I Kissed a Girl

I do not comprehend lesbianism, nope I am not bashing lesbians, I dont care a farthing how other people wish to live their lives everyone is entitled to be happy but I must say I am way too jealous to be with another girl. I think I am the only one in the relationship who is supposed to have boobs for if I had a girlfriend her breasts are bound to be bigger than mine and that would never do; f.y.i. I think all women breast are bigger than mine, my brother says I have a chest plate of armour. When I lay on my back my chest becomes a flat as a board, no cleavage nothing, I have worn the same size bra since the ninth grade which is quite shameful. I do not know why God didn’t give me even a Bcup, I would do surgery and upgrade myself but sadly I do not possess that type of cash so with these small boobs I have to remain, therefore it is impossible for me to become a lesbian.

            I was on route to Germany recently when I had an unusual experience, please note that going to Germany does not mean I am rich, if I was I could afford boobs. There I was in a huge plane with about thirty people on it, I was prepared for a long boring flight thus I had bought a John Grisham novel to keep me company. I had met this guy while waiting to board, his name was Ian, he said he was on his way to Paris to perform in the circus, he swung on the trapeze I found this quite hilarious, I imagined this thick black man covered in disco dust swinging in the air, see? Hilarious, since we looked to be the only Jamaicans on board we decided to stick together, we began to talk and it seemed we had known each other forever, we were laughing and chatting loudly in patwa since nobody could understand what we were saying when this light skinned British girl in a short black wig and long skirt came up and gave Ian a phone which she had borrowed earlier, she sat with us saying we were super cool.  I shall call her Jasmine (obviously not her right name) she had this super cool British accent f.y.i I love British accents if I had a boyfriend I would totally leave him for a dude with a British accent, shameful I know but sometimes a girl just cannot help the way she feels. Jasmine seemed the wild type she had a case of wray and Nephew white overproof rum and she popped out a bottle asked the stewardess for some coke and proceeded to get wasted. She tried to force some on me but I am not a drinker and my friends can attest to that one glass and my eyes begin to close so I keep away from the stuff. Ian was drinking and each time is glass was emptied, she filled it and ordered him to drink I just sat and giggled at the exasperated look on his face.  The more Jasmine drank the louder she got our seating area was beginning to look and sound like a roadside bar I have to admit I was becoming  a tad embarrassed.

            Finally to Ian’s relief Jasmine whispered she wished to speak to me privately and we moved to another seat, she asked if Ian and I were together and I laughingly told her we had just met to which she exclaimed “good”. I began to think she had a crush on him and wanted to seduce him so they could join the mile high club which seemed quite exciting. Jasmine proceeded to tell me a sad story of how she had been in Jamaica for a year with a police man who had continuously abused her, she showed me the cuts and cigarette burns on her hands and moved her bang to show the scar on her forehead, she said when she went to the police station and reported the abuse the officers told her to try and work it out because they wouldn’t lock up their “squaddy”. I asked why she hadn’t left him a long time ago she said the sex was good and each time they fought the makeup sex was awesome.  She said she left him and found a girlfriend but the girl just wanted money so she decided to go back to England.

            I was alarmed and felt sorry for her thus I began to counsel this young lady about the merits of having self-respect and morals when in the middle of a sentence she launched at me pushed me down on the seat and stuck her tongue in my mouth. I tasted the chocolate she had eaten earlier and the rum along with the excess saliva In her mouth, I sputtered, pushed her off and asked her what the hell she was doing. She then proceeded to babble about how nice and pretty I was how she wanted me to love her; she would take me to England and spend all her cash on me. I told her I like men, specifically men with muscles and tats not girls with boobs! Would you believe this girl burst into tears? I eased past her and ran to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth, upon coming out she met me at the bathroom door held on to my sweater and proceeded to tell me how good we could be together, of course I was becoming embarrassed, people were beginning to stare, yep we were the only black people on the plane and we were causing a scene, to avoid further damage I turned to Jasmine and told her to please return to her seat I would be there shortly, I watched as she stumbled up the aisle in a drunken stupor then decided to complain to the flight attendants.

     

      They decided to take away her alcohol and hide me in first class I guess they didn’t want me to sue the airline for sexual harassment or something. It was my first time going to first class cannot afford those seats at the moment, it was so comfortable I fell asleep but after I woke up I felt like an impostor among all those “rich folks” so I crawled back to Ian who told me that while I was asleep Jasmine had been walking around screaming she wanted her “ f#@king girl and her f@#king rum” he laughed so hard it’s a wonder he didn’t pee his pants.  Well I was hidden until Jasmine came off the plane and what I figured would be a long boring flight turned out to be my first lesbo experience and nah guys it aint for me. catch u next time. 

p.s. Domestic abuse is not a joke, Jasmine if u ever come across this blog i hope you have gone to AA and taking better care of yourself and i hope to God u have not been chasing other females offering them money for their love you are a beautiful girl you are better than that. Ian i lost u in Frankfurt the security said i couldnt stand where u left me so i had to leave before getting your info if u ever come across this blog hit me up you a good dude ...........
written and copyrighted by: Aneisha A. Smith. July 30, 2014

Clear Lines

When I turned the tap the cold water hit me like a bolt of lightening. I shivered and jumped back from the icy needles before turning the knob more to the right, then waited for the water to warm before I ventured back. I stepped forward and screamed – dang it was hot! It felt as if my chest had been pierced; I looked down wondering if I was scalded, but saw no marks or welts. I slowly turned the tap once more, this time a little more to the left, and made it run for two minutes then tentatively put my fingers under, this time it was just right. I stepped under the cascade, retrieved my Dove Body Wash from the shower rack and began to lather my body. “I should wash my hair it is beginning to itch now…” I thought quietly. When I scratched my scalp, dirt settled under my fingernails, but maybe it could go another two weeks if I sprayed some perfume on it to mask the smell.

  I rinsed and decided to lather once more. The water felt really good, if I had no hot water I would have been out in less than two minutes – I probably wouldn’t even wash my back. Taking a shower without water going anywhere near my back was an art I had perfected. I smiled to myself as I thought of what I would do later; I wanted to visit temples, I heard there was a Buddhist one close by and I was dying to see inside, maybe I could sit and meditate with the monks, I would really enjoy that. I am in this strange country and I want to see all the wonderful sights. Bangkok is extremely beautiful –half way across the world from my country Jamaica, it took me two and a half days to get here; I flew so much I thought I would have a nervous breakdown. My friends all thought I was crazy for coming here, telling me I was going to be kidnapped and filling my head with all kinds of nonsensical stories, but I was determined to see this place and experience the diversity of its culture.

 My friend who moved here recently offered me the use of one of his rooms, provided me with a driver and tour guide; his apartment also came with an Indian housekeeper who called me “madam.” This was going to be a great vacation; I surely would not miss work one bit. My blackberry was on top of the toilet seat playing music while I showered, my favourite song for the month came on and I pushed my hand through the shower curtain to put it on repeat. I then proceeded to dance and sing, “Blurred lines… I know you want it.” I felt so good I decided to bathe one more time. I took down the shower hose and began to put it wherever I wanted to be rinsed when I thought I heard a shout and a knock on the door. I ignored it, figuring it was the housekeeper bringing fresh towels and she could leave them on the bed. I  Continued to sing, “Maybe I’m going crazy, maybe I’m outta my mind…,” trying to imitate Robin Thicke’s voice. Man he is sexy – he could sing for me all day long. My fantasy got interrupted when I heard the door opening, was this woman deaf? Didn't she hear me in here? I pushed my head through the blue and white plastic curtains once more, holding it to my chest while holding the shower hose in the other hand.
Where I expected to see the housekeeper my eyes encountered her husband – the gardener. He was about five feet six inches tall, medium built with a swarthy complexion, wearing baggy blue jeans, a yellow shirt with drawings of strawberries, a black turban on his head and big yellow gloves.

He smiled at me with brown discoloured teeth and spoke with a heavy Indian accent, “Sorry madam, but boss say I come 10 o’clock  and fix bathroom sink 10 o’clock he say, so I come, he here?”

“No, he is not here. Would you please wait until I am finished then you can come back?”

“Ok sorry madam.” He turned and walked out, leaving the door open. I dropped the curtain, waved my hand and shouted at him, “Please close the damn door.” What an impertinent fellow! He came back and looked in, glancing at my chest. I grabbed the curtain once more; what the hell? He smiled at me, “Did you say you were alone madam?”

“Yes, now please get out!” I was beginning to get very angry. What was he up to? He bent towards his ankle and pulled a medium-sized knife from his boot. “Let go the curtain let me see you,” he said menacingly. I shakily let it go and he used the tip of the knife to touch my breast before running it down to my navel. He stopped at the tattoo on my hip, “You bad girl, I like bad girl,” he grinned. Moistening his lips the predator proceeded to run the knife down towards my vagina. I yelled “Don’t you dare touch me you son of a bitch!” He slapped me across my face and I tasted the sick metallic flavour of blood on my tongue; I could feel the imprint of his fingers on my cheek.  “Don’t talk whore! You come into my country and walk around like you queen of all. My wife wash your clothes, she wash your drawers, she make your bed and clean your shoes, she clean for you every day and call you madam and me,” he jabbed himself in the chest, “me wash his car and cut his grass and do whatever he say and call him boss and this my country, but you walk around like you own everything in your little shorts, showing your little black legs and turning me on. Only a whore dress like that! Our women are covered, I the only one see my wife!” He looked at my body disdainfully “You don’t look like a woman,” he pinched my breast. “No hips, no tits, you dress like a whore, I will screw you like a whore, I will turn you into a woman, you will like it. My wife won’t come she do whatever I  tell her, we say you left in your little shorts in taxi and we don’t see you come back.”  

O God he was planning to kill me. He was probably one of those men who could only get it up if I fought him or screamed. No matter what he did, I would not make a sound; I would not cry, not even whimper… the piece of shit. “Whore turn the pipe off, don’t flood the place, my wife have to clean.” I still had the hose in my hand, I didn’t even remember it; he bent his head trying to undo his pants when a thought occurred to me. I turned the tap all the way to the right then turned the blast into his face; with his pants falling to the floor, he tried to back away, but his pants and the water made him fall to the cold concrete . I went over him and continued to spray the steaming water into both his face and groin. He writhed and screamed like a wounded animal on the floor. “You son-of-a-bitch, stupid assed piece of shit!” I yelled. “Don’t ramp with Jamaican woman, yuh dutty, grey ‘tone shitta!” The hose was searing my hand – the water was really hot. I turned off the tap and stood shaking, he was not moving and is skin looked awful.  What if he was dead? I didn’t want to kill him. He was lying in the doorway; I moved to step over him and felt his hand grip my ankle. I used my other foot to repeatedly stomp his face, the skin felt soft as if I was stepping into porridge, I felt some of his skin as if it came off on my sole; he screamed like a beer caught in a trap. I fell over the toilet and retched the over salted eggs I had eaten earlier, my Brazilian weave falling into its depths while Robin Thicke kept singing, “ I know you want it, I know you want it….”

P.s. psych this is fiction it came into my imagination while I was showering one day and the water burnt my hand. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

Written and copyright by Aneisha A. Smith. January 24, 2014.
Edited by: Dwain Wellington.

The strongest girl i ever met (true story)

She has been my best friend for forever and a day and our moms were best friends before that. I cannot remember a time when she was not in my life, always cracking a joke or telling animated, humorous stories. We know each other through and through, I remember the time I was ten years of age and she eleven and  she grew vagina hair,  I went to her house and told her to open her legs so I could count them, then we examined each other's chest to see who would grow boobs first; she did first of course and to not feel left out I begged my mother for training bras so we could both be wearing  at the same time and she promised not to wear any brassiere until I got mine. Those were the days full of fun and frolic.

We parted, she went abroad and we lost touch, seven years later we rediscovered each other and our love rekindled. It was like we had seen each other the day before, conversations and laughter flowed easily, we reminisced and laughed at our stupidity, filling in all the gaps and spaces that were left gaping from the lengthy silence. We had somehow changed, our appearances had but not our minds and our hearts, her love for me still shimmered in her eyes; Grasping and leaping to enfold me in its kindness. she was still the one person I could tell everything all my fears, troubles, trials and tribulations and she listened sympathetically and encouraged, telling me everything was gonna be alright; the big sister I never had. She never really told me her problems but kept them inside, maybe she didn't want to burden me or maybe the long absence had changed her making her more secretive.

One day we decided to Skype I lay on the bed and we chatted about primary school, love, life and Christ. She had become a Christian and  I envied the happiness I saw reflecting in her eyes but I could not comprehend how going to church and reading the Bible could leave one feeling so exhilarated and I told her thus. She replied "I haven't always been this happy Aneisha, most of my life I have been sad I have carried a burden that got me down sometimes but Christ helped me to overcome" in my head I rolled my eyes thinking "yep, here comes the testimony that all Christians give" that is when her next few words silenced me and shattered my world " I'm going to tell you something, that I have never told anyone" I waited with bated breath wondering what it could be what could she possibly tell me that was so serious. Had she killed someone? Did she witness a murder? "Aneisha, from I've been in the third grace I've been sexually molested up until I was 14 years of age" I couldn't speak I just looked at my computer screen and said "nah, nah man nah that couldn’t happen you would have told me", "yes" she said" by people who if I told u who they were u wouldn't believe" "you mean it’s more than one?????". I shouted in disbelief “Yeah more than one! Horrible things were done to me" I stuck my hands in my ears as if I were a little child trying to block out all the ugliness and I screamed "I don't wanna hear, please don't tell me! Please I don't wanna cry, please" she looked at me with a deep sadness and said "if I told you I would cry too and right now I don't want to or I will not stop" I looked at her with bewilderment my happy and naïve little world completely torn apart, I saw the sadness reflected in her eyes and I knew it was the truth they had wounded her terribly. This was my best friend and someone had hurt her, someone had made her feel pain, made her carry this burden for half her life, someone had made her cry and hate herself at one point, they had destroyed her childhood, she had only pretended to be happy. I became angry “who was it??" I shouted! "Who did this???" She said "calm down honey and don't let it get to you, the who and the why is not important, what is important here is what I'm about to say to you, I have forgiven them, I have not forgotten but I have forgiven, I no longer carry around that burden, it no longer as an impact on my life, I pity them for their weakness towards flesh and I pray for them that they may overcome and become better men" I looked at her my chin almost touching my chest " are u crazy?" I shouted incredulously "you can't forgive them!!!!!! They should not be forgiven! Tell me who they are so I can curse them in fact I wanna kill them!!!!! She laughed "you were always full of spirit, but you are too fiery, you need to learn inner peace, learn to forget and move on, learn to not let the past affect you so much, I am happy and they no longer have influence over my happiness, I have found Jesus and he gives me Joy"

. I could not understand the words she spoke they made no impact on me I carry around a list of people in my head who have done me wrong and each time I remember what they did it pushes renewed energy towards my anger. I looked at her " nope I aint the forgiving type and I hate them I hate them with such a powerful hatred that I want to kill them" she looked at me with sadness and there were tears glistening in her eyes " then I'm sorry for you Aneisha, cause you are weak and I pray for the day when you find what I have found and I pray it happens quickly" with that said we said our "I love you's" and promised to chat again soon. I closed my lappy screen and I cried, I cried for my the little girl who had been hurt, who every day came to school and had to pretend everything was right with her world, who had been there for me in my times of need even when she was hurt, who had had to bear her burden all alone with no one to give her comfort. I cried and I prayed that those dirty men would one day receive something horrible for what they had done to her and I prayed for revenge for I wanted them to suffer and I wanted to see it so it could give me some sort of satisfaction.

 It was months later that I remembered her words and it brought me some peace to know that she was finally happy and It took a whole lot of courage that I did not have for her to say those words and forgive those imbeciles. I then realized this young lady my best friend who has always been there when I needed a shoulder to cry on  is in fact one of the strongest person I have ever met and I am glad that I know her and she is in my life, maybe the day will arrive when she changes me who knows :)

“Someone once asked me how can you be so happy after you have been through so much and I replied its because I am a victor not a victim"

For Licia. (love always)

Copyright  by : Aneisha A. Smith, August 6,2013

Trust Me......

Trust Me

Have you ever been fooled by a man? he pretended to be someone he was not, to get you he was the perfect gentleman and afterwards he completely changed. Have you ever had a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde? what did you do to get rid of him? many women at this present moment are in abusive relationships, some are too scared to leave  or too afraid others will look down on them. the fault does not lie with you, you can overcome! Do not be a victim all your life, get up and move on. enjoy my poem.

He stretched out his hand with a smile

“Trust me” he said

I should have smelled the bullshit from a mile.

I touched it

I was tentative

At first it was good

Honeyed kisses, expensive gifts, shopping trips,

 Soft caresses and good loving.

As soon as he had a ring around my finger it turned sour.

I trod downhill on a path laden with

Lies,

Cheating,

Distrust,

Beatings,

Abuse,
 physically,
 verbally,

This broke me mentally and emotionally.

He ripped my heart out and fed it to the dogs,

Leaving me with nothing but these horrible scars

My self-esteem shattered,

My beautiful skin battered,

He got pleasure from my pain,

His sunshine was my rain

My tears were his joy

I was his plaything a mere toy,

His little games destroyed me

My existence was one of misery

My past life of happiness now history

He tore me apart piece by piece

Ripping,

Thrashing,

Shredding,

Taking,

Taking,

Taking…….

I look in the mirror and the sight I see astonishes me

Dark circles around the eyes,
 busted lips

Make up can’t fix this.

My beautiful smile hidden;

My body used in ways that should be forbidden

Looking at this downtrodden broken woman I made a plan

Time to get rid of this evil man

I met him at the door his favourite dish laden with poison on the table

This ending was no fairy tale it was more like a fable

I stretched out my hand to him with a smile

“Trust me” I said

He should have smelled the bullshit from a mile

copyright by Aneisha Smith. July 30, 2013

The God Man

This is an excerpt from my upcoming novel, in this section Willa now a grown young woman talks about one of her heart wrenching childhood experience.

At first he seemed like all the other men in church. I didn't especially notice him; I didn't notice him until I noticed him noticing me. He was light skinned, with freckles on his face and hands. He had curly black hair, was medium built and had a little belly coming, he always joked that it was from his wife’s lovely cooking and from all the puddings the old ladies brought to church. Each time he patted his belly and said this everyone laughed as if it was the first time they were hearing this. His eyes were small and green coloured I guess he got that from his mama. He had, had a white mother and black father, his mother had died when he was younger and his father had brought him to Jamaica where he grew up. Everyone liked him, probably more than they liked me.

          

He looked at me differently, differently from everyone else; he continuously smiled at me with that look in his eyes; a look my ten year old mind could not read or fully understand, but something in the back of my mind told me to fear it. To fear him and his smiles and keep as far away from him as possible, the problem was that I could not escape him; the church was too small there were not enough people in it for me to avoid him. I read a lot, I was bright, I was the star pupil; picked to be groomed, to become someone great in religion, maybe I would be the next Ellen. G. white and he the old man with the pretty eyes and smiley face was one of my groomers. He sometimes taught Bible class which meant I had to interact with him; I had to sit, listen, ask questions and learn whatever I could from him.

            The people in church looked up to him, he was such a great leader, always ready to impart knowledge and give advice. To lend a helping hand to the fallen and weak and to top it off he had such a cheerful countenance. He had such a lovely wife and a beautiful daughter even if she was a little slow witted she was still lovely. In their eyes he could do no wrong.

The way he looked at me made me began to dislike him. I did not want to go to his class, to have him smile down at me through his moustache as if he wanted me for his nearest and dearest friend. He always seem to compliment me when he had an audience; saying how bright I was and what a great scholar I was going to be, chucking his hand under my chin and raising my head up so he could smile in my face so that I had no choice but to smile too and tell him a gracious thank you. After which everyone else smiled too, my mother should feel proud; Mr Lincoln had shown me favor and prophesied that I would be great. For some reason I never felt lucky, my heart, my mind and my soul wish he had chosen someone else to bestow his goodness upon.

 He watched me and he waited, I guess he waited to see if he had chosen the right person. He began to say and do different things, he began to compliment me more in private; telling me I was pretty, I was going to be very beautiful and make some lucky man  a lovely wife one day. He would rub my head and massage my hair, putting his nose in it , saying it smelled lovely and for a little black girl I had such lovely hair, I reminded him of his mama. During these times I would stand still not knowing what to do, how do you respond when a half white older man who was old enough to be your father runs his hands through your hair buries his nose in it and told you, you were pretty while smiling in your face?  The numerous books I read never told me this, none of my heroines ever experienced this, and so I would just stand there saying nothing, hoping someone would come.

 The day came when he came into church proclaiming God had given him a vision; he had been told that because I was so bright, the devil was after my soul and God had told him to bring me into a room anoint me with oil and pray for my soul. My mother had been sick that morning and been unable to attend church so she had sent us , it seemed I was the only one who thought it strange that God had given him a vision the one day my mother did not attend church. The congregation all agreed that services should continue while he anointed my body and pray for me.  The devil was so strong and rampant in these days they did not want him taking one of their young precious souls.

 He brought me to the back of the church where there was a partition where the food was kept for lunch each Sabbath it was not very large but it had room to walk and store the bags of food. He had already announced we were not to be disturbed; he got the olive oil, closed his eyes and began to rub my head while beseeching the Heavenly Father to keep me in church and safe from the clutches of the devil.  I remember the smell of the oil as he rubbed my face, it made me feel nauseous as if I wanted to throw up the fried egg and plantains mommy had given me for breakfast that morning.  I had dared not move, my heart had raced not knowing what to expect, he had told me to close my eyes while he massaged my neck, he spun me around so my back was towards him then he unzipped my pink polka dot dress but he did not pull the bands that were tied from the front and made a bow at the back, therefore the dress fell to my waist. He began to rub my back and I began to tremble, my body shaking as he moved down to my waist, he spun me around whispering in my ear that I should not be afraid  he was not going to hurt me and I should like it. He had started from my navel and had slowly moved his hands up towards my nipples, at the time I did not have breast. Petal used to joke that I had the flattest chest in school she on the other hand had begun to wear bra but nipples were what I had.

Mr Lincoln rubbed my nipples and I heard him moan I trembled, I shook, my heart raced, I opened my eyes and saw that his were closed. I saw a look on his face I would never forget a look I later learnt in life was a look of pure and extreme ecstasy. One of his hands was in his pants and I noticed it was moving. Fear and scorn washed over me, the fear gripped me so I could not move, I did not know how to react and I scorned myself for being a coward for I knew what he was doing was wrong but I did not know what to do. Who would believe me if I told them of this? No one would. Mr Lincoln was loved and they would take me for a liar maybe even say the Devil was taking over my soul, my mother would be embarrassed because she would have a lying conniving girl for her daughter, so I closed my eyes and prayed, I prayed someone would walk through the curtains or hear him moaning but nobody came and I had to wait until he had satisfied himself and zipped up my dress. He told me I could open my eyes, smiled at me and told me I had made him very happy and if I let him do this from time to time he would buy me a brand new Bible for he knew my mother couldn't afford it.

 I held my head down and walked back into services my face and hair all shiny and smelling of the horrible oil, I could still feel the touch of his hands on my skin;  I felt dirtier than when it had not rained for a long time, the river had dried and there was no water to bathe. From that day I hated church and I decided I hated all men too especially if they smiled a lot. It was years later that I found out that Mr Lincoln’s wife, his daughter who had learnt the hard way and about a quarter of the congregation knew he was not the man he pretended to be yet they had sent me to him like a lamb to be slaughtered for sacrifice.

copyright  by Aneisha Smith: July 19 2013

Black skinned girl

I've always been proud of being dark skinned maybe it stemmed from all the history books I read and from seeing through my mental vision all the things my ancestors went through to get me where I am at this present moment, or from all the black movies shown on television during black history month; I can't pinpoint the exact moment my love for my color blasted through but I do know that now I can shout it to the world how much I just love being black. 

I have had occasions where I've seen and interacted with persons who are convinced they are too dark skinned or that their black was not beautiful enough so they have sought to do away with it by using the many bleaching agents that are now available, I try to enlighten them but sadly to no avail as most of my words often fall unto deaf ears; Mental slavery is a horrific thing, I am one who considers myself enlightened and would proudly wear my black crown not just in my country Jamaica but wherever my feet happen to wander.

I being as free spirited as a bird and wanting to see three quarters of the world before I arrive at age forty recently decided to pack my suitcase and jet it off to Argentina; a place where none of my friends or family members have ever traversed, and watching the movie where Madonna played Evita had caused me to be very intrigued and fascinated by. Don't get it wrong now I'm not some rich kid who can afford to just jump on a plane and go wherever I like but if you are a free spirit like I am then you'd understand what I mean when I say "I live without inhibitions" live life one day at a time. Having two thousand dollars in the bank and  deciding to go to France not knowing what u are going to eat or not knowing where u going to get money to buy souvenirs but going anyway just because you always wanted to see the Eiffel tower.

It was this very strange Spanish speaking country in South America that caused me to question my black heritage, and no I do not speak Spanish I know how to say "hola" and "si" and I had a Spanish dictionary so I felt that would be enough . So there I was in this very peculiar country I took the first day to sleep off the almost twelve hours of travelling and the very next couple of days I was sightseeing; Going on the street I encountered stares not just people glancing at u because you are nicely dressed but people literally gaping, one lady actually asked to touch me saying she never saw a black person before other than on TV! Huh??? Was I at the back of beyond? Where had I landed?we had already discovered that the world was round and if we traveled we wouldn't fall off, so is it that these people don't go anywhere or is it that black people just don't come here? 

All the walks I walked I didn't see any black faces and the stares became a might uncomfortable I felt like a small piece of cheese in a den of rats, no the people were not hostile they just did not know how to take away their eyes. I have to say that after the first couple of days I didn't want to go out anymore, I was not used to being stared at so much after all in my country Jamaica I'm not a celebrity nor am I really even known I do nothing to garner attention, just a skinny black girl going about her business. 

Well there I was sitting on my room floor eating ice cream and cereal which is actually really good (try it) and watching mtv one of the few stations that isn't all Spanish when I see a footage of paparazzi chasing Rhianna and hurling questions she wouldn't wish to answer at her and she just strut her stuff and paid them no attention and then it hit me if Rhianna can do it well so can I; so I got dressed and hit the streets and I walked so upright and strutted so well that I bet Tyra Banks herself would have wanted me to come model. My now proud stance earned me cat calls and whistles and I just smiled, flashed my weaved and walked on like yeah man am a celebrity this must be how Beyonce feels when she steps out unto the street well excepting there was no paparazzi all the same I strut my stuff and flashed my pearly whites like I was on the red carpet.

Would you believe I eventually ran into a tall black man and there I was about to rush into his arms so we could bond together, us I figured being the only black faces in this whole country when I realized that he was stereo-typically selling knock off gold watches at the corner of the street, sighs thus I stared clear of him. Well back to my story as I said earlier this said country caused me to question myself.

About one week from my departure I took a cab and when to the mall I remembered the cab driver saying in his broken English "alto palmero good buy, ah ah everything, lots of stuff it iz here" with my new found celebrity status I stepped out put on my shades and hit the runway, I smiled and walked, I entered a couple stores and the people rushed to my assistance after they realized I was a tourist, I began to think yeah man I could get used to this country maybe they would make me a real life celebrity or something. I saw one store had a sales sign on their window,when I entered there were three customers inside and about four shop attendants, at the time I wondered for such a tiny store why would they need so many attendants anyway I began browsing and I felt the stares but I paid no attention, I took up a cute pink shirt hello kitty printed all over it and approached the counter,the girl looking like a teenager saw me coming and basically scampered from behind it and moved to the side of the store I thought "well that's strange" I followed her and took the things I wanted to purchase to show her but when I came near she got this scared look in her eyes and only moved further, staring at me like she was a deer caught in my headlights I then realized it was my skin color she was afraid of. I put the clothes back on the counter and I walked out all the while feeling terribly ashamed for what I could not possibly tell. I decided to leave the mall, I no longer felt like a celebrity and all of a sudden I felt like the stares had become hostile, I wanted to burst into tears but was scared I was going to be laughed at. At that moment standing at the entrance and waiting for a taxi, I wished I was white, wished I didn't have all this melanin, I wished I was as unnoticeable as all those people, they all had the same color, noone stared at them, I wanted to fit in, I wanted to be one of them. I went home and just kicked off my shoes and for the first time in years I cried, I didn't feel hungry, I ate nothing I just wanted to go home, I slept and had nightmares, that little shop attendant had made me question myself made me feel like I was nothing. For the next two days I didn't even go on my balcony.
 Then being alone I began to think, I come from Kings and Queens I therefore am a princess my ancestors fought many wars and many died to let me be where I am today, they would not be proud of me at this very moment seeing me cowering in an apartment all because one person was ignorant, I was acting a fool, everyone else had been extremely nice and tried their best to understand my dictionary Spanish, even the guy who did my hair had told me in is horrible English that I was the prettiest girl he had ever done. My back became erect again, my head stood high, one little stupid girl was not going to ruin my trip no sirree I am Jamaican and as such we fear no one and nothing, we with our tiny selves can conquer the world, thus I put on my clothes grabbed my shades and went back to that very mall I decided to pull a Julia Roberts from "pretty woman" I went to all the shops where the people were nice to me and glad for my business and I shopped! Lastly I went back into that little store with all my bags, went straight up to the counter where the girl was, stood there and said "boo" you should have seen how her eyes widened, I walked out laughing princess/ celebrity style. I went, I saw and I conquered, ha who was gonna stop me. I left Argentina feeling stronger than ever, and again I was the only black person on that plane heading to Panama but I was royalty. who could stop me?

 All the same Argentina is a wonderful and beautiful country and I would encourage anyone black, white, blue or yellow to go there, its a beautiful country with some of the most beautiful people who even if you are lost will walk you home or try their best to understand your mixture of English and Spanish to help you. Thanks for reading catch you next time.  

copyright by Aneisha Smith  July 8 2013

Testing

Ok so this is just simple test to see how things are on this blog, and so far far everything looks to be ok :D