Damnit I did it again…the mad Black woman thing...the living up to all stereotypes of a Black woman thing.... the loud aggressive... I don't give a damn what any of you all have to say thing.

As I crossed through customs, security, and walked towards my connecting gate in MY country after being a way for nearly five months, the airport did an AMAZING job making me feel more like a foreigner than a U.S. citizen.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the "I have to pat down your hair", comment. Yes, my natural, kinky, wild, unkempt, untidy, plus every other label one may put on my head of hair. I wanted to reply, “No”, I wanted to cry, I wanted to rip out my hair and scream that "NO I’M NOT HIDING A BOMB IN MY KINKS", but I probably wouldn't be sitting at my gate right now preparing to leave Newark if I had done that. 

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After sharing that I’m going to live in the D.R. for one year, comments from my friends, mentors, family, and community leaders often sounded something like this:

 

“Oh you’re going to enjoy the beaches there.”

“Make sure you bring yourself back a fine Dominican man.”

 “Oh, I’ve been there, I love Punta Cana!”

“You better have a good hook up with one of those EXOTIC Dominicans while you’re there.”

 “Girl, the all-inclusive resorts are AMAZING!”

”Bring me back one of your friend’s older brothers why don’t you.”

“Find yourself a husband.”

 

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I keep having bad dreams…

Or maybe it’s bad thoughts. 

Or maybe it’s bad energy.

Or maybe, I’m having nightmares that have turned into our reality. When I finally begin to digest that my reality has become a nightmare and my nightmares have become reality, no matter how far I runaway from our nation's deep, deep issues, I can’t avoid the change in energy around the world this election has caused.

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Throughout the past five days in Santo Domingo, I have spent nearly 20 hours per day, laughing, smiling, joking, drinking, eating, and celebrating my birthday and the birthday of my little Spelman sister! Shamelessly, becoming desensitized to the realities of this upcoming election. Today, my brain is filled with the beautiful memories of this weekend and the love that I received is still oozing from my pores.  I successfully blocked out the realities of the U.S., as I graciously welcomed my new Dominican Republic friends and family to dinner, brunch, and parties each night this weekend. I know I am truly blessed to find a beautiful group of people in the D.R. who are willing to accept me, care for me, and trust me after only two months. 

 

I believe in divine intervention and trust that God directed my path in order for me to experience this city, at this time in my life, and to leave the U.S., knowing the inconceivable state of our nation. None of the blessings I've received or challenges faced are circumstantial, nor are the challenges the U.S. faces today, on Nov. 7th, as we make our final decisions, and tomorrow as we cast our vote on Election Day.

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There is no denying my love for Spelman College. One of the best decisions that I have ever made was choosing to attend Spelman for some of the the most important four years of a woman’s life. As a new alumna, graduate of the Class of 2016, and someone who was heavily involved on campus, it was nearly promised that I would most definitely be at Homecoming this year.

Those who knew me afar would probably expect me to be at Homecoming encouraging people to get out to vote or signing some pledge to vote on election day, since I gained the rep of a “political addict” during my time at Spelman.

Those who were my friends would probably expect me to be in the middle of someone’s tent, cup in hand, and screaming incorrect lyrics to a song that everyone probably knows but me.

However, my best friends would probably expect me to be doing some odd mix of civic engagement with a turn up cup in hand and networking skills turned up to 1000, because balance is key.

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Someone got hit today… I mean I got hit today… Well, maybe we got hit today. But, then again when getting hit is simply in a day’s work, who would really notice and who would truly care?

While I will eventually rewind and tell you what has brought me to writing this today, I cannot stop questioning what the greater significance or lesson is when you directly see someone get hit or more tragically, get severely injured or die in front of your eyes.

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***This is by NO MEANS a reflection of a personal experience, just simply a really, really bad dream and an over exaggeration of the truth.***

 

Dear “’Super Cultured’, Global Citizen, Help the Needy, Privileged” White Woman,

Upon arriving to country X (insert any country in the world here) with X study abroad group, fellowship, or travel company, one’s typical interaction goes something like this:

Day 1: Everyone seems nice, cordial, and excited about embarking upon a new country/city together. So, translation, ‘everyone is a bit fake’. However, this is permissible in a space that is occupied by 80% white upper class women. Sometimes, the 15% of the super liberal white males often help ease the fake energy, yet can create a more stifling room than when the 5 percenters like me arrive.

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Nearly one year ago, I submitted my application for a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship in the Dominican Republic; hoping, that somehow, in someway, the essay that I composed and narrative I shared would have been enough to compete against the thousands of other applicants. One year later, I have been blessed with the opportunity to leave behind all things I thought I knew about life and living in the U.S., to allow for the beauty, challenges, and narratives of the people of the Dominican Republic to fill my heart, my mind, and my soul.

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