October 2010
“Where have you been man? I was just about to call you.” I ask Zaine when I answer the phone.
“Sorry, I had a few things to take care of. Huh…” His tone is different, more preoccupied and concerned. He is usually care free to worry about anything. Something must have happened this morning.
“How was class today?” he asks. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“Oh man, you missed it.” I say. “We had a dancing party today. I’m officially great at shaking my booty. African style.” Zaine cracks a laugh. I still can’t believe that our African Art and Culture professor made us dance and shake our butts today. One thing I know is that I had so much fun. More fun than in the past months. I barely get opportunities to goof around. I’ve learned to be serious at all times and be all work and no play. Only Leola and Lila bring out the playful side of me. I miss that. Here in college, being in an athletic team makes everyone watch you closely and you can’t make mistakes. You don’t get the chance to be goofy or silly because you have to be an exemplary student. But this class brings it out of me, the playful, happy me. I smile, laugh, then smile again and laugh some more. Africans seem to be smiley, happy people despite the things they go through. It is crazy how less than perfect lives can have so much to smile and be happy about.
“I love this class more and more. It’s great.” I say enthusiastically.
“Well, I won’t be missing class again. You can’t be the only one learning how to shake it, African style.” he laughs. “And I desperately need the fun anyways.”
“You sure you’re okay man?” I ask. Zaine has never been desperate for fun. He is always the one who brings the fun. He doesn’t have a perfect life but he doesn’t complain much and doesn’t worry much. When he’s down or preoccupied, it’s usually something big.
“I’m all good for now. We’ll talk at lunch.”
“Okay, man. I have Positive Psychology class; I’ll see you at lunch.” I tell him before ending the call.
I enter the classroom. Everyone is in the class when the professor starts the lecture. I would bet that most of my classmates enjoy this class because we have great discussions. Positive Psychology class is a nice class so far. It’s interesting, but any psychology is sometimes too shrink-like for me. One think I know for sure is that I’m not doing Psychology to become a shrink.
No offense to Uncle Mike but I think shrinks in our days could be considered mind twisters. They use scientific tricks they learn in classes, like this one, to enter someone’s brain and answer his question with answers they extract from his head. By asking the person to talk about how he/she feels, where he/she wants to be in life and how he/she is planning on getting where he/she wants to be; they say that they are helping you be better and find answers. But in reality, you could help yourself if you asked yourself those questions and extract those answers from your own head. Interesting twist there! I sometimes wonder if the pay in our days for shrinks is worth it, when the answers to a person’s problems are found in the person and he can extract those answers without sitting on a sofa in a shrink’s office. Then again, I know that there will always be people who can’t look inside themselves to find answers they need. People sometimes need another human being to help them. Maybe after all, psychologists are needed and do help. I don’t have anything against shrinks because Uncle Mike did help me immensely. But I do have a problem with paying them so much to just help us extract answers that are in us to begin with. I question a lot of things in this kind of profession but I am about to get into this line of work. Crazy me.
I have decided to take this class with an open mind to learn about positive psychology. I hope it does shine some light on the positive reasons for doing psychology.
So far, I like the class discussions we’ve been having. Especially since I’m sitting beside the most down to earth, rational, very intelligent girl who seems to always ask the right questions and give coherent answers.
Her name is Lucille MacBeth. I don’t know her well. We’ve been sitting next to each other since the first day of class. We barely talk about anything else but psychology in class and we don’t talk outside of class. I hope I don’t chicken out like I did with the girl on the plane and bus ride.
Memories flash back. The girl on the plane. I never got to ask her name. I chickened out and didn’t make more effort to get to know her. I survived and I have no idea what happened to her. I haven’t even taken time to actually think of what happened to the people that were on the bus, except for dad. I feel so bad for having such a superficial encounter with a person I would never see again. Since that trip, I have become fed up with superficiality in matters of relationships. I want to get to know people; life is too short to waste it on “Hi” and simple class discussions.
Class is over. She’s packing her things, ready to walk to the door. No superficial relationships. It’s got to happen now.
“Hey, Lucille right?” I call out when she stands.
“Yes. Lod, right?” she asks. I nod and walk behind her. We walk out of the classroom.
“Are you getting lunch soon?” I ask hoping she says yes and we can maybe talk on our way there or even sit with her friends and Zaine.
“I’m actually heading to lunch. Want to have lunch together?” she asks. “That would be great.”
“So where are you from Lucille?” I ask.
“I was born in France, I have a British citizenship and I lived most of my life in the U.S.” she answers.
“Wow, that’s cool” I say amazed. It’s not every day that you meet a British of French origin raised in an American culture.
“Thanks. I get that a lot,” she says.
“What about you?” she asks.
I open the door, let her in and follow. “American.” I say. She laughs. I let out a laugh as well as I realize how boring I sound.
“You must be more than just ‘American”, think about it. This is a country of immigrants.”
“Well, I’m English somehow, Mayflower, boats and immigrants, all the shebang….And I have been told that I have an Italian great grand father. A Moroccan heritage plus a pinch of Native American….I don’t really know about the Native American part of me but I could be wrong,” I say.
We find a table, put our bags down and started walking to get food. “Pretty much I’m just American.” We both laugh.
While we get our food, I text Zaine to let him know that I’m already at the cafeteria. Lucille and I head to the table where we find Zaine who has just arrived.
“What’s up man?” Zaine and I shake hands and bump shoulders. “Lucille, my best friend Zaine, Zaine, my new friend Lucille.” I introduce them.
“Nice to meet you” Zaine says. Lucille smiles.
When Zaine joins us after getting his food, I fill him in, on how I know Lucille.
“Zaine also has that same type of crazy cultures mix. Tell her.” I say.
“I was born in Sierra Leone, I have a Chinese nationality and I lived most of my life in Brazil.” he says.
“Wow, that is awesome. Listening to Zaine here, I feel like you now, Lod.” Lucille jokes. “Oh yeah, diversity is Zaine indeed.” I say proudly.
One conversation leads to another. Soccer enters our conversation when she tells me that her Dad has always been a diehard Arsenal fan. When I tell her my name and tell her about Dad, she literally freaks out. It turns out that her dad liked watching dad play in College. Hearing this brings an inerasable smile to my face. It is always a joy for me to hear people talk about dad and a great man he was. Yes his past failures do speak but not as loud as the soccer legacy he left in his fans like Lucille’s dad and in me.
We finish our food but stay at the table chatting. Lucille tells us about her small French community that joined forces and raised money for her college studies and the college studies of two other girls, her friends from the same town. She talked about the privilege it is to represent a whole community that desire to
help intelligent children further their education. Her story reminded me one of my dreams.
Maisha asks her mother why every year, for two months of the summer, the whole village mobilizes to do mass farming and get as much crops as possible. The village stays active in selling all the crops to get revenues that are then brought to the town treasurer. Wimbi explains to Maisha the education contract between all the village people. The whole village twenty years before decided to send all the children of the town to the school in the city because the city has the best education in the region. The leader of the village wanted every kid to have the opportunity to go to school and not be deprived because of financial reason. So he made it mandatory that all the revenues of two months of the summer will go in the village’s treasury for the education. Every year, all the children of the village go to school in the city because there’s always enough money to pay for every child’s education.
In a few words I tell the same story to Zaine and Lucille. I don’t go much into details. I just tell them that it’s tradition in some Africa tribes. I haven’t told anyone about the dreams. Not even Zaine. I hope to tell the story someday, but for now I use my dreams as a way to sound cultured.
“You must really be reading the books for our class, man! You are becoming an expert on Africa.” Zaine exclaims.
“We’re both taking African Art and Culture or should I say he forced me to take with him.” he explains to Lucille.
I actually did kind of force this class on Zaine. I convinced him to take the class for my sake. Finding answers through this class is going to be difficult, his helping hand will make it easier for me.
“I need him around for moral support as I strive to become an expert on Africa.” I joke.
“Since he got back from South Africa, he’s more crazy about Africa than I the native born who visit every year.” Zaine says.
“I was there with my dad for the World Cup. It was on our way home that…” I don’t finish my sentence when I sense a pinching pain in my chest area. The memories come flying back.
“I heard about the accident. I’m really sorry for your loss. He’s greatly missed,” she says with so much love and respect. Her words comfort me. “I’m glad you’re alive, to keep on his legacy and be even better. There’s a reason why, out of two who survived, you were one of them.”
Her words ring a loud sounding bell in my head as I realize that I have totally forgotten the fact that I was not the only survivor. There’s someone out there who completely understands what I went through, maybe lost a family member as well and is looking for a friend to relate to and a friend to recover with. I can’t believe I have been so preoccupied with suppressing my own memories and pains that I didn’t realize the helping hand I could be for the other survivor and vice versa.
“You know, I have no idea who this other survivor is exactly.” I confess.
“I don’t know either, but I was told that there were two survivors.” Zaine says.
“I actually would like to know more and maybe even visit the person. I think it will be good for both of us.” I say. “If only I knew who it was.”
“I can find out. My cousin can find anyone, anywhere. I’ll ask him to do a search and let me know what comes up,” Zaine says. “You’re up for a road trip when we find the person, what if the person is in California?”
“If the person lives nearby, we’ll drive if not I’ll fly during Christmas break.” I say.
“Road trip anyone?” Lucille shouts enthusiastically.
“Road trip, heck yeah.” Zaine shouts. “I just love college.” I exclaim.