College Track Speaks! Vol. 5 CafĂŠ Cultura Community Speaks Project #43 Youth in Telling Our Stories Program
College Track Speaks! Vol. 5 Copyright Š 2017 by Youth in Telling Our Stories Program All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
To the dedicated and brilliant students in our class: Draw strength from your roots to overcome any obstacle. Become the leaders we need! #CafeCultura #XpressYourself #TellingOurStories
Acknowledgments Thank you to College Track staff for your support as we work collectively to encourage your students to see the power of their voice. Special thank you to the participants for speaking your truth. Remember: “It’s our responsibility and choice to express ourselves and lift our voice, together building unity, leaders in our community. This is how we tell our stooorrrryyyy!”
Foreword It was our honor to partner with College Track for a four day intensive version of Café Cultura’s “Telling Our Stories” spoken word/poetry class. Participants shared incredible insight in analyzing poetry and various societal issues. They wrote powerful spoken word to represent their strength, struggles, and successes. This fifth collection of poetry from College Track continues in the tradition of Rangeview High School students using their voice to show what is possible. We look forward to staying connected, as they develop into the leaders we need. Enjoy and share their words! For those who do not know about our organization: Café Cultura is an award-winning arts, culture, and youth development organization in Denver that promotes unity and healing among Indigenous peoples through creative expression while empowering youth to find their voice, reclaim oral and written traditions, and become leaders in their communities. Café Cultura has been providing positive, creative, and engaging community spaces for the Denver metropolitan area for more than ten years. After the passing of respected elder and veteran poet Abelardo “Lalo” Delgado, we accepted responsibility to continue using our oral and written traditions to provide opportunities for creative expression often not offered in schools or in the larger community. Café Cultura also drew inspiration from the movement connecting Indigenous people from throughout the Americas. We use creative expression to unify people representing southern Indigenous nations, known by terms such as “Chicana/o” and “Latina/o,” with those Natives of northern nations, referred to as “American Indian” or “Native American.” Café Cultura hosts one of the best open mic venues in the Denver metropolitan area, and the only space focused on family and
youth. We also conduct highly engaging and culturally relevant spoken word/poetry workshops for underserved youth throughout Colorado. CafĂŠ Cultura partners with select organizations and schools to facilitate an intensive workshop series, publish youth poetry, and organize participant showcases. In an effort to develop young leaders within our community, we also coordinate a youth leadership program for Indigenous youth. If you or your organization is interested in collaborating, feel free to contact us. For more information about our open mic events, workshops, youth leadership program, and other programs: www.cafecultura.org info@cafecultura.org 720-394-6589
Table of Contents Our Mountains by Miriam ....................................................................1 Not Just A Look by Beimnet ...............................................................4 Here and There by Jacky .......................................................................5 Daughter of Ethiopia by Betty .............................................................7 Creations of Our Hands by Nathalie ..................................................9 Hella Black, Hella Proud by Vaniesha ............................................. 11 Dreams by Miriam .............................................................................. 13 Desta Over the Dreams of Others by Beimnet .............................. 15 Community by Jacky........................................................................... 17 My Meskel by Betty ............................................................................ 18 Mis Huaraches by Miriam .................................................................. 19 Diving into Life by Jacky ................................................................... 21
Our Mountains by Miriam The path was long. You survived the uneven path, the knots in your stomach, and even the bloodthirsty bugs. But now, you are here at the foot of the mountain. You look to the top, as you swallow the doubt in the back of your throat. It is the moment you have been waiting for, you are growing up. You tighten the laces on your boots y te pones las pilas. You take your first steps, no big deal. It is only your freshman year of high school. You keep climbing. Soon you discover that the journey is rocky. You realize that nobody you know has gone on this journey before. There is nobody here to show you which rocks to step on. Yet you keep climbing, finding your own path because this is your life and you want this future. The rocks under your feet are loose. Just when you think you are doing fine,
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you step on a faulty rock and slip. See, it is a game you have to play. You have to find out which rocks are good and which ones are not. You might think that you are making the right choice in the moment. But that choice comes back to bite you in the butt and now you are behind everyone else. You reach up with hopes that you will find a steady rock, so you can pull yourself back up But all you get is a fist full of dirt, discrimination, oppression, and marginalization. You think to yourself, “Why am I doing this right now?� You might even think about giving up. Just then, a hand reaches down to you and pulls you up. It is the loving hand of those who know your struggles and want to help you succeed. Once you balance yourself, you look around and you notice you are already halfway to the top. Your heart beats with joy, knowing that at the top your victory cap awaits.
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But you know the fight is not over yet. In fact, the air is getting thinner as you rise because the system was created to keep those like you at the bottom. Beautiful flowers cannot survive without oxygen. So they try harder and harder to suffocate you the higher you go. But you are a fighter and you know your strong roots will keep you standing. With all the struggles you have endured and obstacles you have overcome, you keep climbing higher and higher. And now, you are at the very top. It is bright because you are closer to the sun, closer to your dreams. As you move your tassel from right to left, you look out and see that the mountain you are standing on is the first one in the mountain range that is your life. Each peak is an accomplishment waiting to happen. You are ready to take on the challenge. You are ready to fight.
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Not Just A Look by Beimnet The pyramids of Giza are more than just triangles. They are not just a tourist attraction. They are not something that were built just to please our eyes. They have a meaning behind them. We still wonder why or how this wonder of the world was built. But little do we know that we are just as wondrous as these amazing structures. Just like the pyramids, we are built a certain way. We are not just made for people to look at us. We all have a deeper meaning, for which some of us are still searching. Just like the pyramids, the question of “why?” and “how?” are still present. And like everything else in the world, we go deeper than we seem.
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Here and There by Jacky I am from neither here nor there. I grew up with the warmth of sopa de fideo but raised with the familiarity of chicken noodle soup. I come from the woman who stepped foot into this melting pot at the age of 22. Borders never defined me. Language redefined me because when you are growing up and overhear whispers telling you and your mother to go back home. But I do not know where home exactly is. Is home the same house that has an infinite amount of bedrooms that retell the childhood stories of seven children, the house that Christmas joy visits every December, even in my absence? Or is home the place in which I grew up, where Spanish and English often clash at the dinner table. Conversations and silence is where
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we find our middle ground. I come from my two homes that have the same music playing early in the morning, the same sun shining through our different bedrooms. I am from both here and there.
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Daughter of Ethiopia by Betty I am the daughter of immigrants. I am legacy of tri-color flag of green, yellow, and red. I am a nation that may not have the fullest stomachs but has always fed its people in love. I am the flesh and bones of my ancestors, carrying the history and culture of more than 80 different tribes and tongues that unite as one. I come from the birthplace of civilization and therefore, I understand that in order to know where we are heading, we must always remember the humble beginnings we came from. I come from the land of 13 months of sunshine, which reminds me that after every and any storm, the sun will always shine again. I come from the birthplace of Christianity where my ancestors built the church of Lalibela by hand. The crucifix-shaped church,
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built brick by brick, reminds me that anything in heaven or here on Earth that is worth beauty and praise takes time. I will always remember the sweet smell of coffee beans roasting and the bitter taste of buna from a jebena. I will always remember the graceful slithers of smoke from an itan and the way the smell of shinkurt sticks to my clothes. I will never forget that I am Ethiopian.
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Creations of Our Hands by Nathalie I am the dirt in between the stones that make up the streets of San Miguel. I am the kids who play on the streets with no shoes on, because we cannot afford to buy shoes and toys at the same time. I am poor, yet beautiful. I am San Miguel, El Salvador. I am the mixture of queso and chicharon that goes in a pupusa. I am made from a Salvadoran mother and a Guatemalan father who came together like a pupusa. I am the smell that lightens up the mood of the people in the kitchen, while I am being made. I am a traditional meal from El Salvador that descended from Maya people. I am a tradition. I am a tradition in my grandmother’s beautiful home. I am a prayer that is said twice a year out loud. I am a Rosario. I am the beautiful wooden beads on a rosary, the main ones that speak a padre nuestro, and for every other bead, I am a Santa Maria madre de dios y a dios te salve Maria llena eres de gracia.
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I am a Rosario. I am valuable and beautiful. I am used twice a year, but worn whenever I want. Yo soy un Rosario. I am the culture in Guatemala. Yo soy la cultura de Guatemala. I am the Maya people of Guatemala. No. I am Guatemala and El Salvador. That is who I am. I am living proof of my ancestors’ art, descended from the Maya people through my great grandmother. My family will always take in hand the culture of our people. Tikal, Guatemala, where one of our huge historical temples is located. It is not just any temple, but one my ancestors built with their bare hands. Tikal, Guatemala, where a home to many Maya had to be abandoned, but not destroyed. The Maya people of Guatemala had to flee from their beautiful home, because other people wanted to create war. The beautiful Maya people nos crearon a nosotros para siempre tenerlos en la sangre. I am the Maya people.
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Hella Black, Hella Proud by Vaniesha I come from the womb of Africa, the motherland that has birthed a thousand nations. I come from the soles of bare feet on dirt roads that chased dreams and mapped villages. I come from the curls that trap and encapsulate whatever comes near so that it will be remembered forever. I am the trials and tribulations my people have endured to experience the life that I live today. Every stretch mark on my body is the path they took to get here and every scar are the obstacles that they have overcame. I am the sun that has kissed every brown and black soul and blessed them with their melanin. I am the scent of coconut, honey, and cocoa beans that fuels my sisters’ black girl magic. I come from handmade pomades that slayed my ancestors nappy edges to sculpt their level of royalty. I come from the bonding sessions of mothers braiding their daughters hair, making the statement that I EXIST AND I AM HERE! I come from the intimate bonding of a black king and a black queen as they procreate the future of revolutionaries. I come from forced turbans and pompadours
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that tried to assimilate and assassinate my people’s beauty. I am a civil rights activist’s wildest dream. I was brought here to challenge the haters and I refuse to back down. I could not care less if my confidence makes you uncomfortable and aggravates your space BECAUSE I AM HELLA BLACK AND I AM HELLA PROUD!!!
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Dreams by Miriam America: the land of opportunity, the land of dreams, or at least that is what they tell you. See, you can have dreams but they will do anything to suck them right out of you because they do not want those who look like you at the top. As far as opportunity goes, everyone has the right to pursue happiness, but not if you do not have papeles. Damn, who knew that your ability to enjoy these unalienable rights depends on a set of documents, leaving behind those who risked their life choking on the dry heat of the desert or were swallowed by the mouth of the great river. In this country, every human has these unalienable rights, except for “illegal aliens.� Damn, I never knew a person could be illegal and the only aliens I know are the little green men that come from outer space. Our skin comes in shades of brown and red and we are from this very same earth.
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If you just took the time to understand us, you would see that we are not so different. I am brown. I am a woman. I am undocumented. Although I am the many identities that your society finds joy in oppressing, I am still human. I have dreams. But every time I take a step on the ladder of success, the winds of your hateful rage try to knock me back down. But I am a guerrera, a fighter con el corazรณn de hierro. With every blow, I become stronger and better. I shed a tear for those before me and those who will come after me. Our struggles built this ladder, and I know one day, we will reach the top together. I stand here today with a dream in my heart. I call on those who live my struggle: Keep your dreams in your hearts. They nourish our souls when hatred has starved them to death. You are not alone El pueblo unido jamรกs serรก vencido!
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Desta Over the Dreams of Others by Beimnet You told yourself that you could not do it, yet here you are, slowly gaining your fame. Ethiopian parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends all telling you that you are smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer, so why would you study music? But no, you chose music, where your heart lays and passion is held. As you like to say, you were “protected,” and “not exposed enough” as a child. You are confused because you feel that everyone might be right when they said do not go into music. You do not know how to change the mindset or the way that you were raised, but little do you know how much you really affect me. You showed me that no matter what people tell me,
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I could prove them wrong, that dreams only become a reality if you push far enough and believe you can. You showed me that I do not have to be a doctor or lawyer to be happy in life, that true happiness is only created from true struggles.
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Community by Jacky I am tired. I am tired of the violence that seems to envelope my community, violence that is heard on the Monday morning news: “Death Investigation in SW Denver.” I am tired of the comments that others must endure in their everyday lives: “Thornton woman receives racist letters, harassed.” I am tired of being told that I will do great things ...in the future. But I want to do great things now. I want to not just talk about it, but be about it. I am tired, but I am not exhausted.
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My Meskel by Betty The cross brings us together as we remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us. We can remember our country and the people he died for. As I look at my meskel, I remember that I am not just a Christian orr just Ethiopian. I am both at the same time, beautifully blended together like the smooth edges and sleek shine of the gold crucifix that I wear proudly above my heart.
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Mis Huaraches by Miriam Huaraches, not wah-rah-chees. Huaraches! No girl, not the Nike shoes. Let me enlighten you with some cultural appreciation, before you drown me with cultural appropriation. Those fake a** huaraches you buy from department stores cannot compare to the huaraches my people make from old tires, leather, and baqueta. They are the huaraches worn by the Tarahumara people who run circles around your track stars, the huaraches woven by the women of the pueblos for brave warriors. They are the huaraches I wear today unapologetically, as you point and laugh. Little do you know, the fool here is you. I come from one of the most beautiful cultures, and I will always be proud of that fact. I come from Jerez, El Pueblo Magico, so magical that the stories my mother and grandmother tell me seem like fairy tales.
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I yearn to know the beauty of my homeland, the place that heard my first tears and witnessed my first smiles. When my mom tells me stories of our town, I cannot help but smile as her face lights up. At times, my eyes shed tears because I crave the warmth of those we left behind. I stand strong, knowing that I am their beacon of hope, aqui del otro lado. I am Jerezana por vida I am like el pipian de la abuelita, made from semilla, chile guajillo, a touch of chocolate, and carne: semilla, the seeds planted by my people, the seeds from where my roots sprouted; a little bit of chocolate to balance the mix, to sweeten my heart; and carne because I am human, de carne y hueso. I am like el pipian de la abuelita, thick and rich with flavor and culture, a recipe passed down from abuelita to madre to hija, the recipe that created me.
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Diving into Life by Jacky As I dive into the challenges, I let the water cool my body from the heat adrenaline brings. Going up for the first breath, my lungs fill with relief. But soon, I am back under, contemplating, debating, to continue or not, to continue as fast as I was. While there is no turning back to fix what I have done, I can improve and be better than the last time. Competition is the pleasure. Improvement is the award. There is such pleasure in your lungs begging for air. When I reach the wall, it is the last.
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