It's hard for me to imagine the schools in SF that are already struggling to lose out on teachers, resources, and small classes.  Is it possible for me to file a lawsuit against the state of California or the Governor for negligent acts towards the youth of San Francisco?  As my friend Max says, "There is a War on Youth."  You have to be blind to not see it.  There are so many kids who are not being parented and the teachers are the only ones teaching them.  Now, the Governor wants to cripple the children more by limiting the already limited resources.  As a teaching artist, this makes me want to scream, shout and file a lawsuit.  Is it possible?  And I know that most professionals and parents don't really see how much teachers work for the kids, but it's time for them to see it.  The teachers are today's heroes.  They are bending over backwards to make sure the children can read, compute, deduct, and reason while teaching them to be respectful, polite, and responsible for their actions.  The teachers are setting important boundaries and teaching the children to be positive citizens of our community.  So why is the governor cutting $113 million?  I fully support the teachers going on strike.  Maybe when the teachers strike, parents and the community will get to see what it takes to teach their child 6 hours a day. 
 
 
As we fly into Haiti, it is apparent that the island has been depleted
of it's natural resources.  Trees and plant life have been uprooted
and the brown hills roll on.  I wondered if we would see any life as
we embarked on our journey.  When we land, we already begin to clown.
We all claim our seats on the Sonje Ayiti bus and we pull of to a
field.  Our luggage is an hour behind, so we decide to wait.  All of
the windows are rolled down in the bus and a little hand pokes through
an opening.  A child who would like some food is trying to engage us.
A pig runs through the field and stops to dig for garbage.  A small
child 50 yards away is doing handstands.  Tim begins to speak to the
child in Creole.  Due to my lack of French and Creole I fall back on a
language I do know: Clown. I pull out my bag of funny glasses and put
them on.  The child smiles.  Soon there are more.  They all are
hungry, but they are laughing and smiling now.  We smile together,
shake hands and make eye contact.  I soon find out that this is the
most important kind of interaction I will have in the next two weeks.

Our first show is going to happen.  I'm remembering my blocking, the
order of the scenes, and sweating.  I'm nervous.  This feels like the
most important show I will ever do.  We pull up alongside a row of
concrete buildings.  Our first orphanage show.  I hope that the
orphanage is in good condition.  I hope that the children are healthy.
 I hope that we can make them laugh.  I just want to be present with
as many of the children as I can.  We walk into a large field covered
in manure with all of our gear.  There are children everywhere.  They
want to help us and hold our hands.  As soon as I step off of the bus,
I have two girls in tow.  Tim, Sarah and I want to make sure that we
are facing the sun and the children are in the shade.  It's a hot day.
 Not a cloud in the sky.  The energy is buzzing.  There are 300 or so
kids at the orphanage, and we will perform for about half.  It seems
like they are happy, but there are just so many of them.  It impacts
me to see them here in this moment.  I get focused and preset my
props.  We start in an empty outdoor hallway out of sight.  Sarah and
I wait anxiously for our cue from Tim,  "Veni Clown!"  We barrel out
into the sun with the trunk.  My heart is beating fast and sweat is
already pouring down my face.  Their little faces get bigger as we get
closer.  They're attentive.  We chase around in circles for the first
time and I'm already out of breath, but they are laughing!  I smile
wide and find moments to connect with individuals in the crowd.  I see
them and they see me.  We really see each other.  Our souls connect.
I take a deep breath and check back in with my partners.  Our show is
going well.  I run back to our "backstage" hallway and put the stilts
on.  As I stand up, the red and black stilt pants lengthen down and
I've grown!  I start to walk towards Sarah with her umbrella and I can
feel the audience.  They are with us and loving it.  As the show ends,
I feel like I don't want it to.  I want it to keep living in this
field with these kids.  Somehow I know it will.  We exit and I sit
down to take it all in.  This was my favorite show I've ever done as
a clown.  I smile to myself.  As I peak out and walk towards the kids
for some one on one interaction, I see Tim already doing his magic and
Sarah is speaking with some of the kids.  I seek out some of the kids
on the outskirts of the crowd.  There's one little guy near me.  His
caretaker says his name is Junior.  I kneel down and he goes for the
nose.  I smile.  He doesn't, but keeps pulling on my nose anyway. He
looks away and holds onto my knees and seems content this way for
awhile.  Another toddler walks up and we connect.  I realize that
there's no other place that I'd rather be.  I pick up Junior and he
seems to like it.  It seems like the kids all take care of each other
and they pick each other up all the time.  They seem to like the
positive physical contact.  The caretakers always have a child in
their arms and one of them is happy to see me with Junior.  We smile
at each other.  Somehow I'm making a small difference in this moment.

I've heard a lot about Lakou and Lakay from Tim and Sarah.  We are
going to see the street boys in Port Au Prince.  I'm not sure what to
expect. This is a running theme for me.  UNICEF is driving us this day
and they pick us up from our hotel.  We drive through a busy arterial
road covered in garbage, vendors and people.  Our driver tells us that
we are going past the market that was once the site for the slave
trades.  We pull into Lakou through a metal door, and kids surround
our truck.  Finally!  I see the first basketball hoop since we've been
in Haiti.  I run and interrupt their game and start to dribble and
shoot.  We already understand each other.  The boys playing ball swarm
me as I dribble.  I love this and so do they!  Eventually, I have to
get my clown gear together.  We teach workshops first.  I'm teaching
juggling with 3 sets of balls and 3 sets of clubs.  I hope that I have
enough.  The boys are in groups of 3 so Sarah, Tim and I take on a
group at a time.  I soon discover that even though there are enough
juggling props for everyone, that they all want what the other has.  I
end up breaking up 5 fights during 1 hour of workshops.  I break them
up physically and then redirect the kids with an activity each time.
It seems to work.  It also seems like fighting is the norm here.  Even
though it feels like a rough workshop, I think that they are
connecting with me.  Boys have large scars on their faces and body,
one of them is mute, and one of them has had a serious eye injury.  I
wonder how many of them have been victims and instigators of violence
and abuse.  Most of them do not have shoes or clothes that fit them
and it's hard to say when they last bathed.  I wonder where they sleep
at night and if they have enough to eat.  It seems though that their
mentors are strong positive people and that they are helping these
boys get on track as much as they can.  They are loving them the best
way they can.  We end up doing our show for a large group that also
includes young men and women.  Most of the young men and women take
vocational classes at this site.  Now, during the show the blacktop
was so hot that when I laid on top of it, it burned the backs of my
bare arms and legs.  I was thinking, "this is so hot, why can't Tim
and Sarah do this doctor bit faster."  Soon it is over and sun is
beating down.  How do the kids stay hydrated all day?   The show goes
well and at the end of it, I find myself surrounded by a group of
boys.  We joke around by making faces.  They try to talk to me in
Creole and I try to understand, but don't.  So we make more faces and
do secret handshakes and play copycat games.  One little boy is
sticking close by.  I start to base the kids for thigh stands.  One
right after the other they jump up onto my legs and we hang onto each
other, hands to wrists.  The little boy that has stayed close takes
his turn.  His feet are bare, callused and burning hot against my
legs.  He's been standing on the blacktop like this all day.  He does
this everyday.  His shirt and shorts are too big for him and are dirty
and falling apart.  He smiles at me and he jumps down.  Another goes,
and then he jumps back up again.  We laugh.  He comes down and I stand
up and look the other direction.  Suddenly, I feel arms grab around my
waist. I look down and there he is staring up at me, eyes wide.  I hug
him back and look into his eyes.  I rub his back and hold back my
tears.  I don't want him to see me cry.  I don't want him to think
that I feel sorry for him.  I just want to love and embrace him in
this moment.  Minutes pass and we let each other go. He holds my hand
and I walk towards the truck.  Dianna is taking pictures.  Another
fight.  I break it up.  Group pictures. Hugging.  Smiling.  Patting.
Laughing.  We load the truck.  I sit down and take a deep breath.
 
First Post! 09/06/2009
 
Haven't blogged in ages, but maybe I'll begin again.