Poetry: Seen and Unseen

Seen + Unseen by Zion

Zion with Dani preparing to hit the pinata at Azeb's unbirthday party

You see a canvas and you see a mirror

With one thing you'll be able to see what you've created with your ability, and the other, you'll see a reflection of the outside

Yes you can change things, but you can only change so much

You can't hide what you really want, what you need, what you crave

Welcome to Veracruz, México where you'll find an amazing aquarium, gorgeous beaches and nice locals

You won't expect to see graffiti, Sewer leaks, and mosquitos

You'll find the people to look slightly different but the true colors and cultures go deeper than the skin

Tales of Sun gods, warriors, indigenous and afro-descendent Mexicans are slowly disintegrating


Veracruz wants to be set free. That's what's unseen.

Statue of El Negro Yanga in Yanga, Veracruz

Yanga's sonnet by Jordan Chaney

There are no black people in paradise.
The sun shines on everything all the same.
Papayas, all people, palm trees, beans and rice. 
Curls are welcomed here as heavenly mane.

The history books are void of slave meat.
The town's mouths are ripe fields of sugar cane.
Street vendor has a story to tell me;
All chains were broken free in Yanga's name.

TVs, heavy books have erased my line
It is nice, no good or bad references
My home paints me with big lips and no spine
This bold land 'least lends a lil reverence

Machete tongues have chopped me all to shreds.
...the thick of me can't be conquered by death.

Las Raices Invisibles (The Invisible Roots) by Reagan Jackson

Statue of a woman at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Here I am

seen and unseen

take my picture, but not my name

brown skin, white teeth but disembodied

not a shadow

   but an icon

      an idea

         a postcard

smile and wave,

but do you see me

beyond la negra

you think describes me...

morena, chaparra

am I so simply defined

by the shape of my hips,

the rythm you assume resides there.

Am I a line from a song

a half eaten melody

que te tiene tumbado

Africana, Cubana, Dominicana, Colombiana...

Would it matter if I too were Americana

If I too were Mexicana, prieta pero paisana?

Why am I foreign to your eyes

when family lies between us

in blood ties

more than skin

the shape of your nose and eyes

your pyramids and mine

our ancestors intertwined

etched into the faces of rock

carved before the time when we forgot 

that there is so much more than 

skin deep.

So sure, take my picture

its yours to keep,

un recuerdo

of what is left 

unsaid and unseen

and yet is so very

visible, tangible, indelible, undeniably 

your DNA in mine. 

Eyerusalem

The Fifth Sense by Eyerusalem
I am on foreign land.
My senses are out of control.
Touch: my phone, held in my hands, or easy access in case I need to snap a picture
and the thick blanket of humid muffling me over my layer of sweat
Taste: the burst of flavor in my tacos dorados,
dipped in red sauce
Green if I am feeling a bit brave.
Hear: the beautiful language of Espanol.
The honks and beeps of the drivers on the street,
the words Buenos dias trails behind me
 as I walk past a group of Mexicans
every new word I hear, becomes a new word I've learned
and an opportunity for it to roll of my own tongue
Smell:
The intoxicating scent of sewage overcomes my nose
Fortunately, I have crossed the street and am now
inhaling the drool-worthy aroma of fresh enchiladas con pollo.
These four senses are working hard.
But there was something about the fifth sense,
sight.
Sight is helping me put two and two together
It helps me embrace and appreciate
the beauty of Veracruz.
I see a random man
helping an old woman bag her fruits.
I see color.
Everywhere.
Colors.
Patterns.
Everywhere.
My eyes are moving around. Trying to take everything in. All the faces,
all the colors,
all the statues,
buildings, architectures
everything.
But...
Where is everything else?
Where is everyone else?
Where is El Chapo and all the drug cartels
that CNN warns us about?
Where are the dangerous people?
Where are the burritos?
Where are all the Afro-Mexicans
 that my world history textbook told me about?
Are they not here?
Has El Chapo and the cartels been replaced by
love and care?
Are the dangerous people hiding away due to inferiority?
Have the Afro-Mexicans disintegrated due to hostility?
Maybe they don't exist
here in
Veracruz

Pyramids

By: Jordan Chaney

Jordan at the Pyramids

The buses’ seats are filled with half-sleeping travelers. Everyone has a liter and a half water bottle clutched in their lap. To get from Puerto de Veracruz to El Tajin you have to go on a wobbly 4 hour bus ride passing various small towns, murky rivers, rolling yellow hills, shrubbery, and greenery of all sorts. My neck is stiff, my legs are cramping and it would be an incredibly exhausting ride if it weren't for the AC being on full blast and if it weren't for the fact that we are heading to see ancient ruins! This is a life-long dream of mine and it’s finally coming true!!

After pitching and rolling through hills and waving good-bye to all of the doubts that this would ever truly happen we arrive in Papantla, the small town closest to the home of the Pyramids.

There are stray dogs limping through the streets, garbage piled up on street corners, and the stench of sewage in the air. It’s dirty, it’s grimy, the taxi drivers are seedy but kind, the town is humid; everything has a bead of sweat rolling from its brow. It’s absolutely beautiful and everything I wanted it to be!

Our driver is waving at every car we pass and honking his horn while letting out an emphatic “mi amigo!”. He’s proud of his town, his home, and his friends. His enthusiasm is contagious. I turn my head to the road in front of us; glossy-eyed and anxious like a kid in line at the fair.

Me and a few of the Many Voices One Tribe youth have been playing the dirty dozens with one another the whole trip, one of the many ways we have been entertaining ourselves and bonding throughout this experience. But as we approached Tajin, the dirty dozens subsided and curiosity and wonder set in…

We arrive.

My face is lit up like the north star. I hand the driver 70 pesos and mumble gracias with my eyes entranced on the path that leads to the ruins.

I can't feel my body intact, I am probably levitating. I feel that good! We find the rest of our group and begin swimming against the strongest current of street vendors known to man: women selling dresses, kids selling water, men selling hats, families selling almost anything you need or imagine! But it doesn't matter, adrenaline surges through my fins, my gills flare, and swim through it all.

When myself, Reagan, and the MVOT youth began our workshops 2 weeks prior to arriving to Veracruz I eluded to an epic spiritual story several times that I promised to only tell once we finally arrived at the pyramids. Over the span of that 2 weeks I would hint at it and the youth would sigh and roll their eyes and say things like “c’mon man just spill it already” or “shut up about the story already” playfully of course…

We successfully make it past the tidal wave of vendors and tourists and then the path opens up into ruin upon ruin, pyramid upon pyramid. The view pickpockets my lungs for its breath. I can't blink, I can't close my mouth. It had come true. The dream I had been dreaming my whole life grew arms and legs, walked up and bear hugged me.

Eyerusalem, my little buddy on this trip, that just so happens to be the smartest and most gentle 17 year old I have ever had the pleasure of meeting tugs on my shirt sleeve, bulges her eyes out at me and says “Your epic story? Are you gonna tell us now or what?”

I scanned the terrain, nodded my head towards a patch of trees, exhaled deeply and replied “yes”.

Reagan, Eyerusalem, Azeb, and Zion

Pics from Week 1 in Veracruz

Eyerusalem, Reagan, Jordan, Zion, Angelica, Azeb, and Dani

Dani showing us the quebradas at Villa Rica

Dani (one of our language teachers) and Eyerusalem, lunch at Villa Rica

The Library in Xalapa

Mojarra encebollada

Jordan and Azeb with the President of the State Human Right's Commision

Us with the President of the Human Right's Commission in his office

Eyerusalem and her new best friend Javier

Our friends at the Human Rights Commission

At the language school after class 

Zion and Eyerusalem in la Guaca (traditional neighborhood of Afro-Mexicans)

One of the Olmec heads at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Our new friend Karma

Zion hiking down the ruins of Quiahuitlan

Azeb's first dance at the Zocalo

A Chill Day

By: Reagan Jackson

Zion, Azeb, Jordan, Eyerusalem, and Reagan at El Tajin

It's quiet today, no raucous laughter from the ongoing stream of jokes and shade throwing, nor Spanglish chatter with whomever might be downstairs. For the moment its just me alone in my white stucco room with its long green curtains, light streaming in through the opaque glass of the balcony door. After huffing my way through zumba by the waterfront with David and Gabriel, I dragged myself home through the dense salty air to find everyone else taking advantage of the morning off to sleep in.

Today we will write. Having been here a full week, the youth have selected the focus of the articles they will be putting together and even conducted some preliminary interviews. Now they will craft pitches to be sent to their editor at the Seattle Globalist. Then we'll have lunch together. Paola, one of our instructors is making cheese empanadas. So far the best recipes I've gotten this trip have been from Angelica, another one of our instructors, who makes a blackberry pudding to die for.

After lunch everyone will have language lessons in the afternoon during which time I hope to visit our new friend Karma. Karma, once a student at the language school, has returned to Veracruz to live for the year while she is completing her dissertation through the University of Chicago. Her topic, Afro-Mexicans. She is a black woman from the States and in meeting her I saw the kids' eyes light up. This may be their first trip, but I can tell already that these three have a lot of world to see and meeting Karma seemed to make that idea more tangible to them.

After yesterday's arduous bus trip to Papantla to visit the pyramids of El Tajin we are all exhausted, but content. I am delighted for this brief respite of air conditioning and solitude and in general for the way this adventure is turning out so far. For those of you who know me or have been following my column in the Seattle Globalist, you know that this trip is years in the making. Its been my dream to create a study abroad program for young people of color and these young people have made the reality so much better than I had even imagined. In this short time, though it sounds cliche, we've become a family.

I wasn't sure what it would be like to bring a group of black folks to Veracruz, but its been fascinating. One of the things that sometimes irritates me about traveling while black is the picture taking. In Japan, this was especially an issue. Everyone everywhere always wanted to take my picture. I got my first glimpse of what it must be like to be chased by paparazzi. Here in Veracruz, I get the stares, we all do. There are the old women who want to pat my cheek and tell me how much they like my black skin, the catcalls of "morena"or "negra", and yes the random people who want to take my picture, but Zion, the darkest and tallest of us all, is the one everyone wants to take picture of now. "I feel like a low key Kim Kardashian or something" he confessed yesterday after we were mobbed by an entire family of Mexican tourist who wanted to take pictures of all of us, but then individually with only Zion. Rather than getting irritated, he seemed to enjoy his little photo shoot, and the next and the next.

Eyerusalem has been working on an article about comparative standards of beauty. She's snapped photos of every billboard between the here and the Zocolo and decided she wanted to take pictures of girls and women to compare the ads to the real women of Veracruz. Tables turned. I took the group to the Zocolo for their first experience of danzon, an elegant traditional form of ballroom dancing that the older generation is trying to revive. After a few loops around the square, Eyerusalem took out her camera and began approaching people to take their pictures. There were a few odd looks of confusion, not unlike what I usually feel when asked the same, but most people complied and there were lovely conversations started because it. And usually at the end, the subjects pulled out their own camera phones to take pictures with the group, but it didn't feel quite as objectifying because there was reciprocity and human connection.

Human connection. That's really the key to this whole experiment. Having taken over 200 youth abroad when I think about what moments have been the most transformative, what triumphs have stayed with me and lingered with them, its all about the times when we let our guard down and get to know another. There is something healing about our time together that I'm not yet able to articulate adequately, other than to say that I really needed this.

Last week was our week of excursions and frenetic activity. I walked everyone to the point of exhaustion, but it was worth it. In addition to language lessons, we visited the Veracruz Museum of the City, we traveled to the state capitol Xalapa and met with the Human Right's Commision. We visited the Museum of Anthropology, set on several acres of land and complete with indigenous plant life in addition to Olmec heads and an incredible replica of El Tajin. We visited the ruins of Quiahuitlzan and hiked down to the sparsely populated beach at Villa Rica before climbing up to the Quebraduras. We danced in the Zocolo, made friends with a street dancing clown, and made Jordan's wish come true by visiting the pyramids in Papantla.

This week our pace will be a little calmer. We will be spending a bit more time here in el Puerto. There will be beaches and museums, one last long bus ride to Yanga, but mostly it is a time for deeping in the writing and conducting interviews. Its time to explore the questions we have about this culture and to seek answers in the community.

A Series of Firsts

By: Azeb

Azeb and Victor: First experience of danzon at the Zocolo

Lately my life has been a series of first time events. Starting from being the first in my family to graduate from High School to meeting my first Muslim-Mexican in Veracruz. I remember taking a trip to Eastern Washington University and thinking how I could never live in the “middle of nowhere.” I thought I’d feel so secluded and cut off from the rest of the world, and that the loneliness would lead to depression. Veracruz has shown me that the distractions I was holding on to mean nothing, that what matters more than the things I have and the places I want to go, is the quality of the people I interact with everyday.

Azeb and Zion at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Being in Veracruz is the first time since I was in 5th grade that I completely forgot that I was Muslim in a way where I wasn’t constantly aware of uncomfortable and scared looks from others. I’m usually trying to make sure that others know I’m friendly and harmless by smiling and apologizing if I even do the slightest thing that might be taken offensively. I haven’t felt the need to do that in Veracruz. There’s no propaganda that has been constantly fed to them about how Muslims are “terrorists” and a threat to everyone. It’s refreshing to be able to start a conversation with someone without them having all these preconceived ideas of me. I don't feel like I have a badge that repels people from getting to know me. This also makes me want to make sure I interact fully and gracefully with everyone I meet because it’s probably the first and only time they’ll ever meet someone like me who is an African-American Muslim.

Visiting the Museo De Antropología in Xalapa reminded me of why exactly I'm so attracted to studying film making and Anthropology. If I got paid to film, blog, and take photos of people and places from around the world I’d truly be happy in life. I’m so glad that I'm getting to experience Mexico first hand. It's the kind of experience I want to give people through my films. I want all the bullshit the media feeds us, in order to separate us, to deteriorate. For us to genuinely feel each other's presence. I can honestly say that this trip so far has been cleansing and just what I needed before I start the next foreign chapter in my life!

Travelers

By: Eyerusalem

In the morning, I woke up to the sound of laughter and Spanish words intermingling with English. As I was trying to get ready, I experienced an epiphany: We've only been here for two days. However, downstairs, in the dining area, it seemed as though we've been here forever. It is amazing how quickly people who have been living completely different lives could become so close to one another within the span of two days. It blows my mind that just a few days ago, we were thousands of miles away and living our own lives. Now, we have been summoned to an intersection in our paths, and here we are, eating pan dulce y huevos and drinking freshly squeezed jugo de naranja.

After breakfast, we embarked on our journey to Villa Rica, a "virgin beach" located an hour and a half away from our home base. On the bus ride there, I looked out the window only to be surprisingly greeted by an abundance of verdant plants. In fact, if it wasn't for all of the spiny cacti scattered throughout the land, I would have thought that we were back in the Pacific Northwest. Before we got to Villa Rica, we headed to Quiahuitzlan to see some ruins. The scenery was surreal. Tombs lying everywhere. Pyramid remains lying perfectly still on the same land they were on hundreds of years ago. To make the scene even more magical, butterflies of different colors were gracefully floating through the graves, as though they were carrying a bit of the souls of the people buried.

After a long walk from the ruins, we finally reached the beach. Although it was an extremely long walk, once we saw the waves crashing into the sandy land, we immediately knew it was worth it. It was my first time swimming in open water so I was a bit apprehensive. Once I got in, the huge salty wave completely buried me beneath itself. It was as if the Poseidon, the God of Water, himself, was excitedly playing along with us in the water. Just when I thought that this was the craziest thing I'd do during this trip, I had the opportunity to go cliff jumping into the rapidly moving waves. If you personally knew me, you would also know that I am not one to participate in such wild and spontaneous events. But, I felt like it was something I needed to do. So I not-so-gracefully swam to the rocks, and I not-so-gracefully climbed up the cliff, and despite my fears, I jumped. As I resurfaced, I felt very different and proud of myself. I did it and the adrenaline was rushing through my veins. This will definitely be one of the memories I will look back on and cherish.

I later found out that the ruins we had earlier toured were not a in a place that many people visit. Instead of just sticking to the popular area we hiked down towards the back of the site that contained the graves of the poor people. The beach we went to did not have any colorful beach umbrellas or people holding huge expensive cameras. It was secluded. This reminded me of the conversation we had back in Seattle during our workshops. We talked about the difference between a traveler and a tourist. A traveler does not only go to the flashy and mainstream places. A traveler looks for authenticity, and a real experience, and that is exactly what we, travelers of Many Voices One Tribe are doing.

Las Quebradas

La mordedura/ The Bite

By: Zion

Zion

Something big just happened to me. I got a lump in my throat. My heart started beating faster and the more I thought about it tears started to form in my eyes. I even trembled a bit. I realized that I have fallen heavy in love with Mexico, Veracruz specifically. I've realized that even though I think I know so much, at the end of the day I don't know anything at all. Veracruz has taught me to be happy with absolutely nothing. I remember seeing a family that didn't really have much...a father and a group of girls that looked like his daughters, and I could tell they were poor, but also that they had more than enough. What they lacked in money they made up for in love. And I realized I have Many Voices One Tribe and I have this support and that is more than enough for what I need. Even though I'll always be yours as well as you guys are mine and have me forever I am grateful for your love as well as the love Mexico is giving me.

Aside from the humor filled Spanish lessons and the common glances from Veracruzanos my personal experience so far is no different than the mango chili lollipop I bought. I bought it because it was highly recommended and it looked interesting. While trying the first lick I was let down by the bitterness of the chili sprinkled on the candied mango. I wondered for a while "Why would anyone want this?!". It didn't reach my high expectations, but I wasn't going to waste anything. So instead of licking, out of frustration I took a bite to get to the center and finish what I believed was a good snack gone wrong. In that moment I realized that once I bit past the bitter spice of the chili that the sweet candied mango actually made an incredible treat. I judged too early and I was wrong...something I struggle with. I later savored every lick, bite, and suck and even added more chili. I had grown accustomed to not just like it, but to fall in love with what I had just consumed.

Me being a city boy, the rawness of Veracruz was quite unappealing. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to like the trip based on how it looked and how Veracruzanos would stare at me and my group, but sometime during the first night I took a bite of Veracruz. I understood that there was the raw energy of the port city and the locals, but I wanted and actually needed to find out where the sweetness was beneath the first bite. The locals all of them may stare because I'm different looking. They are undeniably raw, honest like their city and even their state, but unconditionally accepting of what they have, who they are, and their city. Inclusive in that would be accepting of who and what my group is about and who I am. Their acceptance and glowing pride was that first bite I took. As I continued to savor and enjoy myself Veracruz became not only a place I now hold close and want to experience even more, but Veracruz became mine, as well as I became intertwined with not only the city, but later on the state.

At first the fruit may seem to be full of sin, but close your eyes and bite it. Open your eyes. The fruit you just took a bite of is yourself. It may be that the fruit on the outside is bitter, but the deeper you bite, the more sweet it gets. The bitterness and the sweet inside combine to make something more unique than you could ever imagine. So enjoy yourself.

Veracruz- Te amo sin condicion aunque se ya que me encantaria volver, espero que me amaras para siempre.

MVOT with Angelica and Daniel at Quiahuitzlan