Well I have literally reached the end of this road, but there is no brick wall, or a cliff for Thelma and Louise to catapult themselves from, at the end is this great big beautiful world. A world many of us choose to live in, compartmentalized, as it becomes smaller, and we all become more accessible in the global since. Nowadays We have skype, ichat, text messaging, and the BLOG. The world is as close as my index finger and my monthly access charges allow it to be. But somehow as we all become more within reach of one another, this chasm increases. We disconnect more on a human level. We allow CNN, and our misconceptions to inform us about the world and in doing that we cheat ourselves, oh so much. It took me traveling the world to remind myself how important we all are to each other, how beautiful people can be. People make life rich, not more ring tones or new shinny things. That richness comes from our interactions with one another, that face-to-face, that hand shake, that embrace. I went around the world and became closer to myself, but it wasn’t the frequent flyer miles that did it; it was all those wonderful people with their rich culture and welcoming smiles. It was good old-fashioned human contact. So what do you do if you don’t have an opportunity to travel the globe, and experience all of that wonderfulness? You take risk! If I just gave more airtime to the Pakistani brother who runs the corner deli, the Moroccan man at the check cashing place, or when I go to the Mexican restaurant to order food if I just took a moment to try and get to know the people behind the counter, I could have a richer human experience right around the corner from where I live. Like I said wonderfulness is in the people, the places we go to are special because of their smiles, their heart and in some cases their pain. We reap the benefits of life when we take risk, when we challange ourselves, when we trust. Don't get me wrong, this is not coming from some naive twenty-year old who hasn't lived. Risk are risky, and yes, your liable to get disappointed or hurt in the process, but don't be no punk. When that brick wall you have so skillfully built around you all these years tells all who approach, to proceed with caution, tear down the wall and take a chance. Real human contact, what a concept!

The Last

The Last

Once upon a night so dreary....

Once upon a night so dreary
Fog so thick we can’t see clearly
Tavern walls, cloaked with hide
We sipped boiled wine
After our sleepy ride
Ravens, peacock, bears and dear
Listen to our hidden fear
Vineyards line the foggy hills
Gargantuan beings drill at will
A sudden stop, a crash, a bang
All are safe we go to sing
The village comes to share the night
They stand and cheer, oh what a sight
The fog is lifted, we eat and drink
I sit to write, ponder and think

Goodbye Istanbul

Istanbul was great! Our host Sevil is one of the classiest and sweetest people I have ever met. She took us to some great places to eat. We ate traditional Turkish food, in some of the best Turkish restaurants, food fit for a king or queen. We did not want to leave but it was time to go to Ankara. Now Ankara started off kind of ruff. We are not spoiled divas or anything like that and I have stayed in Best Western hotels before, but this was more like the “worst western”. It was nasty. No way we could have slept in those rooms without waking up with a skin rash and a bad case of asthma. Our host was right on it though. Within an hour we were out of there and in a Paris Hilton five star hotel. I would have been find with a Holiday Inn, but hey. Actually it has been five-star the whole trip, so shy change now. From that point on it was all-good. The concert was held in this nightclub, and we killed it. I felt it was one of our better performances. The success of our shows, rely largely on the quality of sound, and the soundman was on his game. The club had set us up in a closed off VIP section, and supplied us with our choice of liquor, so after the gig we drank a bit more than we should. That next morning after we came to it was time to catch a flight back to Istanbul for a few hours before we would have to board another plane for Romania. The good thing about the long lay over, we got to hang out with Sevil again, and she is definitely consistent because we ended up at another choice restaurant, followed by tearful good-byes. I really hope we get back to Turkey some day.

Magic Carpet

What's up ya'll. Trying to keep up with this blog is not always easy. Going from one city to the next, questionable internet service, and just being plane old exhausted. 'm going to try and update you on the past few days. Last when we communicating I was impersonating a wealthy person, and playing with pink yarn with the Turkish version of Martha Stewart. Since then I had an amazing last day in Turkey. It started with a visit to the Blue Mosque. It's one of those places that when you step inisde you start clicking your camera lick mad, not sure what to shoot first. Since I'm not a photographer, I don't think my pictures will do much justice. I made salat (prayed) inside the blue Mosque, such an enormus honor, to lay my forehead and my soul on that carpet. I started to loose battery power shortly after exiting the Mosque, and my 32MB memory card was full, so the driver was nice enough to help me find a camera shop where I was able to purchase a pricey new memory card. Next, off to the Hagia Sophia. One of the wonders of the world, you feel the history flow through as yo travel up its spine, from the main level to the second level. The walls and stain glass tell stories of Christian and Muslim period that span from 3AD. After viewing all that history, naturally we we were famished, so off we went to enjoy a traditional Turkish meal. Yum yum, full full, stomachs lined with Turkish cafe and plenty of energy now to be used on haggling at the grand bazarr. Like anyone else I purchased items for people I care about, and bought a Turkish rug for my home.
Our host Sevile then took us to a shop owned by her friend Errol. Errol is one of the most respected sellers of Moroccan rugs in Morocco. Errol was very generous, we all sat down and enjoyed some Moroccan tea as he laid prayer rub after prayer rug at our feet. Errol was not trying to sell us any rugs, he was simply trying to educate and share with us some of most beautiful and high quality rugs you may ever find. One rug, two rug, ten rugs, and then there was that rug. The color and pattern looked familiar. I was a child, and my father had a prayer rug that was a smaller version of the rug I was gawking at. I said out loud, that rug looks like my fathers old prayer rug. That statement was followed by unchained memories and tears. Everyone in the room knew this was a special moment, and it was clear to me I had to have that prayer rug. My father passed away several years ago, and I think of him always. Morocco and Turkey have brought me closer to Islam, and when I return home turn toward Mecca, and make salat, I will remember my father with every rakat.

Innsha Allah
Gamal

The World Is My Hood

After having a gourmet breakfast this morning which included heart shaped waffles, looking out at the magnificent Bosphorus strait, it became clear to me that this week I would be imitating the wealthy (someone who enjoys a much higher tax bracket than myself). The sky is overcast, but not to worry, the wealthy can purchase views that rival the sun. Most likely, I will feel compelled to satisfy my palette with a $100.00 bottle of red wine, and it may be time drape my torso with a fine cashmere sweater, but that will have to take a back seat to our television debut. Today we will be broadcast on one of Turkeys most popular morning shows. The shows host is Daria; she's kinda like the Martha Stewart of Turkey. The show went well, we performed some pieces, rolled some yarn into balls of yarn, dropped the balls of yarn, worked up a sweat from rolling the yarn into balls of yarn, and then dropped the balls of yarn some more (damn, there goes my Hood card). After the show we took a picturesque ferry ride over to the Asian side of Istanbul, yeah the Asian side. I have to admit, I was not aware that part of Turkey is in Asia, but it is. After getting off the ferry we ate a tradional Turkish meal and ran back to the ferr so we wouldn't miss the boat. Literally. Heart shaped waffles, ferry boats, cashmere sweaters, and pink balls of yarn. The world is my hood.

Turkey, A breath of fresh air.....

Though the air is fresh and clean in Turkey, my stomach took a turn for the worse. We got to Turkey and people seemed pleasant. We stopped by a TV studio, where we will be gueast artist on a national Turkish craft show. We will be cooking, knitting and spittin. Spittin, you know. Performing our works. It's funny but I have gotten out of the habit of using slang on this tour because our terms are very specific to where we come from. Like "mad sweet". Think about it, it is a clear contradiction. Mad and sweet kind of cancel eachother out. You can't be mad and sweet at the same time. So, after our tour of the studio we checked into our hotel. The hotel is sick! Well, it's not really sick, I'm sick. No really. After we arrived my stomach started "buggin". I mean, I caught a bug...not in my hand. I didn't actually catch a bug. My point is, the hotel is very chic, and european with a lot of class and style. There, that's better. Now anyone can read that sentence, and understand what I'm talking about. The view is stunnig. The Radisson resort sits off the Bosphorus, a glistening body of water straddled by a bridge with its on light show. As I am writing this blog, well, I'm not really writing...typing would be more accurate, but as I am putting my thoughts together, my fever has subsided a bit. I am planning to get some more rest, without sweating bullets. Ok so I'm not going to go into the whole sweating bullets thing. I'm just going to get some rest so that I can fully embrace Turkey instead of my designer pillow.

Peace...or until tomorrow.
Gamal Abdel

Perched above sea level
around midnight
Tunisia twinkles/below the stars
as if she is trying/to tell me something
but I only understand/what I see
her language/falls short of my ears
stray dogs seem to catch her drift
they bark/discussing the politics in Tunisias Monologue
My mind goes to sleep
while my body/waits for a wake up call
followed by a sweet call to prayer
a religious last attempt
To sell me on her message
But it's to late
I'm running out of time
Turkey is calling my name now

What's White and Blue All Over

I got a busted connection at a five star hotel, so I gotta keep it brief. We checked out ruins in Carthidge Tunisia. Check the pics to follow. We went out to eat and ordered some nasty pizza. Maybe it was nasty because I am still suffering from this annoying cold. To make up for my flavorless pizza, we went to the ancient Greek ampitheater in Carthidge Where we (Universes) sang for the gods. That was kinda hot. Later in the evening we did a bit of haggling with local merchants in this part of town where all the buildings are white with sky-blue doors. The architecture out here is beautiful. But a U.S. dollar doesn't get you anymore than it does in the U.S. Thank you Bush for your seven years of leadership! Before ending our day with Dinner, Ellen, the cultural achete took us to smoke shesha (flavored tobacco), though they have tons of shesa cafes in the Lower East Side, they do not have this view.

Sick Day

We flew into Tunisia and my enormus head cold came for the ride. I went to bed and stayed there the rest of the night. Slipping in and out of bad cable television, and cold sweats.
The end!

Day & Night in Tunisia

Day & Night in Tunisia

So, Im still sick, but I aint no punk. Had some free breakfast at 8:00 this morning and then proceeded to workshop with some MA students who are studying urban culture in the United States. Since we had a scheduled show for 5:00 PM this afternoon, I told myself and everyone involved that I would not talk, but it was impossible to stay quite. We were having true dialog about both our cultures and the challanges thqt come with them. The most profound moment for me came when I asked the class the question, how do they as young Muslims from Tunisia percieve the way U.S citizens respond to their own tragidies such as, Hurricane and 911. One of the students responding by saying, that because the way that Muslims are misrepresented, that many people in the U.S. may think that the majority of Muslims support and celebrate such tragidies. He further stated that the truth is because inoccent human lives are taken and destroyed the only repsonse can be a human response. A response which includes sorrow, sympathy and compassion, just to name a few of those human emotions we are all so burdened with. I have been in Tunisia only two days, and there is one movie channel that seems to show movies late at night the show only the worst portrayal of Black people. Right before you exit the airport there is a airport resturaunt to your left that a statue of a very happy Black Sambo. That's right a life sized....Shit! A bigger than life sized Black Sambo. My point is, at one point or another we have all been guilty of excepting or laughing at negative images and sterotypes of each other, and I guess sometimes these things are actually funny. But when we start believing in the stereotypes and treating people based off of those warped believes, there lies a problem. Quite honestly, people are just people. Fathers and Mothers want to pay their bills and feed their famitlies, no matter where they are from. I know this isn't necessarily new and astonishing information, but somehow I think it can't hurt to be reminded. We all respond to life the only way we possibly can, as the human beings we are designed to be.

Signed,
One person to another
Peace draft 2:45:00 PM by Gamal's Blog Delete

The Road To Marrakech

I missed a few days of blogging because we have been traveling, and obtaining internet access has been costly. Look at me talking about blogging, last week I wasn't even clear about what a blog was. Now I think I understand its place in our fast paced, technological, impersonal society. It's helping me keep tabs on what I did the night before, a journal of sorts. I must say, as I get older, and day-to-day events become meshed and mushed, it is a good way of sorting and recording my life (especially on the road). Yesterday, we were on the road to Marrakech. Our reason for being there was to perform a concert and meet with a well-known Moroccan hip-hop group (Fnair). They looked more New York than we did. You could put them on any corner in BK, the BX, and they would have blended right in, multi-colored Nike's, Designer jeans, oversized tees, and polo shirts. The concert was held at Dar Ettakafa Theater. When we arrived there in the afternoon we meet with Fnair and we rehearsed a number we were to perform with them at the end of our set. They were mad cool, but there was this cat there that was playing Steven Spielberg, trying to direct the end results of our show. Basically, he was getting in the way, frustrating everybody. The performance went fine, but I have to say it reminded me of an Award show finale. You know, when they put, Bruce Springsteen, Snoop Dog, Steveie Wonder, Tom Jones, and Aretha Franklin on stage together to sing the "we are the world" segment. Later that night we headed out to the Medina, one of the young ladies in our enterouage got her ass grabbed. Definitely not cool. But all the travel literature tells you that this kinda shit might happen, and that it would be a big mistake to retaliate or engage. So we kept that New York shit in our back pockets. One of the highlights of the evening and the entire Morocco trip has been the food. The travel literature also tells you don't eat this, wash this, don't drink that, but our friend, Abdelkirim from the State Department chipped away at our apprehension by exposing us to tasty breads, tajin, mutton head, camel hump, cinnamon ginger tea, and more bread. I know I am leaving some stuff out, but most importantly, Abdelkirim, Charles, Mars, and Abdul were gracious and caring host. I was re-introduced to my Islamic roots, and we all have grown fond of Morocco. Now it's time to pack, and head off to Tunisia. We'll be back, one day.

Salam,
Gamal Abdel Chasten

Roadside Signs

This Morning we drove out to Ben Silmane, a one-hour drive into the countryside of Morocco. The road was lined with vineyards, cows, sheep and lush green landscape. You may have similar sights in the countryside of upstate New York, Wisconsin, or California, but here, in Morocco, the roadside signs point you in the direction of French, Spanish and Moroccan dialects. We arrived at a conference for the Moroccan Association of Teachers of English, who we were to present our work and discuss the topic of teaching English through music and hip-hop. After a brief sound check we waited underneath the shade of orange trees hiding from the glare of the country sunshine until show time. They received us well, and at the close of our ten minute performance they applauded us with a chant of sorts, it made me feel more appreciated then the clapping of hands ever have. Afterwards we returned to the shade of the orange tree, where we took pictures and Mildred received a lesson in singing an Arabic song from our driver Abdul. Not our driver in the sense of “Driving Ms. Daisy”, more like the brother that’s been driving us around Morocco and we are sharing special moments with. I should have said our friend Abdul. So why don’t I just edit that part out, because I’m an American and sometimes my roadside signs point me in the way of arrogance.

Secular Detours

I am Musilim born but took a secular detour. A New York baby found in a Moroccan playland Holding Foggy memories of Islamic Prayers, Hassan II recieves my salat, as I Kneel in awe. Facing Mecca on Sunday. Then I praised God alonside Gawa Fusion,
Clapping drums, singing ancient guitar strings
boom boom boom bap
boom boom boom bap
boom boom boom bap

Allahuakbar

New York to Morocco

I left behind the familiar for adventure, the skyline for the airline, the love of my life, for the love of Moroccan children. Although they are not cheering for us (it's a photo op). Here's some trivia for your ass. Where was the character Radio Raheim in Spike Lee's "Do The Right Thing" fashioned after? The answer is our guide, Abdelkirim, at least that's what he told us. He used to be a professor at Duke University, and was at Rutgers when he met Spike Lee. AbdelKirim brought us to the Sidi Moumen "Cultural Center where we had the pleasure of jamming with Gawa fusion, a home grown Moroccan band, who played congas, jembe drums and an array of other percussion instruments. As quite as it's kept music is an emotion, and these boys were feeling it. After the jam we went to buy cell phone and sim cards. I was told I would need to have my phone rigged on the black market in order to bypass Tmobile. Before we came we were instructed to not eat raw vegetables, but we did. Day 1, we ain't get sick yet. See you tomorrow, unless I'm sick.


Peace,
Gamal

Reflection

So a few days have past since an amazing afternoon. Always moving forward, that's my motto. Our publicist set up a meeting with the Vice President of Writer/Publisher relations at SESAC, a Performance Rights Organization. Basically they are the Music Mafia. They make sure artist recieve compensation and royalties owed to them (no horses head). After hitting at Dizzy's club, I didn't think things would get much better, but then we got blessed with an invitation to become affiliates of SESAC. Not only is it an honor to be asked, but it will also help establish us in a new market (the music industry), and that's all good! But good means nothing without good people to share it with. See ya'll when I land in Morocco.

Always moving forward,
G