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[niabia04-blog]

UK Recap

The biggest takeaway from this trip, for me, was being present. I noticed that usually when I travel I tend to take tons of pictures and videos to show my family and everyone back home what was going on. I wasn’t taking the time to live in the moment. I was so caught up in creating memories and having proof of my experiences, I was never fully present during the times they were going on. I feel like I was really challenged with this in the Lake District especially. Without cell phone service or internet, I was forced to be present. I was forced to see every sight and feel every emotion.

In London, I decided to challenge myself to step out of my comfort zone and actually get to know my flatmates. I never knew I had social anxiety until I came to college. Being around so many new people and never really feeling like I fit in really took a toll on my mental health. Anyways, after forcing myself to be more present in situations instead of being passive and waiting on the days to just pass by, I discovered many things about myself. Many of our days in London were spent in museums or in places that were rooted in history. Now, I’ve never been the first person to jump up and down for a history lesson, but I decided to challenge myself, do the readings, and be present during our trips to the museums to try and learn something new. One thing I noticed, especially while at the British History Museum, was that my lack of tolerance for history is rooted in the way it was taught to me as a grade school child- or should I say it wasn't taught. I was never the type to jump into a pool of things that felt foreign to me, partially because I wasn’t automatically good at it. History is nothing but memorization, so there is not really a way one can be “good at” history. I was never interested in learning history because by the time I started being taught history I was already so far behind. Because it didn’t come naturally to me, I’ve resented it. So even though I was present at the British History Museum I didn’t retain much besides the fact that the Romans took over Britain because- that’s what the Romans did back then, conquered everyone else. And I also retained how brilliant the Greek sculptures were.

I was genuinely shocked to hear that the Magna Carta was not the work of the United States. I vaguely remember learning about it in school- only that it is the single most important document Americans ever wrote up besides the Constitution. The walk to visit the Magna Carta was tough. It was extremely long and I was not physically prepared for the trekk. The sun was also beaming without sympathy for how long our journey was. Once we actually got to the monument I was shocked and disappointed at how it wasn’t as grand and special as the readings made it sound. It was literally far back in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a giant field that lead to nowhere. There were not many people there to view it besides our group. I was wondering what all the hype was about, because it seemed like no one really cared about it or appreciated it much. Dr. Waller explained to us how the Magna Carta was basically a useless document that didn’t change much, and the fact that its monument is set in the middle of nowhere symbolizes how invaluable the British view it to be.

    London was the city where I felt close to the entire cohort for the first time. I was so glad I had decided to let myself be vulnerable, as difficult as that was.

    In Oxford, I challenged myself to stand away from the group. While we were in Oxford, I started to notice how open everyone was with each other. Now me being such a private person, I allowed people to open up to me but I wouldn’t always return the favor. This was mostly because I saw how open people were to sharing personal information about others to the rest of the group. This is where I started to notice the reality of my pesent. I started to become less and less open and vulnerable with even those I considered to be friends because of how fast gossip was starting to spread via snapchat and word of mouth. It was quite obvious how divided the group was starting to be during the sit down with Joanna Kavenna. During the discussion about how everyone’s reality is different according to their perception, things got a little heated. The side comments made it quite obvious. A few times I couldn’t even hear what another classmate was saying due to the sly comments being made by another. I started to notice a very swift change in our group. We were hardly a group anymore. We were more of a collection of several different friend groups who were randomly placed together. I was hopeful that we could make a comeback, but I definitely wasn’t giving anyone the chance to take advantage of my vulnerability again. But, I was still trying to be present- more so present for other people’s vulnerability so I wouldn’t look completely anti. My social anxiety was skyrocketing more and more each day. I just tried to make sure my morality wasn’t being compromised by my urge to be more and more closed off.

    Oxford was where I spent the most time by myself. This was mainly because my friends were always gone on weekend trips, and the people that decided not to leave Oxford were insistent on leaving specific people out of group chats and going out without them instead of as a group. I didn’t want to pick sides, nor did I want to be with a group that constantly gossiped about the remaining classmates so I decided to spend a lot of time exploring and sightseeing alone. Honestly, it was the most peace I had felt in Oxford since we had first arrived.

    When we moved to the Lake District, it was the most abrupt change we had faced yet on the trip. Now, we were forced to see each other, to speak to each other, to confront one another, to travel together, etc. The tensions of our group completely clashed with the welcoming heartwarming vibe of the kitchen staff and the peace and stillness of the mountains. In the Lake District I had no choice but to be completely present. Under the circumstances of having no phone connection and therefore no connection to anything and anyone back home besides blurry pictures, I decided to face the tension head on. Even when I didn’t feel comfortable with who was going, I challenged myself to go on every hike up a mountain. This was a huge leap out of my comfort zone. I was not physically prepared for the long treks, nor was I prepared for the mental exhaustion which came from forcing myself to proceed (mostly to try and keep up with the group, partially because I had came too far to turn back.)

    A Shepherd's Life by James Rebanks definitely helped me disconnect from the dramas of the group and connect more deeply with my surroundings. When I looked around with fresh eyes, I saw the most beautiful scene I had ever experienced. It was like a default home screen on my laptop. Little did I know, the scene before my eyes was not made by nature alone, but by the people who inhabited the town. From the stones bulging out of the mountains to create paths and steps, to the sheep on steep grounds of the mountains, to the walls that separate grazing valleys from the street- all of these things that looked completely natural were made by Lake District residents. There was section in A Shepherd's Life where Rebanks talked about how his father was building a stone wall and how each stone was strategically placed in just the right spot. He mention how after the foundation was built, his father had him use his small hands to put smaller stones in the gaps while he placed the “nicer stones” at the top of the wall with the moss facing upwards towards the sky. Delving into this book made the landscape so much more precious and sacred. Even though this was where group tensions were at their peak, it was also the city in which I found the most peace. It forced me to be patient. Being vulnerable to the quiet of the mountains much easier than it was for me to be vulnerable to the gossip of the group. The Lake District was definitely my favorite city.

    Overall, I do feel that I achieved my goal of being present. Sometimes were definitely more challenging than others. Unfortunately, I didn’t leave with many trinkets or memories I could hold in my hand. However, I did leave with a better understanding of the person I am evolving to be, which is the greatest take away that I could have asked for.

[niabia04-blog]

Lake District

I opened my eyes on the bus after being shaken by a friend, letting me know that we have arrived in the Lake District. I immediately looked down to check my phone to see the time and check any missed text messages or social media notifications. No service. My heart instantly sank. Was I the only one with no service? How long had I been sleep on the bus? Will there be WiFi in the hotel? How will I tell my loved ones I’m alive and safe after two and a half weeks of almost constant communication. It was an abrupt cut off from everything connected to life at home. When we got off the bus, I looked around to see that we were surrounded by mountains, sheep, and never ending valleys of green. The scene was breathtaking, but I was more concerned with the semi heavy wind, the rain, and the pain in my back, shoulders, and arms from lugging around my terribly heavy bags.

    One thing I was glad to hear was that we were miles and miles away from a Tesco or Sainsbury’s. Just the thought of another meal deal sandwich struck nausea upon me. However, I cannot really complain because I was happy to not have to come out of pocket for all of my meals. I was so grateful to have home cooked meals in my life again, and I was even more grateful that the kitchen staff were all so pleasant.

    I always have a hard time sleeping when I’m in a new place. During our first night at the Old Dungeon Ghyll, my body kept waking up throughout the night. Aside from my restlessness and agitation towards the fact that I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep, I woke up to see the most vivid sky full of stars. It looked like a painting. It was the first time I was ever able to see stars. They were like diamond crystals that lit up the dark misty sky. I was also able to notice how early the sun rose. It started to get bright outside around 4:30 am. The sky was still foggy. I could barely see the peak of the mountains for all of the fog. Nonetheless, the sun was shining. Back at home, the sun doesn't come out until around 8am. My roommates and I found ourselves able to wake up earlier than usual because by 6 and 7 am the sun was already out so naturally we were more awake.

    Dr. Waller took us on our first “short exertion,” or also know as half a hike up a mountain. He said we were going to see a waterfall. We trekked up this hilly mountain for about an hour and a half. On and off, I had to keep removing my jacket once the sun decided to peak out of the clouds and make the atmosphere unbearably hot… and then when the sun returned to its spot behind the clouds my sweat turned to cold balls of liquid ice running down my back and sides as strong gusts of wind pushed my farther behind the rest of the group. Once we got to a peak, I looked down at a steep grassy area that lead down to a waterfall with a plunge pool. My mind started to immediately go into a slight panic. My classmates started to scoot down the steep grassed cliff, but my anxiety would not let me proceed just yet. I had to watch a few of my friends who were usually more fearful more uncoordinated than myself before my anxiety allowed me to attempt to scoot  down. I inched my way down, being careful to only grab fistfuls of thick grass and large stones wedged steadily into the mountain to keep from falling. I felt as if I was working against gravity as I leant backwards far enough to keep my balance, but not too far so that I could still keep an eyes out for an easier and clearer path. It seemed like it took a short eternity for me to get down the cliff. I stood up- still anxiety ridden, legs shaking and ankles starting to give out, only to see that the rest of my classmates were already completely relaxed. Everyone was laughing together, eating there buttered meat sandwiches and getting ready to take a dive into the plunge pool. Lauren told me she wanted me to get in with her. Once again, my anxiety arises. I looked up at the sky, and noticed that the sun had went back into hiding for a short while. I told her it's too cold to get in water. Perhaps, I’d decide to get in when the sun comes back out. I go to wash my hands in the water after scooting down the cliff and probably touching several piles of sheep poop. I noticed that the water is as cold as ice. The cold actually shocked my system a bit. I then started to express my concern to my friends: catching a cold, getting my hair wet and catching a head cold, getting hypothermia, pneumonia, death. I watched my classmates splash around and scream about how cold the water is. In my mind, all I can think about is head cold, hypothermia, pneumonia, death. The Detroiter in me instantly started to classify getting in ice cold free flowing water in the middle of nowhere in cold weather as a “white person activity,” because how many black people would be okay with doing this? Lauren sharply interrupted my anxiety ridden ignorant thoughts and explained that we, city people, have a certain way of looking at things only because we were never exposed to anything else. I can classify swimming in ice cold water in the middle of nowhere as something only white people do because perhaps they are the only ones who get the opportunity… or perhaps they are the only ones who take advantage of the opportunity when presented with it. I then started to realize how many opportunities I didn’t take because of pure ignorance. I stood up and took my shorts off and walked into the water with Lauren. We held hands and screamed about how cold the water was. In the back of my mind, I still thought: head cold, hypothermia, pneumonia, death… but at least these thoughts were quieter. My screams and laughter overpowered the volume of my negative thoughts.

    I had never seen a waterfall before. And of course, I never dreamed that I’d be in one. The water was so clear, as clear as the water we bottle and drink. After being fully submerged in the water from the shoulders down my body had adjusted to the temperature and I didn’t want to get out. By this time, the sun was out again shining brighter than it had before it went into hiding. My hair was wet. I was fine. I was alive. I felt the most alive I had in awhile. The rocks beneath my feet were slippery, but that just made being in the plunge pool more enjoyable. I looked around at everyone’s faces. Everyone was smiling and laughing and enjoying their butter sandwiches with meat and flapjacks. Everyone looked alive… more alive than they have ever looked on the third floor of Berkey. Dr. Waller told us we should start heading back down the mountain. I had done it. I was alive. No head cold, no hypothermia, no pneumonia, and no death.

    Much of my time in the Lake District was spent on mountains. That in itself is amazing to look back on because ever since track in high school I’ve despised anything that required too much energy from me. Those mountains tested my body’s physical capabilities and my mental persistence. The most rewarding part about the mountains is the serenity of the silence. Lauren and I would hike a bit up one just to sit or lay in the stillness. Sometimes you couldn’t even hear the wind blowing. No sheep were calling to the others. No cattle fumbling around. No waterfalls crashing 20 feet downward. Nothing. Complete silence. Complete stillness. That was what I appreciated most about the Lake District. The fact that we didn’t have signal or WiFi made it difficult for us because we were forced to see the good, the bad and the ugly in each other. Dirty secrets were spilled, ugly words were spat at one another, friendships were tried… but through all of this, the mountains were still. The mountains were peaceful. And the mountains were silent. Complete serenity. It’s almost indescribable. Especially being from a large city like Detroit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard real silence in my life. Even in middle school detention rooms, there were always snickers every now and then to break the quiet. Even in those rooms you can hear a pen drop or a page turn or a person sneeze or sniffle. The mountain was a silent almost unknown to mankind. A silent that cannot be created by man. This was the most memorable place in the Lake District.

[niabia04-blog]

Oxford

Oxford was a city where everyone seemed to know each other, or at least know of each other. The area around St. Hilda’s, the college where we were staying, reminded me of my old neighborhood in Detroit. The biggest contrast was the very modern and urban feel of my neighborhood versus the very 17th century feeling of being in Oxford. Everyone’s posh accent was the icing on the cake. It made learning about Shakespeare seem more realistic. Being in Oxford, nonetheless, felt like being stuck in an old movie. We were surrounded by chapels, palaces, libraries all disguised with 17th century medieval architecture.

    Our long days in Oxford seemed to consist mainly of touring chapels and palaces. The Blenheim Palace had the most beautiful gardens. I remember passing a row of bright flowers colored lavender and neon blue. Each flower owned its own bumblebee. The bright color of the bee’s coats seemed to blend so well with the color of the flowers as the bees pushed their way through several tens of stiletto shaped petals. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. It was almost as if I  had completely forgotten about my fear of bees as I leaned forward to study the movement of the bees around the center of each flower.

    The readings we were assigned during the Oxford trip mostly consisted of Joanna Kavenna ‘A Field Guide to Reality.’ This might have been the most brilliant choice of reading simply because the reality of what I was experiencing seemed so different than what I was used to. I wish we would’ve had more time to read and discuss the book. From the 50 pages I read, I was very interested.  A few other scholars kept reading it, even after we had met Joanna and we would come together day after day to discuss our thoughts on what we had read the night before.

    I remember touring the house of the family with royal ancestry. We were told by the tourguide that the house belonged to that line of family for over 300 years. I looked around at all the old paintings of great great grandfathers and great great aunts of royal ancestry. I started to imagine what it may feel like to know that you were born into not only a privileged, but royal bloodline. Sinking more into my own thoughts, now almost completely ignoring the tour guide, I started to wonder if I have any royalty in my family. Both my mom and dad’s family are from Alabama. On my dad’s side, we were able to trace our roots all the way to the Igbo tribe in Nigeria. On my mom’s side, the history stops in Alabama. No one was able to trace any further back because my great grandmother and all of her sisters (there are about 11 of them) had different mothers and we are not sure who any of these women are. It made me question if people know how lucky and blessed they are to really know their family’s history, to have items of theirs left behind, to have pictures and portraits to see exactly what their grandmothers looked like- or even to know their grandmother’s full name, to have been left money, land, and homes to claim. I started to notice how, for so many years, I’ve been sort of floating around as if I had no ancestors because there was no empirical evidence left behind to prove where my bloodline was really from. Even the family historians on my father’s side who traced our roots to Nigeria had to make several educated speculations. Much of our family chart is unclear.

After successfully thinking myself into a funk, we met Joanna Kavenna, who lived on the estates of the rich royal family. She fed us biscuits and water and took us on a long tour of the gardens around the estates. Everyone started to let down their hair a bit dueling the walk. After several heartfelt conversations with Lauren in the back of the group and a few races down a huge hill with Lola (while my peers chose to roll down the hill) we all decided to sit down with Joanna to discuss interpretations of art. She mentioned that our interpretations are sometimes completely opposite of the author’s/painter’s intent simply because of the difference in realities in which we are viewing the picture/painting. We then started to talk about how each person has their own reality and some people’s realities may be opposite of others, but that doesn’t make either of  them ‘wrong.’ Joanna discussed how important It is to discover, create and learn to live in our own realities even if It seems to others that we are ‘mad.’ According to Joanna “Reality is the dream of a mad philosopher.” We began to talk about the aspects of our realities that we would change if we had the chance and the ability. My classmates said things like ending world hunger, getting rid of war, changing American history (I imagine they meant making It so that slavery and segregation were never a thing, or perhaps stopping Europeans from wiping out the Native Americans.) I reluctantly raised my hand to say my very unclear answer- I am always nervous to share my complex and philosophical thoughts because I always feel like other people won’t agree or that they won’t see where I’m coming from. I spoke up and said: if there were something in the world, my reality, that I could change I would make It so that everyone knew their spiritual purpose. I’d make It so that everyone knew which religion was the “right” religion, or if there is no “right” religion, which religion is “right” for each person. I feel that life would be much easier if everyone knew their purpose, what exactly they were put on Earth to achieve. I feel that if everyone knew their purpose and if the mystery of spirituality was clear people wouldn’t spend so many years philosophizing. Unnecessary wars have been fought over religion. Battles fought over religion have literally torn humanity away from multiple races of people. I feel like knowing would solve a lot of chaos. Then again, what is life without the mystery? I think that’s why we are here- to try and crack the mystery. Even though sometimes It seems more complicated than It should be… who knows. I only like to bother thinking about unanswerable questions like these every so often.

Joanna told us a quote from Joseph Bois that really resonated with me. I don’t remember the quote verbatim, but I remember the context: a man had went to war and came home traumatized from a plane crash. He said that no one can tell him what madness is and is not if they can rationalize the horrors of war.

Many of my conversations with the locals consisted of comparing the amount of racism and colorist in England to that in America. Also, everyone wanted to know about trump (I can’t find the energy within myself to dignify him enough to capitalize his name anymore.) Of course people wanted to know my stance on guns, gun control, the amount of school shootings we’ve seen recently, and free speech including hate speech. Sometimes I feel like Detroit is seperate from the rest of America. We have the same issues, but in different ways. Some questions, I honestly felt like I was answering with a false sense of validity just because I only knew how things affected my community. For example when people would ask me about trump, and ask me if it is true that he is actually fixing the economy (one man tried to talk me into a hole, saying that trump was the first president since Clinton to actually do what he said he would do. I just had to leave that one alone. I lacked the time, energy, and patience for that conversation.) I’m not a huge politics person, so I only know how trump’s policies have personally affected me, my family, and others who are close to me. And with that in mind I have to ask, whose economy is he fixing exactly? But I won’t go on a rant about that.

After a while, it got tiring always disgussing race and colorism. Most times I just wanted to touch on lighter subjects, but maybe there are no lighter subjects when it comes to people’s interest in America and what it’s like to live there. It seemed to me that America was light years behind Britain when it came to issues of race and discrimination.

At this point, Lake District was in plain sight and I was definitely read to move on- not so ready to take on the camping aspect of it nor the yurts though. I was a bit sad to leave behind the wonderful people I met in Oxford, but I was most definitely ready to see what the Lake District had in store.

[niabia04-blog]

London

One of the first trips we took in London was a visit to the British History Museum. I’m not one for history or museums, but it was a good experience for me to learn a bit about  the place I was visiting. I never want to be the blissfully ignorant traveler who knows literally nothing about the places she visits and the people and culture of the place. While at the museum I learned that the Roman Emperor Claudius invaded Britain in AD43, and by AD100 England, Wales, and some of Scotland had been conquered. Romans introduced many things to Britain. They built roads, towns and villas. They established Latin as the official language and introduced their way of law and money. Farm and produce were being sold according to a standardized system of weights and measure. They introduced a way of measurements of volume, length, width, etc. Many people in the Roman Empire were united through trade, military service, or administration of government. Although Latin was the official language, many others spoke Greek, Hebrew, Palmyrene, and Coptic. The Romans withdrew from Britain in AD410.

Again, though I’m not a huge fan of history or museums that have to do with history, I did enjoy the ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ moments of walking through the greek sculptures and artwork. I also enjoyed looking at the armor of the Roman-British Legionary soldiers, the coinage, and the weaponry.

The most impactful experience that I’ve encountered here in London thus far happened upon us accidentally. A few friends and I decided to go out to Central London to shop and visit a pizza place we had went the the previous night. While out, we stumbled upon Trafalgar Square where we decided to stop for drinks. Enjoying a large glass of cold rose lemonade and appreciating such a lovely view of waterfalls, sunshine, and laughter, I was distracted by posters and signs that displayed disturbing words and hideous pictures. It caught my attention because of the bold contrast between the immediate scene before my eyes and the one that was being portrayed on the huge signs. It was a protest. I took a closer look and noticed that all of the protesters were black and brown people, so at this point they had my full attention. I started to read the posters: “British government has stolen our land, resources, and self respect,” “Give us our identity back,””British government is waiting for a generation to die.” The protesters had set camp on the Square. They had tents, foods, sleeping bags; it was clear that the protest was meant to last more than a day. I started to wonder how so many people could just walk past them with no regard for their struggle. Even a few of the girls I was with seemed to be very unbothered by the protest. Nonetheless, I decided to walk over and ask exactly what the protest was about. Of course America was apart of the problem, disappointed but not surprised. So here was the problem: The protesters were from a British Island called Chagos Island. According to Jean Paul France, leader of the protest/movement, Britain had invaded their island several decades ago to take advantage of and capitalize off of their resources: their rare fish, spices, and herbs. In the 1960s, British government made a deal with Americans to lease the island so that America could have a military base to keep an eye on the Soviets, since it was the height of the Cold War. America ordered the islands to be evicted and the Chagos people were forced to leave. “We were threatened with being shot, bombed and to be starved if we did not leave our islands. Our dogs/pets were gassed in front of our own eyes. Meanwhile, food stores on the island were allowed to deplete in order to pressure us to leave.” France was a second generation islander. He told us how after being displaced they were forced to live in the slums of Mauritius and Seychelles. Americans demolished everything on their island to make room for 4,000 troops, 2 runways and 30 warships. Forced to live in poverty, drug abuse and alcoholism made its way into their communities. France talked about how many of the people are malnourished because they were so used to eating the food from the island and British food doesn’t compare in terms of taste or nutrients. Before their forced eviction in 1968, the island was full of life: they had a school, a hospital, and a church.

    Somehow we happened upon a subject where I was able to explain to him about the gentrification of black urban neighborhoods and the displacement of already impoverished black people into worser situations. France was taken back. He explained to me that they knew about slavery and segregation in the US, but they didn’t understand our modern day struggles with the US government as black Americans. Lauren started to go into detail about how our taxes are higher in black urban areas with higher rates of poverty and our insurance, especially health insurance, is almost nonexistent. I started to make a lot of connections to their struggles and ours. I couldn’t understand why it seemed that Black people are literally being exploited and mistreated all over the world. And sometimes it does feel like we are the only race of people that have to carry a burden of perpetual hatred and scorn from every other race of people. I try not to think about it. Its enough to have to carry the weight of my individual problems and those concerning my immediate family; I don’t also need to bear the weight of the community of black people as a whole.

    On a lighter note, a few nights later we went to go see Othello at Shakespeare’s Globe near the London Eye. I was extremely excited to see Othello because I’ve always loved Shakespeare. Ever since we began reading Shakespeare in early high school, I’ve been a fan. While others fell asleep during class and slobbered on their playbooks, I’d be wide awake, extremely attentive during the readings, and asking the teacher if I could take the book home to analyze what we discussed in class and read ahead for the next day. In Mosaic Youth Theatre of Detroit, the youth organization for singing and acting that I did for 5 years throughout late middle and high school, we did a decent amount of Shakespeare plays including Richard III, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, The Tempest, and Much Ado About Nothing. As long as I understand the context of the play beforehand, I can watch it live. If not, I get lost in the language and it is very difficult for me to concentrate. As a fellow artist and thespian, I have to say that the actors that played in Othello the night we saw it were superb actors. I can usually can spot a bad actor from a mile away. I was completely captivated at almost every moment during the play. Lauren and I were thinking about leaving early because our feet and backs were on fire from standing up the whole day, and then through the entirety of the play (except the intermission) but the actors in the play were so amazing and their portrayal of the story was done so well we did not want to leave. As hungry, tired, and achy as we were we decided to stay and watch the play in its entirety because we enjoyed it that much.

    Overall, my experience in London was amazing. The nightlife was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. We went out basically every night. London was where all the girls on the trip really got to know each other for the first time and we all started to bond as a group. It was nice actually getting to know the people I’ve been in a cohort with for a year. I was definitely sad to leave London. I was getting used to the personalities and tendencies of my roommates and flatmates, and having family meals that we cooked for eachother. I was definitely going to miss going out almost every night and always finding something new to get into. My friends and I spent out last night in London at The Port House, which was a very nice bar restaurant that we had found not too far from Trafalgar Square where we split three courses and very good wine for a total of 30 pounds. London was where we learned to budget for eating out because we always had groceries in our fridge. Oxford was our next destination. Our standards were high since London had been so good to us.