Jealousy

Freida took the volleyball net down last night, I heard because she was afraid someone would either cut the wires or steal it. Stealing it could come from anyone, but cutting the wires would have most likely been from her son or son's "friends". I've heard about stuff like this. Christians in Africa who finally start getting ahead and the family burning down their new business. I always thought this was baffling and quite insane. I mean how will hurting someone else make anything better? And yet this is common practice.

I read a blog post by a dear lady recounting a pretty horrific day she had had, part of which included feeling totally little for only bringing some small store bought items for a class party (and those almost forgotten) while other moms brought very extravagant cakes (see pictures). She looked at those other mom's creations and immediately put them in a "super mom" category while she herself felt inferior.

This is such a common ailment among moms/wives and I only just saw it through her post. The reason I saw it is that I could see myself making a 3D cake for my kid's party- not that it would look good, but to me something like that would be fun.

But instead of being awed by the creation or excited that her daughter would have such a fun party, or happy for the other mom being able to contribute something so creative and elaborate- she felt belittled. Why?

I'm thinking these cakes were made by stay at home moms. Just a guess. In that case, they often have little to no (visible) reward for mothering. Meanwhile, working moms are affirmed often through what they do from (possibly) the boss, co-workers, the feeling of having "accomplished" something, a paycheck! But instead of rejoicing for the other in their accomplishments, we often mentally pit ourselves against each other.

Comparing ourselves to each other is folly and an easy way to self-destruct. How beautiful it would be to say, "hey, I suck at cakes, but that one is awesome- I'm so glad you were able to bring that". I know I'm good at buying styrofoam cups, so I'll do that and be happy about what I can contribute, no matter how it may look. And just be happy- happy for others and for ourselves in all that we can do.

a perspective from over the border- the other border

Some may think I'm from Mars, I'm actually from Canada, same difference to some and to others- no it's not another state! All of that to say I have a so totally different perspective on immigration that I feel like I have two heads on my neck, a freak in the south, so far from "home".

How do I start? My mom is from Jamaica, dad is Canadian, but can trace his roots abroad within 2 generations. For a huge portion of the Canadian population, this is not at all weird, it's reality and it's celebrated. When a foreigner comes to our borders it's not the Spanish inquisition, but something like: "Wow, new blood, someone else to fill this vast space and help me out of the ditch in winter, want to immigrate?" Ok, so maybe not quite that easy. But Agent B was given the welcome mat, "we'd love to have you live here" speech by immigration a couple of trips ago, to my sheer delight.

You see it's a Canadian thing that we embrace different cultures. That is our pride: our diversity. The more the merrier.

Don't know our language? We'll learn yours! That's how I learned French. There has always been a tension between the French side of Canada and the English. If they were recent immigrants, I'm sure they would be welcomed with open arms. But the real battles of race there (French-English-Native) are rooted in the founding of Canada, which is not all that ridiculously long ago as compared to most the world. One proposed solution to the tension was to set up French immersion schools. Not where the French could learn English- the majority spoken language (like Spanish immersion here), but so that the English folk could better understand the minority. Neither of my parents know French, but they sent all 3 of their kids to French immersion schools (K-12) and me to a French college in Quebec-- it's all about learning about each other, learning to live as one, appreciating and embracing the new culture.

Canadians root for the underdog-- having troubles in your country? "Come to Canada- we have been there, if not this generation, then not too long ago." In the wintery North, our common battle is the cold, the elements, the vastness of space and what is seen as the oppressive neighbor to the South. Over and over immigrants are spouting off their love of Canada in that it has welcomed them and made them feel at home and among family.

I totally don't understand the arguments I hear here about: "illegals using up tax dollars and resources, those people coming here and taking our jobs... [our whatever]. I work hard to enjoy what we have here".

The fact is most of the world works hard so that we can enjoy what we have here, while they get diddly squat. They work interminable hours so that we can buy exotic foods cheap, an insanely huge variety, while they can't afford the very food they labored over for us (rich north americans). Who are we to say that we OWN the resources on this continent (and on every other continent if I hold up my almighty dollar- and that no- you can't have a chance to make a dollar too- and have my privileges like eating good food)? Is this not some kind of slavery? Why is it that I was born in a certain zip code (postal code for Canadians) and not on some dung heap in third world wherever? Would I be all adamant claiming my rites of nationality if I lived over raw sewage, if my kids basically working as slaves, if there was no opportunity for any real living? Would I not go looking somewhere else? Would I not be any less entitled? Are we not all humans on planet earth?

I've always seen the entire world as my home and as a totally alien place too. That I could live anywhere and also not be fully at home. There is Scottish, Norwegian, Jamaican and Canadian blood coursing through my bones, no telling where all the roots come from. So I've kinda thought I could just fit anywhere. It's true too. Hispanics here assume I'm Hispanic. Blacks think I'm black and Yovos (whites in the language of the Fon of Benin, West Africa) think I'm white. I can kinda drift in and out of situations and lay low.

But all this talk on immigration to me is like a slap in the face-- like go back to picking cotton you N*g** (Which I was called once as a kid and thought the other kid asked if I came from the county of Niger- which we had just studied in class).

To me, the entire immigration squabbles miss the point. The point being that we are all immigrants if we go back far enough (except a very precious few) and that any country's most valuable asset is not money or land or medicaid, but it's people. And that people coming from different places carry with them a richness that can not be duplicated even if they just come with the clothes on their backs. They come with culture, language, stories and drive, creativity, uniqueness, flavors, music, arts, knowledge and uniqueness that will become that of their new country if they are only welcomed, embraced and made to feel at home. I heard that genetically we are all related within 10 generations. Are we not all family?

Thanks for the help

Our requests to the CEO were effective, mission accomplished- thank you to all the undercover operatives out there. Mbamie's husband in Ivory Coast went to the Embassy again and talked with some manager. This manager was surprised he was still in the country. All the others whose cases were approved at the same time are already state side. He explained that at the last interview they requested original documents then when he provided copies, told him to wait for them to call. He's waited 2 months.

Now he just needs to get approved by a program that will lend him the travel money and he'll be here. They are both ecstatic that they will someday see each other again.

With open arms

Last night AO1 wanted to read the story of the prodigal son. Since I'd been mulling over the chaos at Big Buddy's, the disparity between him and the Father of heaven really struck me.

First, how hard it would be to receive a son back who had been so foolish, ungrateful and lazy- all his life! Second, how extremely loving, gracious, generous and kind the Father is toward us who screw up all the time, then come home with our tail tucked between our legs, hoping we won't get a beating and are surprised to find that once again the Father comes running to us in love and forgiveness.

70 x 7

Life is not well at Big Buddy's house. Father and son seem determined to destroy each other. At first it seemed like a blessing that the son came to care for the father. Now everyone is wondering how much more this can go on. Son has threatened to leave, father has said he'd be happy if he did. We were caught in the crossfire the other night. Father and son started an all out verbal war. To the point of telling each other they'd like nothing more than to take the shotgun (behind a door in the living room) and shooting the other in half.

Son steamed out of the house, followed by Agent B. I stayed inside with Big Buddy and the kids. I opened my big mouth and told Big Buddy he's treating his son like crap, that he's never treated us or any stranger like that. Big Buddy is convinced all his son wants is his money (he doesn't have any and what little he has, he is not sharing- with his son that is).

We went to see Big Buddy today and he's acting like a two year old. He stayed in a different room the entire time and in essence said we just went over to see the son. The son told me yesterday that Big buddy is mad at him for making us think he's been mean to the son. Both son and father talk about each other to others out of each other's presence. Both hate that the other does this. They can't see that they are so much alike it's ridiculous. All they want to do is point to the fault of the other.

I told Big Buddy that it doesn't hurt to say you're sorry even if you don't think you did something wrong. I said the Lover told us to turn the other cheek and forgive 70X7. He spouted off the frequently used, never proven adage that we can't let other's walk all over us.

So what was the cross all about then? I think this was getting walked on, getting falsely accused, even walking into it on purpose. And then the Lover told us to take up our cross and follow him.

I'm trying to figure out how to love these warring men and the only thing that comes to me is 70x7 and my own advice to ask forgiveness.

CEO make a way. This is such an impossible situation, and we can only leave it to you, the resurrection and the life. Resurrect love and life where there is so much hurt and hate. Bring again the spirit of Elijah, where you would turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.

HELLLLLLLLLLLLLP!!

Shocked & amazed

I really shouldn't be surprised, because we have been through the system, but it still amazes me that US immigration is such a total mess. Mbamie really could use some supernatural help at this point. She has received notification that her petition for her husband has been approved, that the INS would contact their embassy abroad, who would then notify her husband as to how to travel here to the US and that their participation in this process is complete and in their favor.

Meanwhile, the US embassy abroad is saying they will close his file (which is hardly touched) because he hasn't given them originals of the DNA testing that they complied to. Mbamie made the petition on US soil, so it was the division here that made all the requests, expensive hoops and she willingly complied, including paternity testing on both her kids and a husband on the other side of the globe. Getting all of this done in their time frame was costly and an amazing feat, so to receive the letter of approbation LAST DECEMBER was truly a reason to celebrate. We thought they were home free.

Apparently the office on the other side of the globe has a little bit of a complex, because they would not recognize the official document coming from US immigration here to say that this couple had done all required of them and are in the clear. Now they want to look into all the nitty gritty. So we write the company who did the DNA test- could they please send a copy also to the US embassy in Africa? No answer yet. Call the 1-800 immigration line and once navigating this humongous phone tree, talk to some nice man who says she needs to call the local office in Houston or make an appointment in Dallas to see someone. The long distance number for the Houston office won't even let you talk to anyone. And I've been to Dallas. We don't want to go there.

Now what? She has this supremely cool letter from immigration that we thought was her ticket to a life again and it doesn't mean anything abroad, with their own "company"? It's like when I took my Canadian money to my American bank- they didn't recognize it- like are other countries even allowed to make money?- we don't deal with "that" money here! We are just a BANK you know.

Meanwhile, there is a wife who has nearly gone half a decade without a husband, a little boy graduating kindergarten who forgot what his daddy looks like and a daughter, who has already learned her second language who has never even met her daddy- all because of war, hate, bloodshed and a power trip to top it all off. It's totally ridiculous. No international company could survive with these same tactics.

Meshell- the continuing saga

So many people in the poverty culture live a real soap opera. I always thought those shows were an exageration, then I got to know some people and their stories. Meshell , her 5 year old son, her mom and 2 brothers are part of the unseen homeless. Meshell and her mom are always together (it's a survival thing as they pool together their disability checks). Nearly every time I hear from them they are living in a new place. Sometimes it is their own place, a rental or even one they are buying, then some months later, they are with a relative, grandma or now an ex-husband's wife's house. It is north of town (sort of), in Impact, a poverty riddled area outside of the city loop, far from any services, part country, part city, part junkyard.

Meshell is looking forward to summer when one of her biggest headaches will disappear temporarily. They have been without a car for a year, which I totally can't imagine. The agent and I share a car and it can get difficult in the Fair Mother city that doesn't have real stellar public transportation. Now they are farther than normal, when one of her biggest challenges came. The school system refuses to send a bus to pick up her son. According to them, she has moved too much and they can't keep changing their schedules around for him. Well, that should help this struggling family. Once again, those who have plenty were being inconvenienced "beyond their ability" and the poor have yet another nearly insurmountable problem added to the pile. And yet she doesn't complain or lash out. I imagine she has gotten used to it.

Jorge

Jorge is Jessie's current boyfriend. He is a Mexican from Mexico. Jessie says she's mexican too, but she's not nationally or culturally really, but she is learning some Spanish due to the fact that Jorge barely speaks English. This is like a generational replay since Jessie's mom's boyfriend is Mexican, who barely speaks English.

We were all hanging out for mother's day, which was a really sweet time of enjoying each other and playing spanish bingo. Jorge and Frieda's boyfriend got really animated as we played and they were able to tell us some about their moms in Mexico.

I found out that Jorge came over with just his dad and uncle when he was only 16 years old. I can't imagine the terror he must have had and the loneliness he still feels with his mom and siblings, his life and all he knew so far away and totally unaccessible to him now. He is here with some forged papers, working as a dishwasher. His hands are red and diseased looking- from the bleach water he washes with. They hurt him a lot. He rides a bike across town to work, every day, rain or shine.

He sends money home and gifts, to his niece, mom. He's quiet, with a timid smile. I can't imagine living his life.

The book shares a lot of counsel about how we should treat foreigners. No matter if they are here legally or not, I don't think it includes hunting them down with riffles and ferreting them out of our food pantries. This is already one young man who has given up so much at the chance for a better life for his family. What if he was welcomed with love, understanding, compassion and the same opportunity as others? What if we really treated our neighbors as ourselves?

generosity

I'm trying to learn something that has always been difficult for me: generosity. I am so humbled by many people of poverty who give their all and beyond their means - while me and (most of the middle-class culture) reasons away sharing and giving.

It shames me to say it, but often, I give the minimum. I figure out what is expected of me, or what I think should be expected according to how close I am to the person, the occasion, even if they will be thankful...

I was given $20 unexpectedly for helping watch some kids. Jessie had helped me some with them and I felt like it would be generous of me to give her half, even though she wasn't there the entire time and I fed them out of my cupboard (see my "superior" reasoning abilities). The next night was big buddy's birthday party. She gave him a card she had bought and the $10.

Here is a young girl that most would look down upon. She doesn't have work. She gets a disability check (for being mentally slow). She lives with her boyfriend and they live with her mom. She gives hilariously, generously, from the heart, with abandon, not thinking of herself or tomorrow. I have a lot to learn from her.

family messiness

It was a simple mission: take Big buddy and son to the store. It was tortuous and made me want to weep. The son is cooking, but the dad holds the purse strings. Previous outings (pre-son) were arduous, but joyful. Big Buddy loved to get food and prepare it. He would take out tons of cash (for groceries and to live off of) and you could tell he felt like a new man. With son present, Big Buddy acts like a scrooge. He took out 1/4 of the money he usually gets (not enough for 2 men to eat from), squabbled over anything his son so much as glanced at, refused to buy the food he wanted which the son was not going to eat, loaded up on candy and overspent his measly cash withdrawal. His son purchased $10 of his own food so that he could eat something and enjoy it without any comments from his dad. Big Buddy and I started to get into it right in the store. He was complaining about the rice his son was buying (because it was not his kind of rice). He thinks his son is just mooching off of him, meanwhile his son is expected to live with him 24-7 so that Big Buddy won't have to go to a nursing home. For this constant care, Big Buddy gives him nothing but complaints, and rude comments about money. He says his son doesn't know Jesus and yet his son is the one who literally laid down his life in Houston, to come care for the man who did not raise him and is spat upon verbally and emotionally by the one who calls himself a follower of the Lover. I know none of us are perfect, but the root of the matter stems from the difficult places they hold: of father and son. Until some of their past, unresolved issues are dealt with, they may continue to tear each other down.

If this was any other person it would not be like this. Big Buddy was generous, often buying us gifts of food when we took him to the store, but he can't get his son some boxed rice. Why are we ugliest with family?

Meanwhile, Jessie, her boyfriend and I went to visit her mom in the hospital (she just had surgery). Things get messy when Frieda is gone from the home. The boys get into trouble. According to Jessie, they are getting involved in illegal stuff. I think this is new for the Tiger. I hope none of it's true, but from what we can see, it doesn't look good.

I know there is a reason the CEO is described as Father, why the body is the family. There is only one way out of all this mess and it's through the blood of a brother. May we all find the Lover's way and accept his grace before we tear each other to smitherines.