Meow Mix

"The Rabbi's Cat" is an interesting depiction of the world as seen through the eyes of a cat. Kitty says things exactly as he sees them, from his views on sex to religion. The religious aspect of the story is what I found intriguing. Kitty decides that if he is to be a part of society, since he had the ability to speak, then he will go along with the Rabbi's demands to become Jewish.  I am not focusing on Kitty in my reflection though (surprise!). I’m focusing on a character I found extremely admirable.

On this journey, I followed the Rabbi's trials with his faith. At first we saw a steadfast, faithful Jewish man who strictly followed every command he could (I say could because there are simply too many in the Jewish faith to keep track of ALL the time). At the same time though he didn’t claim to have all of the answers to the questions that other followers asked.

This scene at the water fountain is one in particular that caught my attention. In my experiences with religious mentees I have found that they try to answer in a way that makes them seem “higher” than the congregation. I was annoyed with this because, in my eyes, they should be a leader, yet still be humble, and standing on a pedestal isn’t very humbling. The Rabbi was confronted by another Jewish man who wasn’t sure about etiquette in regarding their sect and his own; what would be considered sinful, and wouldn’t. The Rabbi didn’t say that he didn’t know the answer, but he didn’t stumble over it either. He simply said if the man didn’t know anyone from another sect then not to worry about it.

The Rabbi is an extremely relatable, and real character. I felt a connection with him as he left his homeland and discovered a harsher world in Paris. His traditions weren’t followed, he was forced to seek shelter in a church, and his faith in God trembled. We then found him in a restraunt, eating everything non-kosher, and (I took it for) mocking how ridiculous he has been for thinking God would smite him for eating these foods. I’m not sure that was his intention. I’m more under the impression that he had cracked and everyone does now and again. He did however find a peace and relaxation towards religion that he didn’t have before. Shockingly enough he tried to instill it in his congregation, and I believe that backfired, BUT I still find him to be respectable. Even more so I have an admiration for Joann Sfar for creating this story and revealing to the world that even our religious figures are still, only human.  

Go Find Yourself

Somewhere along the path of life it is only human to “find one’s self.” I guess this usually happens during the teen years in America, but probably varies depending on what culture you grow up in. In my life, I struggled with self identity after my brother passed away in October 2002. I changed from this naive, extremely religious, little girl and developed some calluses. I realized that the world isn’t so kind, and I wouldn’t survive life away from home if I didn’t toughen up. I had my rounds with my parents since they didn’t understand why I was so different. I remember one particular incident where my new attitude offended my mother so much that she chased me around the house with a kitchen knife.

During this stage of my development I lacked respect for my mother. I blamed her in ways for my not knowing better about what was coming and shut her out. I learned, however, through many more trials and errors that her limited exposures in life weren’t her fault. My mom could only teach me what she, herself, had been taught.

Nyasha and Babamukuru’s relationship made me think of these days with my mother. Their fight reminded me of the dishes breaking in the kitchen from the tenseness I held them with when she was near. My father never got involved in the confrontations between my mother and I. It may have been a little bit backwards in my home at times but the concept and the devastation that followed the fights remains the same. Nyasha and I have in common, our rebellion against believing what we are told is the right way of doing things, is right, just because that’s what we are told. I prefer to determine things on my own. My mother and Babamukuru were only trying to keep their ingrained values and traditions intact in an ever-changing world. My father would say very little, to nothing, during these interactions, much like Maiguru. His pieces would be said when he had us one-on-one, individually. 

My mother would push her religious beliefs on me. I was constantly accused of not being a virgin, and lying about my agenda for the day. I never gave reason for her to believe these things were true. The only reason she thought this was because I was a teenager. Eventually I quit fighting and just gave in. I figured if she condemned me for things I hadn’t done and punished me then I may as well have fun. Nyasha, too, went through the accusations. Although she was much younger than I was, she still indulged herself to other things as well, such as cigarettes.

In America, there are many ways to be colonized. My mother tried to mold me into the ways of her ideal of what a Christian you lady should be and still adapt to life outside. I didn’t take to it very well. Babamukuru tried to keep Nyasha in the Shona ways while she was already colonized to the English. This also failed.

Through my experiences I believe it’s possible for one to become accustomed to being a part of two different backgrounds, but I also think that when making the choice of which is “theirs” they should be allowed to choose for themselves. Personally, for me, I couldn’t take part in two different cultures entirely. I can take the bits and pieces and that is whom I am, but I could never say that one particular background is I. I would never expect for Nyasha to say that English, or Shona is who she is.  Today, everyone is made up of different cultural backgrounds. Back in Nyasha’s teenage years, we were all trying to figure out how to get along. Granted, we don’t always play well together, but at least we don’t have to lose who we are to someone else’s standards of what is right.

In the Eye of the Beholder

            This past week’s readings by Ngugi have been stories that tell the different reactions the African’s had to colonization.  The one that stood out the most to me was “Minutes of Glory.” Here we saw a woman that strived for an impossible dream. The Europeans had placed it in her mind that having stockings, a beautiful dress, wigs, and light skin was the most desirable attributes a woman could have.  According to the story, this poor girl became a barmaid who never achieved true intimacy with anyone and always strove for it. She wasn’t pretty to begin with, but tried so hard to mold to this idea of beauty, that she actually made herself look worse but only lightening parts of her body that she believed to be the most important. At the end of the story she stole money from a man as revenge for putting up with his endless complaining and he fell asleep when she tried to open up to him with her life’s story. She spent the money on these perishable ideas instead of something that would improve her status indefinitely, like a home. She then returned to the bar she worked at to flaunt her idealistic beauty and wound up being arrested. Hence the title, “Minutes of Glory.”

            This need to conform to what the world around us sees as beautiful continues even still today. People waste money on expensive luxuries that aren’t necessary to carry on a decent lifestyle. Female Americans are pushed to believe that the only way to be beautiful is to be skinny with large breasts and blonde hair. This image causes many eating disorders and loads of self-pity/low self-esteem.

            In my own life I have undergone many trials that the point was to teach me that women are in existence to basically serve men and create crib-midgets. That idea didn’t settle that well with me. I rebelled against this brainwashing and am now part of a company that empowers women to be more than that. Pure Romance encourages women to not let men control their every desire. Pure Romance gives women an outlet to get out of the house, have an income, educate in sexual health, and experience new things in the bedroom that brings them closer to their significant other. Breaking the mold of colonization in the bedroom is something that is a touchy subject around the world. The privacy that is provided during ordering allows women to inquire about their curiosities so that only the consultant and the customer know. Because of this I am now able to eradicate myself from the norm of what women are “supposed” to amount to. My self-esteem is high, my income is enough to live on, and no one can take away my sense of self-respect/pride.  I found within myself my own beauty and play into my own strengths. I was never one to conform to the society around me and today I still won’t change for anyone.

            “Minutes of Glory” iterated how this dream of pretty much becoming another race was totally detrimental. One should take pride in who they are and not look to others for approval for their beauty. No one has the right to take away the allurement of your attributes. Highlight what makes you beautiful and never let anyone take it away from you. 

Subconscious Preservation

Over the past week we read several stories by Nadine Gordimer. Included in those was “Six Feet of Country.” Here she portrayed a white man who owned a farm and hired poorer Africans to work his land. His wife stayed home and helped with the chores along with the farmhands while the white man traveled to the city on business. He considered himself better than his workers and was disgusted with his wife. She was extremely unkempt and leveled herself with those she worked with.

One of the Africans had harbored his brother while his brother was sick. The brother was an illegal immigrant looking for work. Sleeping outside caused him to catch a chill and it ended up killing him. When the worker tried to get the owner’s wife’s help, the owner came out instead. Unlike what his wife would’ve done, he insisted on notifying the proper authorities and do thing according to “the book.”

Many things are wrong in this story. When the British invaded Africa they looked down on the simple ways the Africans lived.  This is the same in the disgust the farm owner had for his workers and his wife. The uncaring views of the white authorities in the story, that lost the body of the brother, are another appalling instance.  But this isn’t what my focus was drawn to.

I chose this story to write my blog about because I can relate to the families need for closure over the boys death.  The family discovered during the funeral that they were given the wrong body.  There are many reasons past the obvious that this wasn’t a good thing. For them, there were religious issues, closure, and the fact they paid the authorities to get the boy’s body back. I can emphasize with the closure issues. My brother committed suicide in 2002. My number was the only one on the note that he left, so the Philippi, WVA police department promptly notified me. I found myself in a whirlwind of hatred and grief. A few days later I blindly walked into the funeral only to discover that they had already cremated the body and didn’t want to have the ashes present. His adopted parents only had photos of him in order to preserve his smile in their minds. To this day I have never seen his grave or urn.  It’s extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get closure when you never see the death. For years I have had dreams that he randomly shows up and tells me that he faked the entire things in order to escape the life of drugs and violence that he previously led. I understand that this isn’t possible, but subconsciously in my mind he never died. I can’t imagine how it would be to have a body to bury and suddenly discover that it wasn’t the correct person. I feel that this family would have the same problems I have encountered if they hadn’t seen the body previously. I would wish this on no one.

Crazy or not?

          Chinua Achebe makes a strong point in each of his stories and each story has a different message. “An Image of Africa” explains how Europeans tried to write the history of Africa from their point of view and how they claimed Africa had no history until the Europeans arrived. Just because the African’s didn’t have a written language, and therefore an unwritten history, doesn’t mean they have no history, traditions, or way of life. Everyone has a history, no matter how they choose to pass it to the next generation it still exists.

            “Girls at War” is a tale of irony. A hooker dies trying to save the life of a soldier who was there to save her. Maybe not her specifically, but he was part of a unit who was there to try to help better the lives of those who lived there. It figures that both the girl and the soldier die from being bombed.

            My favorite story was “The Madman.” Both men were viewed as being mad, or insane. This story depicts two different degrees of insanity though. Just because someone does something crazy every once in a while doesn’t mean that they need to be put in a straight jacket and a locked in a padded room (although the padded room idea could be fun). With my anxiety disorder causes me react to things in a more unorthodox manner. Just because I have an anxiety attack, or temporarily break down, doesn’t warrant me a hospital stay.  Granted, if someone is literally talking to the road, they probably need to get some sort of help. High running emotions, and also alcohol, can cause temporary acts insanity. The second man was angry at the first for stealing his pants, and based on the principle of it, chased him through the market… naked.  You can say, “That is insane” but unless it’s a constant, consistent, mental disorder who is to deem one act of madness as insanity? It seems to work in court systems when an offender claims "temporary insanity,” but they are fine during the trial. I would need to research that further, but the understanding I have is that high levels of adrenaline (or something like that) cause temporary blackouts in memory (or something like that). Even psychiatrists aren't always the best source if a clinical diagnosis because unless the see the person regularly over a period of time, then the patient can say whatever, and act any way they want to get the diagnosis they want. 

           In “Madmen” the view of madness is making fun of the Africans in their lack of education and written language.  The author is getting at that the African’s aren’t crazy in their way of life but they have been taught that they are by the Europeans. Since they have been told so constantly that they are “insane” they have started to believe that it’s true and attempted to change their ways accordingly.  It’s wrong to call out being different as being uncivilized and crazy.

          Every culture has their traditions and way of life. Just because it doesn't match what the "norm" is of a more advanced lifestyle doesn't mean its wrong or unbalanced. This is exactly what the Europeans thought of the African's way of life and still today Africa suffers from it. The wars that were triggered by forced colonization have left most of Africa in constant battles and destitution. Maybe if they had been shown how technological advancements could improve their lives the Africans may have utilized them. Instead the Europeans forced Africans to "work for them" as they took over Africa without regard to improving it. Its heartbreaking to see the photos from this time period and see the cruelty inflicted just because of a difference in lifestyle and people's greed. Its a long-shot to wish that we could all just get along, but is it so much to wish that we could stop harming one another? 

Relevance of Reading

     I must admit that when I first read The Stranglehold of English Lit I didn’t understand its point.  When Dr. B read it out loud in class it made a lot more sense.  Mnthali validly argues the point of reading American literature, dealing with the problems that American’s face, when they have no relevance to African life. My friends and I used to argue the same point in high school when we were made to study subjects that had nothing to do with our career goals.  Why should we know chemistry when we are planning on going into a non-science field? Why should Africans have to read Jane Austin when they don’t have the same life problems that she and her female friends faced? I’m sure that in a civilization where tea time is a daily ritual where you discuss the real-life version of The Bachelor is fun and all, and the Africans would probably prefer it, but from my point of view/understanding, things like finding food for the day, without being eaten themselves, was probably a little more important to them. People want to read stories that they can relate to. Literature is something to get lost in. If you can’t get lost in it, and you have to dissect and study it, just to understand it, then it’s considered more of a text in my book.

     Over the years Africa has faced many wars within itself, as well as with the world. Their languages are becoming extinct because they are not accepted or understood. Their stories are told in English only after they travel to Europe so that they can translate, and there is always something lost in translation. The rest of the world is taking away their history a little at a time. In Ngugi’s Creating Space for a Hundred Flowers to Blossom it explains this point. Our countries issue is that we try to fix the rest of the world. I don’t believe that it’s our job to fix anyone else’s problems. Traditions are terminated and we lose pieces of heritage that define us as a people.

     After being in the real world for a few years I understand the need to know a broad range of subject matter. In our culture it’s necessary. It’s not relevant in African culture though. Their lives are nothing like ours. Everyone deserves the right to their own types of communication, transfer of history, and preservation of sacred traditions. No one should force anyone to conform their way of life. 

Like Water for Chocolate

            When I was eighteen I didn’t get along with my overly religious mother. My spirit is one that is more carefree, spontaneous, untraditional, and not so good at taking orders from authority. Things got so bad that I left home. My values in life aren’t against my Christian up bringing. I just believe that once a child reaches a certain age then they need to be able to harness their individualism and not be oppressed by someone just because they do not agree with what the child wants. Everyone needs to be allowed to live life how they deem necessary.

            This feisty spirit against overbearing authority, made reading Like Water for Chocolate very difficult for me.  I hated Mama Elena from the beginning. No one has the right to control someone’s life past adolescence. Mama Elena forced Tita to stay single for the entirety of Mama Elena’s life.  Tita wasn’t allowed to find her own happiness. Mama Elena paired Tita’s boyfriend, Pedro, with her sister Rosaura instead of allowing Tita to be married and leave Mama Elena’s side.

            Rosaura is nothing more than a spoiled, selfish brat who whines and also expects everyone around her to serve her every whim. She doesn’t care that she betrayed her sister or married a man she knew didn’t love her. All she cared about was following tradition and making her mother happy. The fact that she became so physically revolting amused me greatly.

            Pedro can be seen as both a hopeless romantic who married into the family to be, as he stated, close to Tita. He can also be seen as a chauvinistic pig-man who monopolizes women. Personally, I think he betrayed Tita. He could never make either of them happy by being married to her sister and making babies with Rosaura.

            There was one character that I highly enjoyed following! I found the most relatable to be Gertrudis. Granted, it was a bit extreme that she left the ranch by running naked across a field and having sex on the back of a horse. Also, unlike Gertrudis working in a brothel for a year, I never became a stripper or hooker. It was the fact she broke free of her mother’s oppression and of strict tradition. It reminded me in a way of when I left my parents house.  Lastly, I have no skill for cooking.

This book is ALL about food, passion, love, and how everything can affect the other elements. Tita’s emotions flow through her cooking. When she is baking the cake with a broken heart it makes everyone who tries it so sad they get sick. When Pedro gives her roses, she makes them into a sensual dish that ignites sexual desire in everyone who tries it. Whenever anyone asks for her recipes she simply answers that it was made with love.

Nothing I have ever done has been by tradition.  I left home by packing my things and leaving while they were both at work. I met my husband on www.hotornot.com, asked him to take me on our first date a few weeks later, and eventually I bought a ring and proposed to him. The way that Tita stayed under her mother’s thumb for so long angered me. I begged the author to let her go! When Tita snapped and went to the hospital I felt sad. I wanted her away from the ranch, but I didn’t want her to live a life of sadness and heartache. The way the story ended just seemed right. The lovers died together and the horrible traditions with them.