The Most Beautiful Game

After four very long years the FIFA World Cup has returned, this time to the land of South Africa. The land formerly besieged by apartheid, the land of Nelson Mandela, Stephen Biko, Desmond Tutu, and Lucky Dube. Some people were skeptical of this World Cup’s location in South Africa, centered around the city of Johannesburg, which has been experiencing an outbreak of crime and violence, the same violence that led to roots reggae singer Lucky Dube’s murder a few years ago. Others have said that the attention given to hosting the World Cup has ignored the problems facing the population of disenfranchised South Africans in the country. While the South Africa World Cup has not been without its criticism, I think that ultimately it is helping South Africa more than it is hurting it. I don’t think the now elderly freedom fighter, Nelson Mandela, would endorse anything less.

I have been waiting for this event, the most highly anticipated in the world, since the end of the last one in 2006. The World Cup is like no other sporting event, even the Olympics cannot match the fervor and the attention that this soccer championship garners from all across the globe. Passions run deep, only 32 nations qualify to participate and only 1 will survive to be the champion. Since this World Cup began on June 11th, I’ve had to negotiate between my daily responsibilities as a teacher during the busy end of the school year and with viewing the various matches of football each day by any means necessary. Every spare moment I had would be spent huddled around a computer, listening to the radio, or finding a TV. Now that the school year is finally over, I can hang up the shirt and tie for the rest of the summer, put on one of my soccer jerseys, and enjoy the rest of the tournament on my own time without sneaking away at computers or waiting to see recorded matches back at home. Of course, the last games of the group stages are played simultaneously... now if I could only split myself in two. Thankfully DVR technology is the next best thing.

Soccer, or football as most of the world calls it, is really the world’s universal game. It is remarkably simple and yet at the same time can be played with such complexity and style that it seems beyond our scope. All it requires is something to kick, a bundle of stitched rags will do if a ball cannot be afforded. And although anyone can play the game, young and old, men and women, rich and poor, very few can master it with the grace and technique of those who become professional players. Each of these players have a story, some of the best players often come from poverty, where their one leisure was soccer, and if they are were lucky enough and skilled enough they could become professionals. Professionals who could earn millions of dollars playing on famous club teams and who could one day get the chance to represent their own country on the stage of the World Cup.

In my travels I have seen soccer played wherever I went. In the Italian village of Volturara Irpina and the small Sicilian city of Melilli where parts of my family came from, children would play in paved piazzas in the shadow of an old church and bounce soccer balls down narrow cobblestone streets. Soccer runs in the blood of the Italians, as it does in many other nations of the world. In the streets of Belmont, Port-of-Spain in Trinidad & Tobago, young boys played barefoot on the dirt road in the hills above the city. I can remember standing beside a gate and watching how the neighbor’s chickens would scramble out of the way as skilled feet danced the ball between opponents. In Bigiston, Suriname, young men played on a pitch in front of a primary school beside the Marowijne River. In this village that was part Amerindian Caribs and part African Maroons, a game of soccer was representative of two different cultures and peoples living peacefully and being united by something as simple as a friendly soccer match. That is one reason why it is called the beautiful game. The Brazilians first called it that because of the athleticism and technique involved in playing, but I believe it is also because soccer demonstrates a way of life and culture that no other game can be compared to. Soccer is a culture for all cultures.

The World Cup magnifies all of this and brings it to a fever pitch. Every four years, a number of nations from every populated continent come together in order to compete for the title of Champion of the World. They are the ones who made it through qualification rounds which began a few years ago. Almost every nation on the earth has a team and football association, but only 32 make it to the tournament. Different skin colors, diverse faces, ethnicities, and religions all come together to speak the universal language of football. All of the different team jerseys, with their bright colors, distinct patterns and insignia are emblematic of armies gathered for a military campaign. Fans wear these same uniforms of national pride as their team plays for the glory. Flags, chants, and anthems fill the stadium in support of 11 men playing on the pitch. Players on the national teams may face teammates and friends from their individual club teams who instead represent their home country during the World Cup. Nations may face former enemies, colonial masters, or even current political rivals but somehow the simple game of soccer is a unifying force and all of the differences seem to disappear in the midst of the beautiful game. Soccer cuts down all barriers and focuses the energy into a competition of sport. It is the closest thing one can find to a war, where passions flare and everything is on the line, but there is no bloodshed, there is no destruction. These soccer armies are not created to wage war, but for winning the honor of being the greatest soccer nation in the world. During each game there will ultimately be a winner and a loser, one will advance in triumph while the other team will have to end their journey with dignified acceptance. The players and fans of a national team are deeply embedded in the action and the results, while others may be neutral to some of the games until their own country or favorites become the ones to have a stake in it. Every move is watched, every second could lead to stunning goals being made, or the agony of near misses. Star players could rise, star players could fall. Games may offer edge of the seat, nail-biting action, or slow-paced unimpressive ball passing. Simply put, there is nothing like World Cup.

By the time I have gotten around to writing this, the group stage of the World Cup is nearly over, with the final games of each group being played simultaneously for fair play in determining who will emerge out to the Round of 16. Earlier today the United States advanced from and won their group during the last few minutes of stoppage time added at the end of the match. That one goal made the difference and might ultimately help the U.S. finally have the opportunity to be taken seriously as an international soccer nation. So far, other nations have advanced too, including some of the usual big names like Brazil and Argentina. On the opposite end, other teams have already been eliminated, among them most of the six African nations that qualified for the World Cup. It is rather heartbreaking to see because this is the first World Cup held on African soil and African teams have always been the underdog in comparison to the European and South American giants. A few days ago, the host nation South Africa, who almost had an amazing chance to make it out of the group against all odds, was eliminated. They joined Cameroon, and Nigeria who also had one last chance to make it, and nearly did. The other African teams seem to be joining them soon, all but one, the Black Stars of Ghana. After two successful matches Ghana was at the top of their group, and although they lost their last first-round game against the soccer titan Germany, they were still able to advance out of their group with 2nd place. On their backs, Ghana will be carrying the hopes of all the African continent and the African nations that were eliminated. The strange irony of it all is that Ghana will now have to face the U.S. during the Round of 16 knock-out game. My heart will be torn while watching that match. Yet, I can only imagine the feeling being all the more intense for Ghanaian-Americans, like some of my friends and students, who love both of their nations. The World Cup often overflows with surprises...

I’m looking forward to about two and a half more weeks of World Cup soccer, it all ends on July 11th after a month of competition. Surely there will be disappointments, but there will also be glorious triumphs. Hopefully my allegiance is on the right side, at the right time. I’m looking for something good to come out of the USA vs. Ghana game... though I’m not sure what that should be yet. I’m looking for gli Azzurri, the Italian national team, to live up to their reputation as the defending champion of the world. Finally, I am looking forward to watch some lovely soccer being played by Argentina and other top teams. In the end, may the best and most deserving team win the World Cup title for the most beautiful game. One thing is for certain... it only gets better from here!

Something special will happen in South Africa, and there is no better place for it to happen than this land of struggle and reconciliation. I wonder what Lucky Dube would think. I wonder what Stephen Biko and all those who lost their lives in the struggle against apartheid would think. Different nations, united by one spirit, one culture, one language... the most beautiful game: Soccer, Football, Fútbol, Calcio.

Forza Azzurri! Viva Italia! (... and Ghana, USA and Argentina!),
JAHsh

Legacies

Legacies

Together we sit in different
Corners of the classroom
From different corners of
The earth and its nations
Yet united we have come to
Uproot the grisly tree that
Once bore a strange fruit
And in its place transplant
The lost legacies pulled up
From the Atlantic seafloor
Stolen from the African shore
Of Ghana, of Togo, of Benin
By pirates of the Caribbean
Behind closed doors we have
Discovered the harsh reality
The untold, the unheard of
Forgotten cold case mysteries
Replaced with a history coated
In refined plantation sugarcane
Because it’s easier to swallow
To accept and follow their ways
Forgetting the days of slavery
The shackles and chains of events
Of struggle, of sharecropping
Of segregation and emancipation
Of education and innovation
Rebellion, protest, and progress
While searching for our own voice
As Douglas did, and then DuBois
Truth and hope were muffled by
Noise of nonsense and white lies
But our eyes are now open wide
With a newborn awareness we
Tune into a different frequency
Listening to the musical notes of
Reggae, jazz, rhythm and blues
Reading Angelou and Langston
Hues of color evoked through
The souls of these black folk
In order to give us a memory
Us, the students of lost legacies
Now, known as kings and queens
Knowing we can achieve all things
And carry it back to our corners
Teaching each of our nations about
The African story, the American story
The Human story... Our story

JMC
6/10/10
(c) 2010

Livicated to the students of my African-American History class, 2010.

Revolutionary Life

Revolutionary Life

I’m much more revolutionary than the ordinary
Compare me to a Special Forces unit of military
When situations get hairy like my natty dreads
I still push onward all the way to the very edge

They wonder why I wear the Africa medallion
An Ithiopian style even though I’m mostly Italian
One simple reason, I’m in Selassie’s battalion
And until it’s over, it’s still Babylon I’m battling

I get JAH message across like a BlackBerry might
Or Barry White when a queen comes into sight
I’m not perverted, my eyes just become averted
A natural instinct since Adam and Eve first flirted

I play some reggae music to get through each day
The sounds of Culture, Sizzla, Buju, and Bob Marley
Every singer and deejay help to show the right way
And maybe hip-hop when it’s got something to say

I’m trying to cross back from this side of the Atlantic
I’m frantic to reach Addis Ababa and see the gigantic
Stone stelai of Axum, where civilization had begun
Where the Ark of the Covenant sits in St. Mary of Zion

I teach lessons manifesting from beyond any book
Telling the youths that history requires a second look
I could have been a pirate, robbing them like a crook
But the revolutionary life was the style that I took

JMC
5/31/10
(c) 2010

Thirty Strong

Just a couple of days ago, on May 22nd, I turned 30 years old. That is an age I just had never imagined being when I was younger. Even 5 years ago when I first began to blog, I was right in the middle of my twenties and still never really thought much about it. This last year though it had started to hit me that the Big 3-0 was looming right around the corner, and of course as it is said, "time waits on no one." With my birthday quickly approaching I had created a “20’s Bucket List” in my head to take note of certain things I would have liked to have a last chance of doing before I turned 30. I did in fact achieve some of those more realistic goals, but ultimately in retrospect it didn’t even matter what I did or did not do, because everything shall come in its due season.

I really don’t fuss too much over imaginary boundaries... and time is one of those borderlines, an illusion when the truth be told. Why does turning 30 change anything? Why would it cause any anxiety in my heart? The reason is because we as a society place a value on it, but the value is often overrated. There is no magic spell or sudden change that occurs. Of course we age, but aging is not intrinsically a measure of anything. I have seen fools at ages where we would consider most of them to be “elders” and I have seen remarkable wisdom in the hearts of those we would call “youths”. Biological maturity and mental and spiritual maturity are on different planes of existence. Obviously growing older biologically requires no effort (on the other-hand trying to stay young requires all of one’s effort!) You just can’t fight it, all you can do is accept the fact and make the most of it, and I would say to go further and embrace it. At the same time we can stay “young at heart” and mentally sharp at any age.

It has also been said that “30 is the new 20” and that may be true in a sense because it seems like more and more young adults (20’s and... 30’s?) are in a state of perpetual adolescence. Things have changed, people do not “grow up” as fast, or at least they do not take on the full role of adulthood. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing though. After turning 30 I definitely want to keep a youthful vibe, but at the same time I want to be something greater than before. I want to achieve certain levels in life that a grown man should. Think of the very word, “man”. Doesn’t every young male want that earn that description? What is the measure of a man? For instance, I want to find my wife and start a family of my own, I want to travel the world more, I want to publish some of my works or record some more music, I want to stay progressive in my teaching career. Holding on to yesteryears can seem ideal but it stagnates the mind and keeps us from living our stages of life accordingly. I want to be more of a man than I am now.

I don’t quite know what to expect but I have a whole decade to reflect on being Thirty-Something, after all I’m still fresh in the door and content with being just plain old 30 for now! One thing I do know though is that I am Thirty Strong... 30 years of experience, of growth, of accumulated wisdom. During my twenties I graduated college, I came to truly know JAH, I began my trod in Rastafari, I became closer to my family, I successfully started my career, I fostered my creativity, I have made new friends and new relationships, and so many other things, both good and bad, that I would not change at all. If I paused my life at the age of 20, I would have never reached a certain level, and I would never have received my blessings. I hope my 30’s are twice as nice as my 20’s were. I hope that I still cannot fathom what is in store for me, the same way I couldn’t see past a certain age when I was younger. However this time I have faith in my heart. I know for sure that good things will come my way, and all I have to do is line up and receive it.

I certainly was given a sign of things to come during my Earthstrong this year. I had a great time with my parents and brothers the weekend before when we could all be together and just when I thought I was going to have a rather uneventful passing of my actual birthday, some good friends blessed me with a surprise party to celebrate the occasion... and that was something very special to me (I may not make a fuss over much, but I still need joy!). Both situations showed me that I had love in my life and that is all I need to proceed! Love is the foundation to build upon.

There is a time and place for everything. The time starts now, the place starts here... I’m ready to keep living life to the fullest and receive my birthright! I give thanks and praise to the Most High JAH for my Thirtieth Year! Standing at 30-Strong! That’s my journey thus far...

Bless,
JAHsh

Full Out Mi Tam

Full Out Mi Tam

Now that I can full out mi tam
Mi seh, ever since I full out mi tam
People dem cyan seem to overstand
That I a Zion soulJAH in a foreign land

See how my locks grow
Just so yuh done know
I&I an ambassador
To the King of Kings

Tek mi fi no poppy show
I will go toe to toe
Fighting the wicked
And all of their schemes

Everywhere that I go
People dem want to know
Why I bide up inna
The red gold and greens

Why do they galang so
Turning from friend to foe
Just cause I reject
All their Babylonian dreams

Now that I can full out mi tam
Mi seh, ever since I full out mi tam
People dem cyan seem to overstand
That I a Zion soulJAH in a foreign land

I beat to a different drum
Yes, the Nyahbinghi one
I really don’t care
If they think I a fool

They can go have their fun
Mocking the moon and sun
I don’t have time
I have JAH Works to do

I’m keeping them on the run
With a roar like a mad lion
Flash mi dreadlocks
But I still keep my cool

Never see me with no weapon
Neither a knife nor gun
Life over death
It is the Father’s rule

They want I to be a baldhead man
They want I to be a cleanface man
They just can’t stand to see a Rastaman
A soulJAH marching to the Mama Land

Now that I can full out mi tam
Mi seh, ever since I full out mi tam
People dem cyan seem to overstand
That I a Zion soulJAH in a foreign land

JMC
5/21/10
(c) 2010

My Vineyard

My Vineyard

Every fig to its own fig tree
Every fruit to its own vine
I know that I shall always
Have a place that is mine
From two stems that were
Grafted together by twine
Tended by His loving hands
Two became one, combined
Unto them were three branches
Following the Master’s design
Grown in different directions
Yet all raised by the sunshine
I was ripened in my due season
Aged by the passage of time
Picked in the days of harvest
When I had been redefined
Blessed over by the Son and
Changed like water into wine
Repented and then fermented
So that I could reach my prime
Spreading joy in JAH garden
Helping young shoots to climb
To achieve a sense of purpose
Seeds fertilized by the divine
Someday I too shall blossom
Out from a love intertwined
When I will bear forth fruit
A new variety of my own kind
Planted safely among my roots
Where they shall always find
A home back in my vineyard
In the soil of my bloodline

JMC
5/17/10
(c) 2010

Divine Spark

Divine Spark

I imagine that this is how
It must have been like
In the very beginning
When a radiant divine spark
Came and kindled the dark
Thus bringing forth life...

And so, there we were
Seated like august royalty
As noble kings and queens
Upon our own four thrones
A mighty council speaking
With four separate voices

As hosts of ancient elements
Earth, heat, air and water
Three sons, one daughter
Conjoined by the ether...
The heartbeat, the rhythm
Mystic feature of the cosmos

The appointed time had come
Because in the calm awaited
A maelstrom of poetic words
And waves of inspired sounds
United in celestial power
Held back only by the tongue

Then with every utterance
Brilliance rushed forth
Out from our open mouths
Shooting from four corners
To seek the hidden depths
Of the vast empty universe

This energy meeting and then
Swirling like luminous clouds
Hovering above the expanse
Ripe with light just right
For painting an empty canvas
With strokes of His genius

Each breath as a solar wind
To blow across the surface
Igniting minds and hearts
With eyes blossoming open
Like foliage in the sun
All became one, it was done

This had been the stage show
Where, enveloped in dark
A divine spark ignited the
Atmosphere and made clear
The visages of those who came
To witness this replication

This is how it must have been
The first acts of Creation...

JMC
4/17/10
(c) 2010