Today X. and I bicycled out to Biosquat, a developing urban eco-village on east side of Austin in a few acres of land wedged in between an country-like African American neighborhood and a small forest.
The land isn't actually a squat in the sense that the people living there hold the title to the parcels of land, so they don't stand to be pushed off by authorities, but they are making some of the most sustainable building I have ever seen using parts from bicycles (they have several hundred of them there), amazing clay that's right on site, urbanite (aka pre-formed concrete pieces) and limestone from a rubble dump created nearby when the city demolished buildings in the 60s to build I-35, and tons of sheets of thick corrugated plastic from recycled election signs. I love the irony: Republicans and Democrats contributing directly to sustainable housing.
There are several gardens where I saw (and ate) kale, broccoli, tomatoes, chiles, potatoes, squash, and a bunch of other stuff.
Solar panels catching abundant sunlight and providing current for radios, lightbulbs, and other appliances.
A working composting toilet producing several hundred pounds of fertile nightsoil ...
A rainwater catchment system so effective they had to disconnect it because they filled up their giant cistern and haven't built a new one yet...
Giant towers made of bicycle parts to house electricity generating windmills...
Thanks to David Santos, Juan Martinez, Ed, and Oxossi for the delicious lunch and the delightful tour. We'll be back.
It’s 4:44 on a Saturday night, Sunday morning in Houston. I am sitting up on a fold-out sofa bed in a cozy Houston apartment of a women I have never met but is a colleague of a friend/ compañera en la lucha from KPFT radio.
I drank one and half cups of coffee earlier this evening and my head, body, and spirit are already buzzing with ideas, possibilities, and dilemmas.
The good news.
We drove in from Austin yesterday. The drive was uneventful…the road between Austin and Houston was dotted with small farming towns, a few stop lights, a bunch of gas stations, a few historic markers, and a handful of billboards.
We hit Houston and all the traffic typical of Friday afternoon rush hour in a poorly planned American metropolis, compounded by heavy rains. Tuning into 90.1 KPFT we heard the local news, and a charismatic speech/storytelling session with folk singer/activist Utah Phillips. I was not familiar with him before, and now I can say that I was charmed by his wisdom and commitment to evolution as a human being.
We were received warmly by Brother Fanah at the Shrine of the Black Madonna at the Pan African Orthodox Church shortly before 7 pm, where Malidoma Somé was to speak. The lecture was held in a large red-carpeted meeting hall in the cultural center next to the shrine.
Who was in the House?
In attendance were members of various afro-american spiritual houses, of the Shrine of the Black Madonna, the Nation of Islam Mosque #45 with Minister Robert Muhammad and half a dozen of the Fruit of Islam standing guard by the doors to the room and on both sides of the dais where Malidoma spoke in front of seated elders and luminaries in the community. Also in the house were members of various Ocha and Ifa houses in Houston and Dallas. There were about twenty or so white folks (out of about 200 people) and half a dozen people who may be latino.
Malidoma’s Lecture
I had first heard his voice on WBAI radio several months ago, and was moved to tears. He spoke mostly in English, but when asked by the hosts to speak some prayers to the ancestors in his native Dagara language, the radio in the car melted into some organic sound device, filling the car with an electricity I had never felt before.
He arrived poised and graceful, cutting to the chase of the speech quickly. Now is the time for spiritual militancy, he said, to call upon our ancestors as if they were a SWAT team, to help us move through the world.
He reminded us of the covenant we make when we enter the world, to recognize our purpose and fulfill it in service and healing to the world. When we stray, we dishonor ourselves and our ancestors. When we call for their help, they guide us and give us strength beyond imagination.
Malidoma also stressed the importance of finding alternatives to the coercive and antagonistic relationships that we are born into in this world. “Be careful when the naked man tries to offer you a shirt,” he said. That can be applied to a number of things, and immediately came to mind as the American public following the Bush War Machine’s plan for peace.
I was amazed by Malidoma’s poise and command of English metaphor and vernacular. He was one of the most engaging speakers I have ever heard in the flesh, and this is even more impressive as English is his third (or fourth?) language behind Dagara and French. While it really shouldn’t matter, his pronunciation and choice of words was impeccable, and his accent was only a slight bit distinguishable as foreign. It was clear that he had put in serious time studying the American English language, and it the work paid off in the effectiveness and gravity of his speech.
Afterwards, Minister Robert Muhammad retook the dais and gave a hilarious but biting reminder to the public to contribute what they could to Malidoma’s non-profit Echoes of the Ancestors which serves to provide drinking water assistance to his home village in Burkina Faso, currently in serious crisis. “Why hold onto a declining dollar?” Minister Muhammad said, reminding us that we spend far more on paying salaries of cops that beat us over the head, in taxes to the war and prison machines, etc.
We spent the late morning running in between the MECA center, host to the Radical Encuentro, and the afternoon at the Stevenson-Taylor Ranch for the Malidoma Somé workshop, finding a place to stay through my homegirl Karla Aguilar.
This is just the beginning of all the shit that’s been running through my head in the last 30 hours, but I need to get some sort of sleep…the battery to this machine is almost dead, and my love is lying chilly beside me waiting for my arms to keep her warm under the thin blankets.
Thank you to Akua, the people of the Taylor-Stevenson Ranch, Mollie and Barbara Stevenson, my heroes as Black Cowgirl pioneers, Brother Fanah and the rest of the congregation of the Pan African Orthodox Church/Shrine of the Black Madonna, Sharon for hosting the afterparty at her house, Karla for feeding us and finding a place to crash tonight, and Chickpea for giving us her sofabed for the night.
And of course to Malidoma, who, with the several planes of the world in obivious chaotic disarray and state of pollution, remains strong and steadfast in his mission to teach and inspire.
Today I spent 10 hours on a bicycle.
Well, not exactly all 10 hours pedaling, but departing the house at 3:30 and returning just before 2AM. I did some errands, stopped at Bouldin Creek Café, picked up some posters for the Brownout/Ocote Soul Sounds concert, and headed over to see my carnal Juan Martinez at the bike shop at the Rhizome Collective in East Austin. Way over in East Austin. I didn't get to see it all because I got there after sunset, but what I saw was truly amazing.
The bike shop: an exercise in Liberation Technology
This was where I spent the most time, meeting people, working on my newly bought second (or fifth-) hand bike, truing the wheels, changing a tire, adjusting brakes, and the nastiest task of all, dealing with a ferociously stubborn seatpost that wouldn't come out, then cutting, grinding, and hammering a custom bracket for it. In short, a crash course in nearly every aspect of bike mechanics, top to bottom. Topped off with a cold Shiner Bock beer and cumbias colombianas playing for hours on the stereo.
In the 6 or so hours I was at the bike shop about 20 people came in and out, fixing up bikes, learning how to fix them, preparing for the next Bikes Across Borders bike migration to México.
It took me about thirty minutes or more to ride home, and it was a little chilly...less so thanks to a sharp wool sweater I picked up at the FREE store at Rhizome. I had a quick browse in the book shop and was amazed at the selection, but most of my energies were centered around learning how to tune up my bike. And it's finally tuned up.
This weekend, we are headed to Houston, for a lecture and a workshop with Malidoma Somé, a brilliant and charismatic writer from Burkina Faso, Central Africa, author of "Of Water and the Spirit." Akua Holt, a comrade and Antibalas supporter and radio producer at KPFT Pacifica Radio is organizing the events and put me on to it. More reports later.
Tomorrow will be a long, exciting day.
I arrived last night in Austin, TX, one of my favorite places in America, to a delicious Thanksgiving meal with both dead bird and vegetarian delights aplenty.
Going on was a spirited round of Texas Holdem, a variation on poker. I learned how to play and actually won a few hands, before I lost all my money ($5, playing with 5, 10, and 25 cent chips).
Today I went to a pawn shop and bought a nice old ten speed with a rack on the back for $40. In NYC, the same bike would have been three times as much.
We rode all over, to Barton Springs, a natural spring pool which is currently closed because the adjacent creek is flooding over, up to Waterloo Records, and the original Whole Foods. At dusk, we biked over to the Congress St. bridge and watch the nightly exodus of 1.5 million bats flying out from under the bridge into the night sky over the lower Colorado River.
Tomorrow night is the Ocote Soul Sounds/Grupo Fantasma double bill at the Parish.
Que gocen!
