"The Page" by John S LES, part 4

And now Part 4..."The Page" continues!


"The Page"

by John S.  LES 

©

That night I could not go to sleep.  I tried to talk to my father, but he kept saying that I was way too involved.  He did know of UN council meetings stepping up discussions on what to do with the melting down of the temporary various ceasefires in Bustani.  I asked him if I could take the day off and just run down to Virginia to see Jamila.  Jamila was my first true love.  I couldn't just sit by and do nothing.

I used my computer and bank card and the little bit of savings I had to buy round trip tickets online for Washington, DC.  I got up extra early for school, grabbed my bookbag filled with just my laptop and a sandwich, and off to Grand Central Terminal I went.  I boarded an 8:05am Amtrak train to Washington, DC., which was scheduled to arrive at 11:20am.  Once I reached Washington, I then took a coach bus into Arlington, and then a cab to Jamila's house.

My school had already called my parents, and they in turn were now calling my cell phone.  I left a voice message that I would call them back by 3pm.  Zach, Will and Tanya kept sending me text messages of my impending doom at home and school, but I wouldn't respond until after I got to my destination.  I knew by now my father had probably tracked my cell phone signal switching towers all the way down to Arlington.  It was a Friday and I cut school to see my girl, to either save our relationship or say good bye once and for all.  He had did something very similar many years ago when he was courting my mother and she gave him the cold shoulder after she caught him talking to another girl.  He went through a tough time trying to convince her that she was the one he really wanted and that he had made a mistake.  He never left her side ever since.  I didn't want Jamila leaving my side without one last stand.  My parents hadn't cut off my bank card access to my savings and checking account, so that was a good sign?

Jamila's family's apartment building was a very luxurious brownstone, not too far from the lively downtown area of Arlington.  I had arrived there just in time to have caught her coming home from school off of her school bus.  Even worse, what started out as a sunny day in New York, was now an overcast, eminent rainfall day in Arlington.  I didn't pack an umbrella with me and within minutes after arriving I was getting soaked in the drizzle of the rainfall.

At 2:45pm, Jamila did arrive at her building.  However, she was accompanied by her father as he pulled his black Lincoln Navigator up to a parking spot.  They saw me standing there in the rain, as if they were expecting me.  Me fulfilling that expectation didn't make the scowl on her father's face go away as they walked up to me under his large umbrella. 

"Young man, what is wrong with you?  You have your family worried sick!  You cut school!  You have the nerve to come to my doorstep to harass my daughter, when I told you to forget the relationship?  You need to get your ass back to New York where you belong!"  His eyes burned right into mine as his tall, menacing frame frame hulked over me.

In spite of his physical and vocal intimidations, as well as the now pouring rain - I had to make my stand at that moment - or never, "I know where I belong, Sir.  I belong right where I am standing.  I have treated your daughter and your family with nothing but respect.  I've done everything the past almost two years to show you and your family how much I love Jamila.  She means everything to me.  Why you've all chosen to be disrespectful to me is beyond me.  But I think I at least have earned an honest answer and not be thrown to the side like a piece of garbage." 

My last 11 words were spoken with a release of pent up emotions.  My voice broke at the end.  Jamila and her father both stepped towards me and hugged me as I began to cry.  I couldn't help it.  The next few moments were a blur.  All I remember was her father calling my father on his cell phone and telling him that I had arrived, and promised my father that he would take care of me until my parents got there tomorrow.

"You are right, son.  You deserved better from us.  Especially me.  Come inside.  We need to get you out of this pouring rain before you get sick."

Her mother and father let me shower and change into an old pair of sweats that belonged to Jamila's brother. He and Jamila spent the next hour and a half apologizing and asking me how I got down to Arlington so quickly, only to end up standing in the pouring rain waiting for them to arrive home before they did.  What had started off a contentious situation had now melted down into what felt like a family situation.  They wanted to wait until after dinner to explain things.

Jamila's mother had cooked an excellent dinner.  Her father even called my father and spoke to him first before I spoke to him.  He felt responsible for letting the situation get out of hand and it leading me to take such a desperate measure to get answers.  "One of them was going to run to the other.  I am glad he did it first, because I would have had a heart attack if my girl had traveled to New York City alone.  Your son is special.  He can handle himself."  Even with all his niceties before I spoke directly with my father, my father still promised to kill me when he arrived tomorrow.


After dinner, Jamila and her family began to question me on what I knew about Africa and the country of Bustani.  Well, I was all ready to handle that and gladly told them what I knew.  They were impressed.  However, what they told me over the next hour would leave me speechless and clearly was a game changer in my being there.

Her father started out by asking me what I knew of his family.  I told him that I knew his father came to America for political asylum and that his family was from the Tumbili Mtu tribe who sought political freedom from the royal family of the Simba Mtu tribe.  He agreed that the Simba royal family was large and had ruled their country with an iron hand for nearly two centuries.  But not all of the royal family or Simba tribe were desirous to be dictators and a ruling class.  Some were moderates and foresaw a Bustani that had a different future in the next millenium.  A future where Tumbili and Simba could coexist equally in a democracy.

"Actually Isiah, Jamila never told you what tribe we belonged to,"  Her father leaned over and pushed his fingers into his eyes and removed the contact lenses in his eyes.  "You see Isiah, we are actually members of the Simba Mtu tribe."  He looked to Jamila and her mother and by that time  they had removed their brown contact lenses as well.  Their natural green eyes were very distinguishable.

"You see we were seeking asylum here in the US, but from our own tribe for coming from families who were considered moderates.  Moderates, once outlawed and murdered during my father's generation, are now being sought to help rebuild Bustani.  My wife's family was already here, as her parents had left for Canada two years before my father."

They went on to explain to me that Jamila's father had a brother who was still inside Bustani.  It was the son who his father left behind.  Masamba, who was only half Simba and half Tumbili, was gaining power and now threatening the safety of even moderate Simbu Mtu tribesmen who were there to help ease a transition of power in the country.

"Jamila has been upset with me because I have already made up my mind to return to Bustani this spring and bring my brother back to the US if things do not go well with the transitional government effort.  My wife, son and of course Jamila all want to join me.  We've been arguing over this for several weeks.  When Jamila learned that you wanted to be here this summer this summer, although it was good, honorable news, it only intensified our family squabbles.  But we've come to a decision.  I have come to a decision that will work for all of us.  I will leave for Bustani in late May with my son, when he is done with his classes at Yale.  Jamila and her mother will join us in early June.  She'll miss the last two weeks of school, but if all goes well we would all be back by August.  If you get that job as a page for your Congressman, you and Jamila can have all of August to see one another."


24 hours later, I was back home in New York City, still hearing it from my dad.  He lectured me all the way home. Even when Jamila's family shared with him, what they shared with me, he was still unimpressed, and angry with me.  It wasn't fun spending my Saturday night in my room talking to Zach, Will and Tanya about all this.  Nor was it fun to hear them telling me about the detention I was facing at school for missing classes.  I was a lead applicant to get the job as the page for my congressman in Washington, DC, while my girlfriend and her family want to vacation into a bubbling civil war torn country to save their family.

Will weighed in, "Bro, you are so screwed.  I mean you have like the hottest chick on earth, who now turns out to be a weird, green eyed descendent of some cat worshippers.  No wonder she's so tall and athletic looking?  We should have figured it out!  Man...she's probably a freak in bed!  But you're never going to know because she's going to be like 8,000 miles away from you for most of the whole summer.  Looks like you're going to be spending the night with your right hand?  Yo bro, do they have a page job in Bustani?

Zach was just as helpful, "Man!  I wish we could all go with her family.  It must be kind of cool to see these mysterious Cat People kicking ass over there.  I mean, the civil war part isn't good, but you have to admit most of us Westerners haven't even seen them.  Hell, most Africans haven't really seen them!  Bustani's landscape is suppose to be picturesque, like right out of a Hollywood jungle movie.  First, the Arab Spring, and now this?  There's a whole power change on the continent of Africa and we're living in it, watching it!"  He then started making fighting cat like noises.

Will, "Bro, it's not just over there.  It's here too!  People are tired of taking crap from the people above in power.  Times are getting hard and the rich don't want to part with their riches or share the wealth with the masses.  It's going to be a crazy ass summer, you watch.  Some of those Arab countries are going down, man."

Tanya, "Don't listen to these fools, Isiah.  I know you're heart is broken.  I know you love her so much, it's so sweet.  But you know she wants to be with her dad, whom she loves.  There's no way he's going to bring his whole family on a suicide mission?  Besides Bozo and Bozo here still have her IP address to her computer, so between you and her chatting online and them watching her we should be good on knowing how she's doing, right?  I mean between the four of us, we can keep a good track of what's going on in Bustani, can't we?"

Yes we could.  I had only SAT's to study for.  I had to finish my spring semester strong.  I had my father cutting up my bank card, putting call restrictions on my cell phone after 10pm, tracking my every whereabouts with my phone through his phone.  I was on 21st century lock down.

It wasn't until later that night that my brother Ishmael gave me a phone call on the house phone that my spirits picked up.  He told me he would have done the same thing had he been in my shoes.  He said he spoke to dad and that he figured the whole thing would blow over after two weeks and to just hang in there.  He also told me, that our congressman, Ken Hollingsworth, was also on the Foreign Relations committee.  He was known for taking impromptu trips outside the country, using his own money, to visit some of the places that the committee might be overseeing.  He was pretty sure that Africa was on the hot list with these Arab uprisings.

"That man travels like a fiend sometimes.  He's in London right now for the weekend.  He was in Sidney, Austrailia last month.  The man never sits down.  When he talks about countries, he talks from visited them, not from looking at place on a map.  When is your interview with him?"

"It's in three weeks."

"Well, you better do well.  Who knows, if you get the job, maybe you can convince dad to let you travel with him if he goes to Africa this summer?  You never know.  It's worth a shot."

While we closed out our conversation on the phone that night...some 8,000 miles away...Masamba had his first assassins test out a suicide mission.  A rival full blooded, Simba Mtu priest was killed when he was approached by what he thought were two friendly Simba Mtu men.  One of the men was dressed in red, the other green.  The men stood apart from one another, but close to him as they engaged in small talk.  Suddenly the man in red reaches over and touches the man in green...and a horrific explosion occurs. 

TO BE CONTINUED



 

My Family Texas Road Trip

My family Texas road trip...true story


Former astronaut, Neil Armstrong died the other day and unless you've lived in a cave the past 43 years, you'd have to know that Mr. Armstrong is the first person to walk on the moon, way back in 1969.  In 2004 me and my family were invited to a wedding down in Houston, Texas by friends who were from the area, but worked in NYC area for a number of years before returning back to Texas.

We were only a family of five back then.  My wife and three kids, three daughters.  The plan was to fly to Houston for the wedding, and then drive to San Antonio (a mere three hours away) to actually then go on a five day vacation after the wedding was over.  In between we would visit the Johnson Space Center in Houston and perhaps view some of the moon rocks, spacesuits and vehicles that Mr. Armstrong used during his historical walk into history.

Seemed like a good plan and all on paper.  But somehow I just knew that the black cloud of misfortune would be following us.  The first clue came in the form of booking the flight itself.  The wedding was being held in the same hotel that we were staying in.  However, the flight was very close to the time of the ceremony.  We were not left with the apparent 12 hour window of time necessary for me and four women, in descending sizes and age, to spruce up and dress formally for the wedding.  The reality was from the airport to the hotel - we had roughly about a 45 minute window.  Needless to say...we only arrived in time to see the Bride and Groom kiss and walk down the isle.  I didn't even have a chance to throw a grain of rice.  And I was hungry!  Thankfully, the dinner and dance and everything else was splendid.  But, I should have taken this all as a harbinger of further doom, but I remained enthusiastic.

The next morning we did enjoy the Houston area.  Perhaps a little too much.  Lots of driving around in our rental SUV, lots of eating.  Our window for visiting the Johnson Space Center in Houston was closing and we still had to be on the road for the drive to San Antonio.  However, by the time we made it to the Space Center, we only had about an hour's worth of time sight seeing.  We had no idea that they closed early, so now instead of stopping and staring at all the sights at the Center, we were literally yanking the kids by their arms and sprinting through the entire tour - just to see as much as possible.  Many were a blurred picture taken that late afternoon.

To make matters even more interesting my youngest daughter, who was 2 years old at the time, loved to carry her little "Lovie" doll everywhere, even though we had insisted she leave it in the car.  Nope, she had to have it with her.  Our tour ended with the Space Center's staff practically closing the doors on our backside.  Now I wanted to eat dinner.  I can't drive hungry?  The wife wanted to get on the road straight to San Antonio.  It was 6pm'ish.  Compromise...we drove an hour towards San Antonio and had a nice dinner.  At that point we realized that "Lovie" was no where to be found.  So what did we do?  We got back in the car...drove an hour back to Houston to the Space Center (which was now closed) to look for Lovie as the baby girl's was heart broken.  We were stopped at the gate and spoke to the security staff.  They assured us that once the cleaning crew went through the building, they would mail us back Lovie...if she was indeed found.

So...back on the road we go, back towards San Antonio.  Upon our arrival in Texas the day before, I did take notice that it had rained heavily in that area of Houston for several days.  I actually was wearing a brand new all white pair of Nike Air Max sneakers for this vacation trip because they were extremely comfortable for walking around.  About an hour into the ride, and prior to, I kept reminding my wife and daughters to go to the bathroom at any one of the dozens of rest stops we were passing.  I knew we were going to hit a stretch of highway where there would be no rest stops.  Everyone kept assuring me that they were fine.

Sure enough about 15 minutes past the last available rest stop, when the highway is virtually pitch black, my oldest daughter (she was 11yrs old) meekly reports in the back that she has to go pee pee.  With my stomach tied in knots and me biting my tongue nearly half off...I decide that I'm going to pull over on this highway, not too far from a construction site and walk her to the back of the truck and take care of business.  For those of us who live in the Northeast, stopping on the side of the road after a heavy rain is really no big deal.  Our "earth" or dirt is the typical hard, firm stuff that you use to plant your typical house plants.  HOWEVER in the south...their typical "earth" is a clay like substance.  Once it gets wet...and in our case...SOAKED...it becomes not just play dough.  It actually becomes like quicksand.  I wasn't 6 steps out of our RENTAL SUV, before I realised that me, my daughter and the car were sinking about 6 to 8 inches into the clay.

I held her up and let her do her business.  Got back in the car and said a prayer that we would now be able to use the 4 wheel drive to get out of these predicament.  My brand new, formerly all white sneakers were immediately placed in a plastic disposal bag as I was now barefoot trying to steer the 4 wheel drive out of the mess.  No good.  Eventually about 8 highway workers came over to help, as we called for a tow truck and police assistance, but still no good.  Finally after a 45 minute wait, and two other motorists getting stranded into the quicksand, we were towed out.  My legs and shorts were covered in clay mud.  I looked like I had just stepped out of a jungle in Cambodia.  Our truck looked no better.  It looked like it had been used in the movie "Apocalypse Now!"  We did arrive at San Antonio at about 2 am...all the worse for wear.

The next morning it took well over an hour and a half to wash down the truck...which in San Antonio...people do by hand at public car washes.  The car wash down my street would have knocked it out in 20 minutes.  Either way, we finally were able to enjoy the rest of that vacation.  The food, the people, the weather all absolutely "rocked"!  Then came the going back to Houston, Texas to catch our flight back to New York.  We packed up our last day and got back on the highway to Houston.  Bags?  Check!  Belongings?  Check!  Bowels??  Checked and empty!

Five straight sunny days in Texas, left the roadsides nice and dry for any necessary stops.  However, the women in the car with me all assured me that they were GOOD...ah...so they said.  Around the halfway point of the drive, my wife and middle daughter announced that they too had to pull over and pee.  I was NOT HAPPY about this.  But I reluctantly pulled over...on dry land...and allowed them to find a spot for themselves.  They were out and back in the car in roughly 2 minutes.  However....they weren't in the car for more than 5 seconds before they started jumping and scratching because they were being bitten by red ants!!  The two of them had inadvertently stepped in a red hills, while using the facilities.  I immediately had to stop and use a towel and sweatshirt and beat those damn ants off the two of them!

It was...at this point...that finally all patience inside me had given out.  I had reached that moment when I could take no more.  Whatever little sanity I had left from this wedding/vacation trip had now completely left my mind and body.  My cup had runneth over.  I said...and I quote...in the loudest, eye bulging, most insane, growl of a voice that you could imagine:

"That's it!  That's it!  From here on nobody is getting out of this damn car!!  You will pee in your hand if you have to!!  But you will stay in this car until we get it back to Houston!!  Do you ALL understand me???"

Needless to say, there was complete silence in the car all the way back to Houston.  It was so quiet, as they say in the south, you could hear a mouse piss on cotton...

About 3 weeks upon our arrival back to New York.  Lovie arrived home in box.  She was delivered 3rd class mail.  The cheapest and slowest form of mail.  Had they told us that the Space Center, we would have spent the extra money and had her home sooner.  Still, I found myself, on a quiet day, when no one was home, filling Lovie in on all that she had missed on our way to and from San Antonio...

Let's dance into the light...

So it was a busy weekend for me this past weekend.  In the past 14 days I've have watched the page views on my blog steadily rise.  Thank you everyone!  This response has forced me to make the time to focus within myself even more and keep bringing out the best writing inside in me.  I promise to deliver even more, and better with each passing week - and I mean every bit of those words.  I now feel indebted to bring you at least three posts a week, including the eventual conclusion to my fictional story "The Page".  In addition, I am working on newer sets of short fictional stories of the same caliber to entertain you.  Even though many of you are thousands of miles away throughout the United States, United Kingdom, Russia, Germany, and Ireland...I can literally feel your positive energy coming through my monitor.  It's as if  we were all holding hands and enjoying this roller coaster ride through life together.  And the reality is we are!  Please do continue to view the different pages on this blog and tell a friend or two who you think might enjoy it as well!  Let's keep recycling this positive energy and help it grow!

You know there's a Phil Collins song that comes into my mind.  His "Dance Into The Light" song.  If you know the song and its lyrics, that's kind of what we should be doing everyday.  There can be so much potential negative energy in our lives, surrounding our lives, affecting our lives...everyday or every week.  We can push it back, if we try.  We must accept these negatives as purely challenges in our lives.  We must fight hate with love, and evil with goodness.  Now I don't mean that in a wimpy sort of way.  I mean it in a very empowering way. If you fight hate with hate, you'll only create just more hate.  If you fight evil with evil...you'll only create more evil.  Here's a little secret...we can't stop hate or evil.  It's always going to be out there in the world.  What we need to remember to do is shield ourselves with such powerful positive energy like love and goodness that evil just bounces off of us.  That is the "light" that we must keep dancing towards.

Here's an example of what you can do. Whatever you are right now reading this, walk into a room where everyone looks depressed, angry or just a low level of energy.  Walk into that room with a bounce and maybe even humming one of your favorite upbeat songs (like Phil Collins "Dance Into The Light") and just watch how your positive energy will effect that whole room.  Like a pebble dropped into a pond.

Now I know some people in that room will give you strange negative looks, or even make fun of you or criticize you "Why are you so happy?"  Here's the answer inside my head, "Because I am a child of God.  Because we are all a children of God, made up of flesh and bones.  Because I was able to wake up today and get out of bed and embrace my fellow human beings in this thing we call life and I enjoy that daily challenge!  All the problems and sufferings I deal with everyday, I know I have the spiritual energy inside me to handle them and overcome them.  And so can you."

But outside my mouth I may just have to impart a far more simple answer "Hey man (or woman), it's Monday and the start of a new week.  Whatever I didn't get right last week, I'm going to work at it and get it right this week!  Besides which, I'm happy, alive and free!"

I guarantee some of them will respond with additional negatives like:  "You're not really free" "Stop being so chipper, it's too early in the day" "You're always smiling all the time"  "You've got four kids, how can you be so happy?"

Yes...I've heard it all.  And its all negative energy.  But, I just keep on smiling and maintain my upbeat energy and just walk away.  I've got a ton of problems just like everyone else, but I don't let that stop me from enjoying every minute I have on this earth.  I'm not going to let anyone rob me of even one second of that time.  And you shouldn't either!  As the day goes on, my smile and energy in that room eventually becomes a shared smile all around that room.  It's inevitable with me.  For my friends and coworkers reading this blog - you know this is how you see me everyday?  Now you know why.

So to my friends, fans, and family.  Let us join spirits and keep dancing into the light!  Have a great day and rest of your week! 

"The Page" by John S LES, part 3

And now Part 3…."The Page"

“The Page”

By John S LES ©

Initially it was my infatuation for Jamila that motivated me to learn about the continent of Africa and even her mysterious ancestral country, Bustani.   But as the school year continued I soon realized that my high school’s world geography class was not going to be sufficient enough to teach me everything I needed to know about my girlfriend’s native land.  My being African American didn’t give me any special inside knowledge or connection.  Having never been overseas, I was on the outside looking in.  I was above all, still above all very much so American and needed to educate myself outside of my classroom and my native culture.

I started out scouring the Internet and library to find information on Bustani and Africa in general.  It was this research that began to really open my eyes to a place I thought most people who live in the Western hemisphere think that they generally know about.  We don’t.  In addition, my father had me have a sit down with a NYU Economics professor who was from originally from Uganda, who did some interpretation work at the UN.  Dr. Peter Kavuma was fluent in 6 different African dialects, including Swahili which was the main language spoken in Bustanti.  He would later introduce me to three colleagues of his over dinner at a restaurant not too far from the UN.   One was from Uganda like him.  He also worked in the UN as an interpreter.  Another was a history professor at City College who was originally from Kenya, and the third was a math professor from Nigeria.

Over the course of the dinner the four men gave me a short but informed lesson on how vast Africa was.  Using a laptop they condensed a college level course on African studies into the near two and a half hour dinner.  Africa is the largest continent on the face of the earth.  It is so vast that you could fit the continental United States, Spain, France, Germany, Italy, Eastern Europe, the Netherlands, India and China inside of it.  It has 6 time zones and 9 different climates.  We only have 4 time zones and 5 climates here in the US.

Africa was rich in most of the world’s most precious resources, however every region is managed so differently.  Abundance of one set of resource in one area could mean a shortage of the same resources in another region.  Most of their best resources still distributed out to other parts of the world.  Moreover, there are strong countries, adjacent to economically weak countries, which boarded some corrupt countries.  All of these countries interwoven with one another on the same continent.  There was not enough unity amongst the 47 countries within Africa to jointly alleviate and balance out the populations that suffered from drought, famine, poverty and disease.

That was where Bustani came in.  It had been basically untouched and isolated from Western Imperialism.  Despite this, they learned from the Eastern and the Western economies the past century and developed some immense economic vehicles through their vast resources and small but powerful military.  All of this money and power despite their small populace of only five million – the actions they took would be usually followed by many surrounding African countries.

Bustani is located just off the coastal border of Somalia and Tanzania.  They were monotheistic, but strangely had a mystical worship of lions, leopards and cheetah’s.  They were composed of two specific ethnic groups, the Simba Mtu and the Tumbili Mtu, respectively translated as the lion man and monkey man.  The Simbu were the ruling class and the Tumbili were the lower, semi enslaved working class.  They made up 3 million of the countries 5 million and were generally shorter in height and much thinner.  The Simba’s, who numbered a little over 1.5 million, were noted for their extremely robust, taller and very athletic, dark skinned physiques.  They practiced a mystical style of martial arts that imitated the movements of lions, cheetahs and leopards.  They were easily identified by their phenomenal physiques and green eyes. 

After the American hostage rescue and the ensuing civil war several years ago, some western scientists via UN relief groups were able to finally enter the country and discover that the zambarau berry that the Simbas harvested and ate exclusively for themselves reacted in their body chemistry like a super steroid.  The same berry did not affect the Tumbili, or any other ethnic group quite the same way.  It appeared that over centuries the Simbas metabolism had an aggressive adaptative reaction to the progesterone, androstenedione and estriol found in the berry.  Even their green eyes, normally a recessive trait, had become a dominant gene, as they never mated outside of their ethnic group.

That was my education on Africa and Bustani.  It was information that I thought I would never need, but I was wrong.

January 2011 in New York City was marked by record snow in so short a period of time.  It had even interrupted me from spending a weekend down in Virginia, staying with Jamila’s family.  We had to hold off visiting one another until the weather cleared and we got through the early part of the spring.  But Jamila seemed distracted when I spoke of waiting to the spring to visit her again.  Then to pick her spirits up, since she already knew I had plans to apply to Georgetown University – I dropped a surprise on her.  I told her that I had applied for becoming a Page for my local congressman for the summer.  That my father had pulled some strings and I filled out an application and it was looking good that I might get the job and stay with relatives in nearby Washington, DC for the whole summer.  She and I would only be a short drive away instead of a 4 or 5 hour car ride.  However, instead of being surprised, she became visibly upset.  She ended our conversation and was unreachable for several days.  Then I would call her house and her parents would barely speak to me.  All they would do is give me the old “Sorry Isaiah, Jamila is not able to talk to you at this time.  Try back in a few days or wait until she calls you.”

The first couple of days it didn’t bother me.  I was angry at her reaction to me spending the summer near her.  Then the next several days it began to bug me, to the point that my three best friends at school began to feel sorry for me and my depressed behavior.  My three best friends in school are Tanya Woods, William Chin and my “proud to be atheist” friend Zachary Silverman.  It just so happened that the four of us became good friends since our freshman year, when we all joined the computer science club.  We maintained our Geekdom standing by refining our computer skills over the years.  We could hack into a few good secure places if we wanted to.  Instead we used our formidable skills to help the club maintain it’s creative superiority in Manhattan.  Only the Bronx School of Science could really give us a run for the money

The four of us were an odd group to start with.  A tall black guy who everyone thought was on the basketball team.  A biracial black girl, who looked so girly, girl – she looked like she couldn’t type on a keyboard with her long nails or even had the time to run a program with all the time she spent primping herself at her chair.  Then there was William Chin, my brother from another mother.  He grew up mostly south of Houston Street, closer to the projects around a lot more black and Hispanic families, not Chinatown.  He listened to more rap music, and went to rap concerts than I did.  He called himself an éclair.  “Tan on the outside and chocolate on the inside…bro!”

 He and Zach were really superb at hacking and spent a lot of time with people who worked underground.  They did enough dirty tricks to maintain their credibility in the hacker world, but they kept themselves legit with their school work and projects.

Zach came from a parents who were reformed Jews.  Their parents – his grandparents were practicing Jews who went through their hippy phase during the ‘60’s and then went back to a more traditionally conservative lifestyle.  I guess the free mind and free will skipped a generation.  Both his parents were lawyers.  If he didn’t watch himself, they’d be spending more time trying to keep him out of jail for hacking into things he didn’t need to, then they spent working.  Zach was clearly a free spirit.  However, the best thing about Zach was his loyalty and sense of nonpolitically correct humor.  Oh and he was a devote atheist. 

Our fearsome, foursome usual hang out spots was the cafeteria, side doors of the school (we were too cool to walk into the front doors before the freshmen), the local pizzeria, the Computer Science Club classroom…and of course the virtual chat room we created with our own program online.  We could operate it under a cloud and tell if anyone was listening in.

Nearly 11 days, on a Thursday in early March 2011, I could no longer take the cold shoulder.  Zach and Will met with me that night after classes to drop a bomb on me.  They had gotten Jamila’s Internet Protocol, or IP address and hacked her machine.  They were checking up for me to see if she had moved onto another guy.  Said Zach, “I just wanted to make sure that if my best friend was going to lose his Super Model girlfriend to another guy, that the other guy had better be a great guy.”

To summarize it all, it wasn’t a guy that Jamila seemed to be following.  It was newscasts from Africa that she was following.

Will, “Bro, I’d say from the looks of things – the airline ticket searches, and travel brochures – your girl and her family are going back to Bustani, man”

They handed me the printouts.  She had dozens of hits on stories and files on a Bustani, priest named Masamba.  He was a member of the Simba Mtu class that was being overturned.  To keep from becoming a victim of civil war, Masamba had become a voice for the downtrodden in Bustani and around the world.  He constantly fed civil unrest local and abroad.  He recruited the leftover that was pulling from the now growing numbers in the Arab Spring that was taking place in Northern Africa.

By the end of January the Tunisian president had stepped down.  There were full blown riots and or protests in Algiers, Egypt, Palestine and Yemeni.  Masamba used this energy to gain more disciples.  Instead of wanting his ouster, there were thousands of Tumbili who supported him.  What none of us knew at that time was that Masamba was simply assembling a small army to carry out his greater plan.  His plan was to assassinate 10 of the world’s major leaders and try to throw the world into chaos. 

What was Jamila doing?  Why was she going back to Bustani?  Her family were supposed to be members of Tumbili who fled to the United States for political asylum.  Why would they suddenly go back, now while their country was still engaged in a civil war?  Why?  I had to know.  I had to confront her.  Doing it from 245 miles away just wasn’t going to work. I had to go see her.  I had to go Arlington.  I had to go right then...

 

TO BE CONTINUED:

Ladies...Your Best Parts Aren't Behind You...

Ladies...your best parts aren't behind you...

Yesterday, I went to a nearby Duncan Donuts with a female coworker.  Not an unusual thing, however this time she wanted to go to share some good news in her personal life.  When we went into the store the relatively new set of guys who worked there seemed to great her like she was a family member or friend stopping by.  They even began to joke and tease her...and when she wasn't looking...they each took a quick look at her posterior end.  She was wearing a nice, knee length dress, that was very professional looking - nothing salicious.

I didn't remember seeing such a warm and saliva dripping welcome before with this new crew or the old crew.  She made her order and we walked back to our office.  She is a pretty woman and is quite married and has two children.  As we were walking back she proceeds to tell me that one of the men actually asked her to marry him so that he could become a citizen of the United States.  She of course told him - NEGATIVE.  But it seemed as if his "playboy" coworkers now figuered that they had better than a snowball's chance in Hell to get her to marry one of them if they continued to behave like beat up Don Juan's in their company uniform.

In her own words, "In another life, if I were going to marry a guy just so that he could become a citizen...he's gotta do better than making donuts and wearing a shirt with frosting stains?  I mean what would be in it for me, free donuts?"

I laughed out loud at her very logical commentary.  But her being a pretty lady, and acting quite aloof she sure did get some faster than normal service.  Ohh...the power of women...

But before I leave this topic, I just want to introduce this thought to all women who might be reading this particular blog.  Ladies...news flash...if you are ever wondering if men are looking at your behinds as you walk by - the answer is a resounding YES.  Not only are they watching your behind as you pass, they are also giving it a score.  In just mere tenths of seconds those men you pass are holding up their mental score cards to other men in the room, sidewalk and even the same zip code as to whether or not your behind scores a 5 or better on a scale from 1 to 10.  So here in the United States and other Western cultures, ladies if you're going to wear shorts, dresses, pants or even a plastic bag around your behind - just make sure you walk with some grace and a good shake.  Even if you don't think you have a nice behind - maybe you think it's too big, too small, too flat - or even concaved - just put some socks in your back pocket and shake your hips side to side as if you're listening to some latin music when you walk.  A good strut will turn a 3 to a 6 and a 7 to a 10 in seconds!

Now if you can't live with this thought of what I'm telling you.  If you think what I'm saying is disgusting, piggish male talk - please don't blame me.  Blame it on biology.  Blame it on Evolution or Mother Nature.  Not me.  I'm just trying to empower you with some basic knowledge.  Those of you women who have at least two or more older brothers know exactly what I'm talking about because you've heard the guy talk before.  It always start something like this..."Hey!  Did you see that one?"

As for the biology part of it...here it goes.  We all know that all species on earth are built for reproduction.  You can take a basic college Anthropology class and find out some of the same things I'm going to mention.  You see human biology is radically different from other primates.  That being said, we do not need to procreate in the tradional primate fashion of stepping in from the rear.  Moreover, since human females vaginas are not rear facing and not as easily accessible (or showoffable) as primates are.  Everything is pushed forward, towards the front and women walk upright on their feet, thus things are "hidden".

Human women have the biggest buttocks of all primates.  By biology men know where those ovaries are, and the access to those ovaries.  A woman's hip sway, while walking, is litterally like a hypnotist taking a swinging object and saying "Look at me, you're getting sleepy...sleepy..."  The rounder the rump, the more adventurous the access.  The more sway in the hips while walking..well...it's over!  Female breasts are additional substitutes for attracking a man's attention.  The bigger and rounder ones imitate female buttocks.  The more they sway, jiggle or bounce - the more attention they are going to get from men!

And guess what ladies...?  For those of you that wear low cut pant tops and midrift shirts...guess what internal organs you're showing off to men in your pelvic region?  Your ovaries (and birth canal).  Yep...it's as simple as that. What do you think folks?   I'd like to hear your opinion?  :-)


JS  LES

Finding A Cure For Xenophobia

I hope that between my writings and my fictional story - my readers - are getting good thought stimulation.  Feel free to write a comment.  For now I'd like to express some questions and thoughts that have accumulated over the past couple of weeks.

But before I do that, I'd like to say thank you to my new friend Deborah in Liverpool and long time friend Kylie in Sidney for your support.  You are both living proof that great friendships do not have boundaries via land, air, sea or time zone.  Thank you ladies!

When you think about how our bodies are composed of billions of cells working together to form organs and whole systems that make us who we are.  When everything works together, we are healthy.  When something externally or internally effects those cells, there becomes a disruption of its health and function.  Even if we use science and medicine to prevent or deter all the negatives that interfere with our cells, the eventual ravages of Father Time break down our cells and they cannot be replenished fast enough or with the same vibrant cells from earlier in our lives.

Seems like human relationships work the same way.  We all must work together in some form or fashion for a common cause.  Whether it is work related, family related, community related or in a loving relationship - we are must sacrifice our individuality to work together with those around us...somehow, someway.  We get forced to work for some common good.  We become like tiny cells working to keep the body of the human experience healthy.

Why does this seem so easy to say and yet so difficult to do?

People don't always work together at work to achieve work related goals.  Family members do not always work together to accomplish family goals.  Couples fight for more individual attention, or attention from others, or over indulge themselves in their careers.  They let go of their goals to remain a couple bit by bit.

The wife working to help support her family, needs to have her significant other call her and let her know that she is important - not only for what's she accomplishing at her job and what's she's accomplishing for her family.  The husband who returns home from working 8, 10 or 12 hrs and needs to hear a thank you and how are you doing?

Brothers, sisters and cousins need to reach out to one another as they grow older.  But it is always difficult to put sibling and family rivalries away.  They must remember to work towards making their younger family generations respectful and strong of their family traditions and open minded for the changing world around them.

The telltale sign that there is a sickness growing in your relationships is when you realize that people outside of your relationship become more or equally important as the people inside your particular relationship.  When your work at work becomes less important than keeping up with the latest work gossip.  When your children become panhandlers that you work feverishly to avoid.  When your spouse becomes Public Enemy #1.  There is a cancer growing in those relationships.  The first place to start to cure that cancer will be within yourself.

If you can remember anything from this post.  Whether you have a significant other or not in your life.  Do yourself a favor tomorrow and just hug somebody.  Your friend, your sister, your brother, your mail courier, the guy in the pet store, the receptionist at your doctor's office.  Just go out and give someone a hug.  If not for them...then at least for yourself.  Cure the sickness...one hug at a time.

JS LES

"The Page" by John S LES, part 2

The wait...is over...

"The Page"  Part Two

By  John S LES  ©

Even now as I look back, I remember when it all began for me and not to the rest of the world.  My story began back in the summer of 2010, when I began using a social chat room application on my Android phone.  It was there that I met a girl from the Washington, DC area that I shall call, Jamila to protect her real identity.  Her screen name was actually Jamila2012 in the chat room. I was just 15 years old that summer and looking forward to starting my sophomore year at Stuyvesant high school in New York City.

Over the next few months going into the school year our anonymous friendship eventually blossomed into a real life friendship and courtship.  Making friends with people in real life outside of a chat room was an absolute no no for me, considering my father’s important job occupation.  However, the friendship and long distance relationship between Jamila and I had taken a life of its own.  Over the next seven months during our school year we actually began to fall in love.  We had a lot of things in common.

First, Jamila, was the same age as me and was attending a high school in the Arlington, VA area.   We both were one of two children in our households, and we both had older brothers who tortured us when we were younger.  Both of our fathers worked in security for our local governments, but in slightly different capacities.  Her father worked for a private security company that provided personal security for Congressmen, Senators and dignitaries from all over the world.  My father is the Chief Head of security for the United Nations.

Jamila was born American and so was her father.  However, her grandfather had arrived here in the United State via political asylum, from an African country, Bustani, whose exact name she had kept from me until the Summer of 2011.  Standing at 6’2, I’m just a tall, slender and African American kid, who everyone keeps thinking should be playing basketball or baseball.  Although I do like working out and actually earned a brown belt from a midtown karate school, I never liked playing sports all that much.  I am more of a computer geek with aspiring interests in politics and law rather than jumpshots and base hits.

Mid December of 2010, Jamila and her family traveled to New York City for two reasons.  The first was so that they could visit Rockefeller Center for the first time, and the second reason was because our parents wanted to create a proper environment for all of us to meet beyond just simple phone calls, Skype, text messages and emails.  My father and her father used their law enforcement connections to check each other out before we all got together for dinner on a Saturday night at Rockefeller Center.  Thankfully both our families “checked out” to our respective parents’ approval. 

It was a nice time that night in mid December.  Both our school holiday vacations started out with nice weather.  Even though she told me that she and her family were tall, her 5’11 stature seemed even taller than the low heels that she wore.  She was even more beautiful in person than in the pictures, videos and live camera conversations that we had.  Throughout the entire dinner my father and brother Ishmael kept nudging me, and tapping me with their feet under the table at how beautiful she was.  Jamila has big beautiful, near catlike brown eyes, a slender face and body with high cheekbones and mahogany complexion with velvet skin.

Only my mother had disapproved Jamila and her family after the dinner was over and we had we returned home.  Jamila and her family were affable enough, very educated and well mannered.  However, my mother just felt that there was a strange vibe from them.  But my brother, father and I paid no attention to her.  Other than that, the night had gone perfect.  Our fathers talked politics and professional connections with dignitaries.  Our mothers talked about raising kids in busy cities.  Our brothers talked about their first year college experiences.  Her brother Omar was an economics student at Yale and my brother was at Duke on an engineering scholarship.

That was Saturday, December 18^th.  Little did my family know that in less than 24 hours, on December 19^th , a jobless, Tunisian graduate student, Mohamed Bouazizi, took to selling vegetables in the street only to have his cart seized by the police.  In an act of defiance he set himself on fire, which then led to condemnation from around the world along with riots and police clashes.  That would prove to be the first act in a chain reaction of events that culminated into the Arab Spring.

Coincidentally, there were three other things that occurred over the next two weeks that would greatly affect my life after that night.  Three things that would take me by surprise all the way to end of the following year.  First, the incident in Tunisia triggered the first of hundreds of religious disciples of Masamba to begin forming groups of so-called world peace seekers to approach the United Nations and heads of state.  Second, most of the northeast states would get hit with a record snow storm immediately following Christmas and over the next several weeks.  Then not another flake the rest of the winter.  And lastly…my mother…and her intuition in regards to Jamilia and her family...she was right…she was usually right...but we didn't listen.

Before I continue on this week with part two of my fictional story "The Page" I'd like to take a moment to thank and acknowledge some friends of mine who checked out my links to my blog and read through some of my past posts.  Thank you very much.  I hope you will continue to check in from time to time to see me stir the pot for some good thinking on life issues.

In addition, feedback is welcomed in emails or comments.  Even things that you might want to say or express, but have shared with me, I hope I can find a way to bring them out here and discuss/share with other people.

Seems like the Olympics will be wrapping up soon.  Our American athletes did perform well overall.  That's kind of cool to know and see.  Even better was the fact that there weren't any issues about attacks against our athletes.  The world, so far has been able to enjoy the Olympics and get to appreciate athletes from all over the world represent their country very graciously.  I'm really glad that so far, that has been the case.

Last night I watched some Youtube video clips of an old, Sunday morning kid show called "Wonderama".  It was nice to watch that and relive some of that show's funny, magical moments.  Then I researched the career of the shows host, Bob McAllister, who became the long running low ratings show in 1967 and stayed until 1977 when either he was fired or the show cancelled.  Who would have known that the man who brought this show it's greatest ratings ever - had ongoing issues with the show's producers.  Their antagonistic relationship reached a breaking point in 1977.

If bringing in money and viewership for the show wasn't enough for those producers to work something out with McAllister...then how does most of us fair at our own jobs if push came to shove from upper management?  When everyone is profiting, seems like it should be a no-brainer to let the worker, or in this case the show's host, have his artistic way.  Anyway...seemed a bit unfair of an end for a man who managed to bring smiles and laughs to millions of kids faces.  Yes, the show seems corny and outdated by today's standards, but that's what was out there. 

My favorite part of his show was the show's end theme song.  "Kids Are People Too".  Once again...such a corny song.  But in today's day and age of social issues and social reform...we need to repeat McAllister's mantra in that song.  "Kids are people too".  I just love that.

Anyway...stay tuned for part 2 of "The Page".  A story about two versions of blind faith, hope and change.  :-)

Fictional story..."The Page" ©

"The Page"  

by John S LES  ©

As I sit here typing away on my laptop in Washington, DC, for my blog, I find it hard to believe what took place this long, hot 2012 summer.  The world was nearly brought to its knees by a Messiah from a cult who tried to deliver us world peace by assassinating the world's top leaders with his worshippers.  The world had been caught by surprise, but the better hearts of men and women and...and my snoopiness prevailed.

Even though I'm just a 18 year old page for my local congressman, sometimes that's all that it takes to help set the right energies in motion.  So thanks to my many readers and friends who assisted me in getting the word out there when even our best intelligence professionals around the world refused to believe me as we uncovered the murderous plot that might have changed the world.

I've refused all interviews with world magazines and newspapers.  When I went to them earlier, they ignored me.  Now this is not their story to retell.  This is our story.  The story of how hope, faith and the goodness inside the vast majority of all men, women and children everywhere - should prevail over evil and those people in power over all of us.  The story of how people can reach out across cultural, racial, national, geographic and ethnic differences to make the world a better and safer place.

Most people in the world would like to live their lives in peace.  However, there are some people in the world who want more than just peace.  They are the people who want to control other people through slavery, war or chaos. That is where they find their peace, from controlling others.  This summer the world had nearly reached a turning point towards chaos before reasonable minds stepped in, foiled these assassination attempts and got our world leaders back together at the peace table.  From there greater communication was established between the masses and their leaders to express their needs, wants and desire to feel part of a planet of people.  Not separate, warring entities, who simply preyed on one another's weaknesses.

 Although we're not in feudal times, we still exist in a time where there are kings and pawns, otherwise known as the masses.  Many more people in the masses may have access to money and power in modern times, but still the kings rule.  When there's an imbalance of money, power and access to a better life because of feuds or fallouts from the ruling parties, the masses suffer until the kings sort it out.

In that moment of chaos from war and economic uncertainty - the masses search for a prophet to lead them to peace and a bigger morsel of power.  Some of those prophets who evolve can be angels and actually positively change the world.  Some of those prophets are actually demons - evil men disguised as angels and saviors..

Masamba was just that kind of leader...