Home Sweet Home

Written August 5, 2010 (my born day!)

Earlier today, at the Cairo Museum Dr. Greg Carr poured libations before we entered the museum. He spoke of those that came before all of us. It was such a powerful moment it’s hard to describe. I know I cannot convey the power of his words, but I’ll. After a few ashe’s Dr. Carr came to the part where it was necessary to honor those of our family that were taken and those forced into a system that would rob them of much of themselves. He spoke of those who returned to their native land only to steal those still living in that space. At that moment, a spirit of understanding, pain and compassion came over me; I immediately began to cry, as were others.

I felt like I wish I could have been there to help or show compassion to those who made a conscious decision to capture their extended family members. And I felt sorry that they even had to contemplate that decision. I’m almost ashamed to stay that I, in the past, have felt betrayed and angry with those that aided the devils in the demise of our great lands and dishevelment of people. It’s such a complicated web of emotions and thoughts and feelings that are brought up at the mere mention of my people who were in this travesty.

The final part of the libation, Dr. Carr spoke of our children’s children’s children, and how they will be speaking our names soon enough. Wow. I was filled with so much love, hope and concern at that possibility not only for my great-great- grandchildren, also, for me, a person that has many, vast responsibilities to our children’s children’s children.

Now after getting to our hotel in Aswan I thought I would shower, take Benadryl (because I’m breaking out from what? Who knows?) and scribble a few notes about the past few days on this beautiful balcony (with an amazing view of the Nile) and listen to music- but soon after rearranging the chairs so I could prop my feet up I stopped and stood still, and listened.

I hear the constant humming of the hotel’s air conditioner, the quick pitter-patter of children running with an occasional scream or two. Far in the distance, I seldom hear music that I at first had mistaken for horns. The air is like a warm blanket that covers every part of me. Not too hot, and definitely not cool at nearly midnight. To think that I would have missed all this if I had put my IPod on my “Feel Good Music” playlist instead of just feeling.

If I take nothing else away from this trip, I want to become an active contributor to this place, whichever place I am. There is something different here in Aswan than in Cairo. As soon as I got off the bus from the airport the majestic lights took me over. I no longer am concerned with my latest allergic reaction or that 23 years ago I was born because today I actually felt reborn. Aswan just feels good inside. It’s really indescribable how great it feels to be in Aswan. I wouldn't have wanted to spend my born day any other way, than with my Howard family in our home away from home.