out. I still love you like my brother, sisters, father, mother– like my family.

Here are some random things to think about when you are sitting there thinking about your life, how far you have traveled, how much you have accomplished, and how there are those the things that you wish you had done less of.

1. Khmer people love to go the park (if you grew up in America and are remotely Khmer, then you know what I am talking about). We go to the park whenever it is hot and treat it like a family gathering: Always looking to buy those small, dirty clams and eat them at home with tamarind garlic sauce. If not, then we’re probably buying bok-la-hung from the Laos lady instead of the Khmer lady, because the Laos lady makes her homemade crab sauce spicier. When done with the bok-la hung, and looking for something else to eat, we head for the grilled chicken or beef (never touching the grilled fish because we know better. It was probably caught in the same lake we remember jumping and swimming in when we were young). Then our sweet tooth takes hold… and either we get some of that pink or green sweet drink stuff mixed with ice (that makes your teeth rot), reserving the coffee flavor drink stuff for the old folks or, head for the Khmer dessert: the green noodles with sugar and coconut syrup (we enjoy the latter the older we get). The whole day, aside from eating, is spent hoping to go home–when will your parents get tired from all the gossiping and card playing?– as we down our third bag of that green stuff. Just waiting… until the dust suffocates our lungs and observing the day slowly pass by from the light off the grass. And when we return back home, we sometimes forget to shower and just go to sleep. This cycles less and less, every week as one gets older and no longer are we willing to be stuffed into the family minivan–the same one that your dad use to drive to work, opting instead to stay home or, go somewhere else with our own car. And if we “choose” to go to the park, it will only be every once in a while, and we think back to our memories formed there.

2. Khmer people love roadside plants. In fact, we can probably eat everything and anything that grows out of the ground. If you can salt it, sugar it, pickle it–Khmer style– you can eat it. Mild diarrhea is not problem. We will just get a rub of white monkey tiger balm on our bellies and walk it off. And we knew better than to eat that unknown plant growing on the highway, but when it is next to that pra-hok or duk-krung, we can’t help ourselves. Remember how we didn’t like to eat Khmer food growing up? How we longed for hamburgers, hotdogs, and pizza, because that was more American and more in line with what we saw on T.V. (like when we saw them eat turkey and other American cuisine at their family gatherings, a la FULL HOUSE with Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen)! But now, we eat Khmer food with vicious ambition. But I digress…Going back then, to the Khmer people and plants, we don’t even know the plant’s name, only it’s location on the highway or, on the grounds of the shopping mall. And of course, there are other identifiers: what “could” be eaten is given a prefix of year and number identification. So that when something new becomes edible, the species discovered in that year will be called by plant year (2008) and then number of discovery (#1), so that there is no confusion. Plants discovered since the last follow the pattern until the end of that qualifying year. The information is passed to the community and soon the plant, its location, shape, taste, and cooking method is public information. In no time, the plant species becomes extinct because everyone will have stripped that sucker down to the bone (The same thing that happened to that crab apple tree and what’s happening to plant 1985 #01. 1985 #01 grows near the airport, is long and stringy, and is pickled and eaten with grilled fish). Yum.

3. Khmer people love their music, I will say it again; KHMER PEOPLE LOVE THEIR MUSIC. Growing up and going on family trips to the park, in the family first car (which was a wagon of some kind with un-tinted windows so other people saw the whole family stuffed into the Japanese vehicle), or going on trips to pick plant 1995 #56, we listened to that strange Khmer music with the language that we did not understand. We would have preferred to take those tapes, toss them out the window, or hide them from mom and dad before getting in the car. To really breaking our parents’ hearts, the night before a trip, we would record the top 10 countdown from the radio over the classic Khmer tape, so that in the middle of a Sin Si Samuth song, 2Pac or Bone Thugs and Harmony screaming “THUG LIFE!!!” or “It’s Da First of Da Month” respectively, could be heard loud and clear. And how our parents wondered if something was wrong with the stereo?! Being the smart one in the family, we would exercise our American education and reply that “nothing is wrong and that is how the stereo works.” Telling your parents that they do not know technology as well as we do because we are now officially American (having spent 9am to 3pm in a western educational setting on a daily basis and since we no longer associate ourselves as Khmer). But as much as you tried to erase those words of Sin Si Samouth, Pen Rom, Srey Sros Sothear, Ing Nary, Meas Samorn from those tapes, those words still stuck inside your mind. And even though you cannot sing along, you listen along and you learned. These songs slowly crept into our minds as we got older, and now we wish we didn’t erase all of those treasures. We no longer want to be American. We want to be Khmer. So we started thinking about every possible way to repent what we did in our youth. We started looking on the Internet for places to download (and if you are feeling guilty, places to purchase) the Khmer songs you used to hate. Until you discover Napster and then, boom!!!! We’ve got a whole, newly-refreshed Khmer musical library. We start playing the music every single day, and our parents are so proud that we like the things they cherish. That is, until they are tired of hearing the same stupid song over and over again. Now they are getting tired of us and our songs. They would prefer to listen to rap instead of the constant annoyance of Khmer music blaring 24/7. All of our friends think that we are crazy but we know that we are not. With the Khmer flag in our rooms, and all those Angkor Wat T-shirts we bought off eBay, we feel like the saviors of Khmer culture– popping our Khmer bangers in, bopping our heads, and rolling down the Khmer strip of our cities in our 1995 civics.

Then we hit a roadblock in our lives. We are older now and have seen how much of our lives are Khmer and not really Cambodian. We think about our need to go to Cambodia and see what Cambodia is like. So we dream about all the things in our hearts, about the country our parents left behind. But then when we look at our demeanor and mannerisms, we can see that we are far from being Cambodian, Cambodian/American, and far from being American. Holding that American passport in hand, we start to become unsure about who we really are. Then our identities come back to us in questions needing answers. We take that passport, get on a plane, somehow with whatever means, and fly to what we think is our motherland. We take a good look back at America and silently ask ourselves, “Who am I?” (often afraid to ask loudly because we are so proud to be survivors in America). Trying to find our histories, we got years of knowing how bad our days growing up American was instead of counting the contrary. Trying not to feel defeated by society, we wish that the country that we most feel connects us (the motherland), will help us discover our heritage and overcome the cowardice of ignorance from years of not knowing our story.

We arrive to taste the fresh air that is Cambodia, only to be choked by the dust and exhaust from the traffic there. We spend ten months avoiding being hit by motos, or being run over by Lexus and Land cruisers with RCAF and Government green license plates. We sit in places of solitude only to be disturbed by the “Beautiful Girls” ringtone. We hear people talking about how much their land is worth now, while their bodyguards sport AK-47s (They are nothing without their bodyguards we think, because their body flows blood like everybody else… and they breathe the same pollution as you). We sit there and think about how we have spent our lives trying to figure out how to win in this world and knowing full well that we are only playing with ourselves. Then we feel discouraged that more and more, Cambodians abroad reveal themselves by not appreciating their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters who came from back home. We think about our gifts and talents and the hope we can give back to the place inside our hearts. Yet we only see the corruption that happens everywhere, replacing the light with the darkness, and we refuse to think that this is only a Cambodian problem. Then we hope for it to be over, and start counting the days until we come back home. We have given up on Cambodia and now know who we are. We are Khmer, more Khmer that we have understood. We are not Cambodian– Cambodians are people who live in Cambodia, there is no Cambodian living where we came from. We are just Khmer kids who grew up with Khmer experiences somewhere else… So how many more days ’til I go?

I am counting less than 100 and all I gave Cambodia is six kilos of my body. So in the meantime, I spend some better days watching old people exercise in unison at the Olympic stadium. That is how I manage my time amidst the problems, even though I lost 6 kilos since I got here. I wish I still had the motivation to dance with the people in the video but, I feel it better to share their smiles from behind my camera.

Click here to email Phally with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

So with the string of bad luck running in my life, it only seems fair that a water blessing be in store. Not only was it a fun way to get naked but it was also fun for the monk to extract his anger upon an unexpected evildoer like myself. I swear, with every water splash onto my backside, it was almost like I was preparing for a haymaker or something. With every throw, my folded hands reacted… Look at my face, even laughter and humor couldn’t save me from that monk.

Well, all things considered, I guess I was deserving of my blessing. I mean, there is no other (or better) time to ever see me robed in a monk’s dressing gown. So with all “prep-ness,” shot by my friend Mongkol, I bring you Phally’s attempt for good luck and fortune in his future endeavors.

Click here to email Phally with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

“¿Vieron el desfile?” (”Did you see the parade?) asked Olga as she combed the white alisado cream through the roots of Vanessa’s deep ruby-red hair. “Sí, era puro reggae” (”Yeah, it was pure reggae.”) chimed la asistente in a way that let me know that this was not a good thing. To be honest, I hadn’t been paying much attention to the beauty salon chatter (I was busy re-reading The Devil Behind the Miror by Stephen Gregory) until the topic of conversation switched to reggae and the weekend’s desfile, a parade honoring the nation.

Vanessa, a friend of my aunt’s, was kind enough to let me spend a few days at her home in Paraiso (a small town outside of the city primarily inhabited by the descendents of West Indian Canal Zone workers) while I was looking for an apartment. The Friday night before the parades, Vanessa and I went to the Figali Convention center to hear bands play dianas, a traditional Panamanian music form that was very popular during the month of independence. To my surprise, one of the most popular songs played there at the convention center and throughout the entire month was “Pasalo otra vez,” a song by leading Spanish Reggae artist Jr. Ranks. In between sets, a DJ played all of the hottest Dancehall music from JA and PTY.

During the parade, however, I only heard one reggae song (”Perdoname” by Eddie Lover and La Factoría) during the two days I was in attendance. Therefore, the assistant’s claim that the parade was “puro reggae” was a bit of an exaggeration. Still, Vanessa’s 70-something-year old mother said she knew people who echoed the assistant’s sentiments as well.

Spanish Reggae/ton is everywhere—on the buses, in the stores, on TV, on the radio, in practically all of the discotecas, on people’s cell phones as ringtones, and there’s even “Reggaeton” gum! So why all the fuss about a couple of Reggae songs during the independence parade?

Well I suspect it has to do with the fact that even for all of its popularity, Reggae continues to pay the price of its humble origins in the ghettos of Colón and Panama City. Meaning, even today, many people don’t consider Reggae to be a “legitimate” or “sophisticated” means of cultural expression. I cannot count the number of times, upon learning the focus of my research, Panamanians have responded with something along the lines of “Pero, eso se estudia?” (People study that??).

Reggae’s prominence during the mes de la patria indicates that Reggae is now a part of Panamanian national culture. As the singer Latin Fresh so eloquently stated in an op-Ed piece for La Prensa (a leading Panamanian newspaper): “Whether we like it or not, Spanish Reggae and everything surrounding this topic, is already a part of the Panamanian idiosyncrasy, it directly or indirectly pertains to all Panamanians of all ages […] The movement is part of our lives; therefore, we are obligated to recognize, without taboo, the importance of this movement for Panamanians and for our culture.”

Obviously there is a lot more to be said on this topic. But hopefully, this gives you a glimpse into an important aspect of ethnographic research. Even something as simple and seemingly unrelated as beauty-salon chit-chat can raise some important issues/questions relevant to my research. Furthermore, such casual conversations can be quite revealing of people’s attitudes toward my research topic.

Note: These past few weeks I’ve been poring through my notes while writing a short piece about my research results thus far for possible publication in an academic journal. I came across this post which I started way back when. (November is the mes de la patria). Seeing as though I’ve been really pre-occupied with the academic article, I finished up this entry to give you something to read in the meantime.

Click here to email Larnies with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

After spending so much time with Sello and Boy at their homes, I figured it was time to invite them to my place for a few days. They have been kind enough to let me into their lives, so why not let them into mine? They eagerly accepted my invitation and were excited to see my apartment and watch some videos I had been telling them about. They also asked if they could bring their friend Happy, another drummer from the band, with them and I, of course, accepted, bringing our drum party to four.

They stayed for two nights and we had an amazing time. We did a lot of drumming (on pads and shoes and magazines and whatever else we could find), wrote a new drum feature for their band and watched plenty of videos. They seemed to enjoy everything and I’m sure they learned a lot from the experience. They were also some of the best house guests I’ve ever had. I couldn’t believe it when they started mopping the floors and thoroughly cleaning the bathroom. They were respectful and just a lot of fun to have around. However, I did make the mistake of telling them they could eat as much as they wanted. I have never seen sandwiches stacked so high!

I also learned a lot from them. I regard Sello and Boy as friends and I don’t really associate terms like “disadvantaged” or “impoverished” with them. Those words seem so cold to me. I view them simply as capable young men who perhaps haven’t had many opportunities. But, some of the things they said really gave me pause.

At one point, Boy asked me how many meals I eat a day. I answered (at least three) and asked him the same question, only to find out that he can generally only afford to eat once a day. I also found out that Sello’s family can’t afford to get him a passport for the upcoming Field Band tour to Norway. The cost is around $25. They live on next to nothing, yet they don’t seem at all like “poor African children” or whatever other term might apply. They carry themselves with pride and that is something I really respect.

There were also plenty of funny “cultural” moments during their stay. For instance, they thought it was hilarious that I would want to drink my tea cold (iced tea). They also asked me if we have Coca Cola in America and were fascinated by Listerine. I also had this silly idea that they probably didn’t shower that much (a terrible stereotype based on the conditions of where they live). But, it seemed like they spent half their time showering and bathing!. They even asked me at one point why I didn’t shower so much.

I could go on, but perhaps it’s best to let a video do the talking. I turned my camera on just before they left and they decided to give a little Cribs-style tour of my apartment. I’ve also included some of our drumming and a very nice message they had for me at the end.

Click here to email James with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

There is so much to say. Frustrations, amazements, hopes, confusions.
A lot has happened since I posted the last two videos, almost too much to even think of putting into a blog entry. Thankfully, all in all, things are great. The band continues to come up with some beautiful original music and keeps getting closer and closer to actually playing and thinking like a band. Still it seems there is never enough time to do everything. Music, politics, fixing the world…it’s a long process.

I hope you enjoy this video of Dana’s song, “Dance on a River.” The clip is from the first time the band played the song together, so you can see we’re working out quite a lot as we go along. Hopefully you’ll pick up on the atmosphere in the room. For me its some mixture of excitement, nervousness, tension, joy, hope and complete calm. I wonder what it’ll be like for you. A big thanks to Lola Kalman for the great film work; capturing the energy of the whole room with one camera isn’t easy.

Thanks once again for tuning in. We’ve got a lot of great material on the way, as always.And thanks to everyone who’s written. Your comments, feedback, suggestions, questions and shout outs are always appreciated.

With Love,
Aaron

Click here to email Aaron with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

“Well the way how them have Colón, it’s the Cinderella of the whole country. That’s how they have Colón…The Cinderella of the whole country. The reason why that happened is because there was too much black in that area. Yes, that’s how they have Colón. The Cinderella of the whole country. So they never cared to do nothing for Colón. The government, they don’t care.”

–DJ Carlos Winthrop

While poring over some photos from my most recent day-trip to Colón, I was reminded of the above quotation from an interview I did last summer, bar-side at a popular hangout spot for older Panamanians in Brooklyn. The interviewee, DJ Carlos Winthrop, a Colón native and long-time Spanish Reggae DJ, recounted the origins of Spanish Reggae and his take on what I have dubbed ‘The Colón Question” or “Why is Panama’s second largest city, located in the country’s wealthiest region, surprisingly reminiscent of Havana?” Let me explain. Minus the squalor, Colón’s crumbling colonial buildings and the static, trapped-in-time feel, remind me of Cuba more than Panama. It seems almost unreal that Colón is the second largest city in a nation that is among the wealthiest and most developed in Central America.

As I have only made a few trips to and know little about the city’s history, I cannot confirm or reject Mr. Winthrop’s assertions. I include this quotation because the idea that “Colón is the Cinderella of the whole country” makes for an intriguing and powerful metaphor that echoes my own first impressions that this was a sorely neglected city.

I’ve spent the past week or so struggling to make some sense of the striking images of the “multis’” (housing projects) where the artists I interviewed grew up and continue to live. I’m still wading through my first impressions and the questions the trip raised for me. In the meantime, I thought I’d offer you some photos.

All photos by 2006-2007 Fulbright Scholar Rose Cromwell. www.RoseCromwell.com

Click here to email Larnies with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

Before I came to South Africa, I sent a very naïve email to the CEO of the Field Band Foundation enquiring about the nature of their “facilities” in the townships. The reply I got back simply said, “Hi Jimmy…We have no facilities in the townships. Field Bands = fields I’m afraid.” Though this fact became clear to me when I began working with the bands in September, I suppose it never really hit home until a few days ago…

I was teaching in Cullinan and had just finished my usual warm-ups with the drummers. We started working on a new drum solo, but after a few minutes, I heard something hit the ground next to me. I looked briefly at what seemed like a small piece of glass lying there and turned back to continue my lesson, only to find a cluster of very shocked faces staring at me. Boy then screamed “ICE ROCK!!” and within seconds they were all gone.

I stood there for a moment trying to make sense of what had just happened. Where did they go? Had there been some sort of cultural misunderstanding? Or perhaps there was some danger I wasn’t seeing? Then another piece of “glass” hit the ground. Then a few more fell and it finally hit me that “ice rock” = hail!

I looked back at the field band truck and saw some kids frantically trying to get the instruments packed away. Only a few brave souls had stayed behind to save the instruments; the rest had fled for shelter. I listened for a moment to the surreal sound of hail beating against the drums and then ran to help.

I managed to find a hat and a plastic bag to put on my head. Others found umbrellas and most notably, Sello and Boy were shielding themselves with a set of plastic chairs they had found by the truck. Meanwhile, four kids had formed a pseudo assembly line inside the truck, trying to get everything in before it was too late. Then all hell broke loose outside as heavy rain and some very serious lightening began to mix with the hail.

The “assembly line” didn’t prove to be very effective and those of us standing outside of the truck wound up getting completely soaked as we waited to pass the instruments inside. It was a total mess. But, somehow, the initial shock and panic gradually turned to laughter and smiles as we stopped caring about the weather and began to enjoy this very strange experience we were having together. The hail had mostly given way to torrential rain by that point and everyone had already gotten so wet that it seemed pointless to worry about it. The instruments would have to wait until the assembly line was ready for them. And finally, after a few more soggy minutes, everything was safely inside the truck.

With our mission accomplished, a bunch of kids jumped into my car and I turned on the heater at full blast to the delight of more than a few shivering bodies. Then I drove them home and made the hour-long journey back to my apartment in Johannesburg feeling like I had just stepped out of a swimming pool. Yes, Field Bands most definitely = fields.

The hail begins and a few remain to save the instruments.

The assembly line forms inside the truck.

A very wet marimba makes its way into the truck.

Sello and Boy shield themselves with plastic chairs.

Panic gives way to laughter.

How did my camera survive all this?

Click here to email James with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

The Grace of the Apsara dance is everywhere, most especially in the hearts and minds of the Cambodia people. This is dedicated to them– to all the Apsara dancers around the world, near or far.

This entry is going to be a poem that I wrote, because this is my blog? Right? Enjoy.

Sovanna Phum, in Phomn Penh on march 23, 2008

The Grace of the Apsara

Is it beautiful? The grace of the Apsara,
celestial dancer, in the hearts of many.
Her smiles, sadden by years of dance for love,
her eyes from life that is born from the heavens

Sovanna Phum, in Phomn Penh on march 23, 2008

Dancing with grace and elegance
from centuries and history rooted in memories.
Lost at times in dance and direction,
but never forgotten by those who had seen.
For the seen, it is a daze from the direction from her eyes and smile.

The celestial ballet that has captured hearts and
bestowed punishment to those who has seen her sadness from the heavens.
To steal smiles from mere simple beings like myself.
This is the punishment to dance with an Apsara.
With pain rooted in her dance.

Sovanna Phum, in Phomn Penh on march 23, 2008

Phally

Click here to email Phally with your questions or comments

The views and information presented are the Fulbright grantee’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.