Home Away from Home

What's the first thing you do when you get to a foreign country? Stick your head in the guidebook and head to the first 'must-see' monument? Find the nearest Starbucks? (Don't be ashamed! That's my second thing!) Perhaps hit up friends or friends of friends? Exhale??

First and foremost, it's salsa. I've talked many times on this blog about how I first found salsa. Every time I move or travel, I find it again and again. My first night in Madrid 3 years ago, I wandered the streets unsure of what I was doing there, how long I'd stay, if I'd be able to make a life there. A door opened and the sounds of salsa wafted into the street. Following my ear, I approached the door and asked the bouncer if there was a cover. He let me in. I sat with a drink and just watched for the first hour (patience is key), but after the first dance, I was home again. Rhythm. Laughter. New friends. Also, comfort. Refuge. An anchor. For the dance and the people who love it are the same everywhere.

Except in New York. It's better. The dancers are more crisp and on clave. There was only one way for me to spend my last night here in NY til the holidays. We are in silhouette, me and my dread in a big ball on top of my head (salsa was lots of fun with baby dreads, I could spin faster!), and my partner in a Red Sox cap...


Untitled from ieishah clelland on Vimeo.


What's the first and last thing you do in a new country? When everything else if foreign, where's home?

I'm In TRACE MAG!!

Well, not me exactly, but my writing. The idea was hatched during my first trip to Serbia's Exit Festival in July of '09. I found myself standing in the Dance Arena's VIP section next to one of the organizers, Ivan Milivojev. He was smoking and looking real relaxed, so I decided to shit-start. What followed was about the coolest story I'd ever heard: Youth. War. Rebellion. Survival. Politics. Music. I asked if he'd give me an interview for a magazine I was associated with. A year later, 'Sons of the Morning: The Making of Serbia's Exit Festival' is published in Trace magazine's newest Styles Ahead issue. Not that Exit hasn't been written about before. But I don't think anyone's captured the high stakes freshness of the art scene in Serbia. This is only the beginning. See that list of countries on the cover? Serbia, after Beirut, before Mali next to Kelis? The world as it should be. 

Kelis says, Click pic for the link, right now.... aaaaaaaaaah!

Mastering your expat life: Barcelona, the Starter's Kit

I don't know if it's me, or Lori Tharps who's inspiring a nation of young women to come to Spain. Alright. Not exactly a nation, but these days few days go by without an email from another young sister asking me for advice about moving to Spain. So instead of letting these correspondences languish in my inbox, I've decided to resurrect the Mastering Your Expat Life series, partially as a space for answering these queries. First up, Kendall Carter:

Dear Ieishah,

I'm a 20 year old black girl from the northwestern part of North America who is planning to attend the University of Barcelona in the fall. I have been doing a lot of research about Spain including crime rates and prices. I came across your blog and knew I had to find you. I'd love any information, hints, tips etc. you have! For example, how bad's the culture shock and how do I learn to fit into their way of life without losing myself? I've never been to Spain before and I don't know any Spanish so I know it's going to be difficult. I'll also be living in an apartment with other students from the program but I'd really appreciate any advice that you'd like to share about settling into BCN as a person who is living there. Thank you! I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time!

Yeah. Never too much. I live for this shit. 

First, I want to say congratulations for taking this step! You haven't revealed enough of yourself for me to know why you're studying abroad in Spain or what you expect to gain from this experience. I say this because of course, your expectations can shape your actual experience. All the sweet little things that comprise living in Barcelona could fill a Trick-or-Treat coffer to overflowing. It's like closing your eyes, sticking your hand in, and being ready to savour whatever the hell comes out, be it trick or treat.

I'm gonna bless you with 7 shiny golden nuggets stuffed with starter info. Let's start with one of your first questions: the crime rate.

According to Monocle Barcelona is #17 on a list of the world's 20 best cities to live in. However at press time, crime rates were not available. There's a reason for this: crime rates are probably very high. Don't get alarmed, you'll be safe. Your bag, however, is in mortal danger. The chances that it'll be stolen, emptied of its contents, and die an inglorious little death in a nearby garbage bin, are astronomically high. I don't know any foreigners (and as a black woman, you are obviously a foreigner, thus a target) who haven't been robbed, INCLUDING ME!! TWICE!! Pickpocketing and purse snatching is as much of a Barcelona institution as the Ramblas. There's even a Facebook group to testify to the fact. Check out How Not To Get Robbed in Barcelona on the Matador Network. It's got a pretty comprehensive list of do's and don'ts  to avoid becoming a statistic that doesn't exist. But I'll add one more: Walk around with your screw face on (it's been a pretty effective deterrent since) and if you're going out at night, carry a teeny tiny purse with the strap underneath your jacket.

Culture Shock. I didn't really experience much culture shock. Homesickness for sure, but never culture shock. Spain (and especially the 'north' of Spain) is still a Western country. The style of life isn't so radically different. If you approach your time abroad as an emergent experience, you'll be focused on learning, adjusting, soaking everything in, and you'll be too busy experiencing to be shocked. 

On [African] American Privilege. As a black person abroad, your American-ness is an asset. It serves you. You need it, and you don't want to lose it. Just being American can net you anything from basic customer service (basic is good for Spain!), to a job (like in my case!). There is a cross section of people who "hate" America in Europe. I put it in quotes, because that rabid anti-Americanism does not actually extend to the fun shit-- films, hip hop, and anything manufactured by Apple. That hate exists in equal balance to privilege. It's not something to feel guilty about, as we are wont to do as black people not accustomed to privilege. Not that you walk around being obnoxious about it, like so many other Americans do, but always keep it in mind.

Ditch your friends. As a student, you'll feel tempted to take refuge in your fellow non-Spanish friends. This is okay to some degree. Even necessary to your sanity. But don't let it keep you from really experiencing Barcelona. Make sure you don't only spend time in places like the Travel Bar, which is in the dead center of the city and full of Anglophones. Because Barcelona has a large, well established expat community (remember most Nordic peoples speak English as well), so it's easy to be living there for years, even, without ever really learning the language. You can live in Barcelona fairly well without speaking any more than the basic "I can order from a menu" Spanish. But you don't want that. You've got to ask yourself, almost daily, 

What am I doing here? 

Why am I here? 

When I go home, what do I want to remember most? 

What will I have learned? 

And in a perfect world, how will I have changed? 

Let the answers to these questions be your anchor. 

On Language. It's almost impossible to move your language skills ahead at a faster pace without an intercambio or language exchange. You simply have a conversation that alternates between English and Spanish, with a Spanish-speaking person, in a casual setting. Make sure it's someone you like, but not too much. Why sacrifice the fruit of a great language exchange partnership for forbidden fruit that'll rot, more likely than not? Also, make sure you do it at least once weekly, if you want it to work. You've got to be able to connect a language to your own life, using it to tell your stories, and understand the stories of others. I believe that you don't know a language until you can tell a story in it. An intercambio is a foolproof way of achieving this level of fluency.

NB: I wouldn't worry to much about learning Catalan, especially if you're only going to be in Barcelona for a few months. Everyone speaks both languages.

Street harassment is a national pastime, but normally goes no further than a stage-whispered comment to which you can always reply, Yo no hablo Español. They will call you 'Negra' and 'Morena'. Choose not to be offended. Choose not to let it ruin your day.

Spain is racist. Though people can be a bit more ignorant than in the States, I've never found Spain to be so racist as to keep me from doing my thing. Remember: You don't want adventure if you don't venture out fully prepared to meet ignorant, racist people. Black people, globally, are not at the top of social hierarchy. Understood. Totally sucks. Now let's talk about your life. Whatchu gonna do?

Limón, Costa Rica. 1998. In a small club that looked almost like a treehouse, a man threw his drink on me, snarling 'nigger', because I wouldn't dance with him. My friends closed in, shielding me from his wrath. At that moment I had a decision to make: go home and sulk? Or suck it up and stay? What was I gonna do next? I wiped my dress and stayed. About an hour later I had a dance with a one-armed man that sparked a lifelong love affair with salsa. Two years after that I won a European salsa championship, that allowed me to travel around the continent as a performer and teacher. The point? Racist shit will happen. Or maybe it won't. But just know that if it does, you don't have to let it curb your enthusiasm for travel! You don't have to let the abyss devour your experience. How you handle horrible situations is all on you.

There are all kinds of details, like: Don't spend all your nights out in those clubs by the beach. Stay away from men who like foreigners (a.k.a guiri hunters). You don't have to tip as much as you do in the States. Always make brunch at home. Really, Spain does many things right. Brunch is NOT one of them. The art scene is amazing. If you're there during museum night, don't miss it!! Make sure you see at least one concert at Palau de la Música. It's the most amazing venue.... 

I could go on, but you'll soon see, taste, hear, smell, and feel all of this for yourself! Except for this one thing: Don't listen to what anyone says. Pim Pam Burger is the best fucking burger in the city of Barcelona. Quote me.

Just a Pretty Face? My Take On 'My Mic'

In the aftermath of BET’s My Mic Sound Nice: The Truth About Women in Hip Hop, it occurred to me that I haven’t witnessed this kind of collective dick riding of a documentary since Fahrenheit 911. I mean, I only follow about 300 people, but via retweets I’m privy to the fuckery of at least thousands. So imagine the following commentary repeated thousands of times.

"Congrats to @FormerSourceWriter!! I'm so proud of you girl!"

"Yay! Watching my girl @MagazineMagazine on My Mic! Love you girl!"

"I miss Lauryn Hill."

"Lauryn Hill is dead."

"I miss Lauryn Hill."

"This is shot so well."

"This is shot so well!"

"This is shot sooooo welllll!!"

 "I like Nicki Minaj."

"I don't like Nicki Minaj"

"I miss Lauryn Hill."

"THIS. IS. SHOT. SO. WELL!!"

Look, I like hip-hop. I used to love her, which inevitably makes me sound like a rap song, but my tastes widened and we grew apart.  That’s not to say I don’t care about hip-hop. It’s integrity. It’s future. It’s legacy. So I’m not gonna front, I was watching My Mic as it premiered like everyone else in my twit-stream.  Apparently, said stream is overpopulated with friends of Ava DuVernay, the documentary’s director, featured commenters, and all of their friends and fam. Thus in all that was said about how beautifully it was shot, how great this or that journalist looked, and how much we all miss Lauryn Hill, the documentary seems to have sparked zero criticism, zero discussion about what it revealed about where hip hop's going, especially with regards to women mc's. Correction. There was some discussion about whether or not Nicki Minaj is ‘the truth’. (We're screwed yo.)

Some of the commentary was right. It was shot so well. The lighting was making sisters look positively radiant. Content-wise, it was righteous to hear mc's talk about the first time they'd heard a woman on a rap track. I appreciated both Chuck D's science about Lyte and Lyte's science about Lyte ("I studied the craft... I got my voice up to where it was coming from my diaphragm.") And of course there was the general consensus that Latifah and Lauryn are better than every-fucking-body else. But then it all got so... high-fiving at the pep rally. Troublesome moments like these got lost amongst the pom poms:

“We’re going to see what happens with [Minaj] and if it’s worth it to open the doors up a little bit…” -Some Music Exec Dude

“If male rappers are spending so much time dissing African American women, there’s not much to be said for male listeners wanting to hear what’s on in an African American woman’s mind,’ - Lyte (paraphrased).

“You’re a female. I’m a dude… I’m not gonna learn nothing from you… I just wanna look at you.” -Trina reading the minds of her male fans.

But my absolute favorite commentary, and by favorite I mean I was screaming at the screen like it was the first 5 minutes of a scary movie and the black character was going outside "just to see what that noise was", comes to us courtesy of Kevin Liles, former president of Def Jam: 

"There was no meeting where [all the record labels?] got together and said, "We're not going to empower females..."

I was immediately reminded of when "we" as a multicultural, fashion-buying public, were taking the industry's insiders to task about the absence of models of color on runways, in campaigns, and in magazines. I remember personally asking the editor of Marie Claire back in the earlier noughties at a women in media panel I attended, about the dearth of models of color. Know what she said? Something very much like, There was no meeting where the industry got together and said, We're not going to empower black models.  She went on to explain that the nature of the industry requires certain physical attributes and if a black girl happens to meet those requirements, perfect! If not... well... it certainly isn't intentional. I answered to her what I screamed to my television (and later, tweeted). Discrimination, or the disempowerment of certain groups, does not need the empowered to have a damn meeting. The empowered are the meeting. Their decisions are their consent. By not actively looking to include women in hip hop, you collude in their marginalization. 

Only once did I see a tweet where someone noticed that the rappers featured started to justify their own marginalization, their own bench-ification, by saying, 'Well, we need weaves and make up and stylists and things... It gets to be too much money for labels!' Fuckery knows no bounds. Has anyone ever really noticed how many people the average male rapper travels with? Most of whom ain't doing shit? How much does it cost to feed all of those extraneous negroes? Surely less than a weave and some lipstick? (I tweeted that, too.)

When asked why they thought there was such an absence of women rappers the answers were truly diverse. Truly. Like a catwalk.

“I really can’t explain why...”

“I wish I knew..”

"I don't understand why.."

“It’s just not easy..”

Finally Shante, looking at the camera all sage, eyebrows raised and everything, is like “It takes a very special woman to be a female rapper”. This, by way of analysis, from one of the best chicks to ever do it, was the best DuVernay could get on tape. This, when the market is saturated with rappers (with penises) that we'll never remember. Rappers for whom we are not going to be damn near battle rapping 'I remember when' anecdotes, like we did when Guru passed.

It seems it's way too much to ask for people to pause in puckering up for RT's (because every single fucking Girl you looked so good!! was RT'd) to really discuss what My Mic may (or may not) have revealed about hip hop's legacy. About women's legacy in hip hop. Perhaps that's this very beautiful documentary's failing: it's inability to really spark a debate. Looking good. Contending nothing.