A-TOWN - 3WB Compilation Video Spot

Here is a short video compiled of the trip thus far. It is a compilation music video of some of the new 3WB (3 White Boys) music. We had the oppourtunity to take short clips along the way with the camera I bought in Brussels for Allen’s host father. Now, it is in his possestion and we do not know if we will be able to take shorts with Allen’s POCPCVC (piece of crap peace corp volunteer camera). Enjoy the show. In the future, I’m sure narration will assist in helping you understand some or all of what you are about to watch.

DISCLAIMER: All ideas, sounds, lyrics, and motives, views, or comments, language, things seen, listened to, or assumed, are directly or indirectly indiscriminant. The characters assume no responsibility for their actions, or their words, ideas, sounds, lyrics, and motives, views, or comments, language, things seen, listened to, or assumed, are directly or indirectly indiscriminant. Viewer discretion advised. Not suitable for whites, blacks, Asians, and alike. Small children and grandparents should wear ear muffs. Thank you.

The video will no longer be directly displayed on the blog, so if you wanna check out my wiked stylie, please, don´t hesitate to click,...uh,...here. Or here is fine too I guess. Enjoy.

Cameroon: First Few Days; One World, Two Perspectives.

Day 1, Day 2 - Blake

My arrival in Cameroon was immediately met with the extreme heat and humidity that is Africa. I walked off the plane and found myself sweating profusely, head to toe. I knew once I saw Allen we would be right back where we were the last time I had seen him, nearly 8 months ago. Immediately our conversation flowed. We went through discussion that was engaged at time, while at certain points we spat hyper incoherent thoughts that is the relationship of Abay and Blano. We rode in a taxi into the center of the city of Douala and arrived at a Baptist Mission where we were to stay for one night before we made our way out to the beach. After some tuneage listening, we strolled down the dimly lit street towards this Greek restaurant. Our conversation continued through dinner as the local prostitutes stared us down. They not only stared at us, but they sat inside the restaurant just a few tables away from us. It blew me away that the eatery allowed what was obviously going on to occur within the establishment itself. We continued eating and drinking a few beers as they began throwing little pieces of crumpled up paper as us…at times hitting me in the back or on the head. They would make a kissing/hissing noise in an attempt to get us to look over and acknowledge their presence. We did our best to ignore them. When we finished dinner we walked out of the place as fast as possible and went over to the “rare” grocery store to buy some more Guinness in order to continue the festivities.

When we got back to the hotel, the inspiration was flowing like crazy! We just had an endless stream of ideas that seemed to come out of us with ease. The enthusiasm of what was to come was practically overwhelming. We decided on a few key things that would help us along the way. The recording of certain conversations, mostly the discussion that occurred over a meal, became something that would be an indispensable tool in recollecting our cultural, political, and emotional/spiritual conversations.

Seeing as I haven’t been in the country at this point for more than two days, I have incessant curiosity. I feel as though most of the time I am interviewing Allen, picking his brain for the bottomless amounts of knowledge the last 8 months has given him. He seems to possess certain inquisitiveness, working alongside with his lack of a language barrier (by speaking nearly 7 languages now…could be an exaggeration, but he knows a few trilbal languages, Spanish, English, French, and a bit of Italian), which gives him continuous opportunity to learn random pieces of knowledge about the local culture and politics.

We are now in the costal city of Kribi and we have spent a lot of time talking and continuing with the progression of our ideas. It seems as though we will have little time to just be lazy and sit around. Not to say that we won’t at all, but the drive for accomplishment is definitely alive and kicking.

Photography has become somewhat of a stealth-mode procedure. A lot of the Africans feel that their photo somehow possesses their soul, while others are more than happy to pose for a photo. The ones who do end up posing for me usually try to forth their most distinguished of faces, in an effort to maintain an image of integrity. The children are ecstatic to be shot. This is tied to their deference for ancestry, and a smile will usually make them feel as though they won’t be seen as someone who deserves respectful admiration in the future.

Day 1, Day 2 - Allen

Sitting on the grass at the airport on Monday. Waiting for Blake’s plane to land. A lot of anxiety rushed through me that evening, this was finally it. Blake was coming to the armpit. I was overwhelmed with excitement, but I couldn’t let out a smile until I saw his face. He had missed one flight already, and for some reason I just couldn’t picture him here, with me. The steel bird finally appeared on the horizon. She landed gracefully and made her way towards the gate. I left my seat on the grass and headed for the terminal. I perched myself over a balcony that gave me a clear view of the baggage claim and customs area. Waiting. What will he look like now? People started filing into the area. Then he was there.

“BLAKE!” I yelled. He looked around, not sure where to find me.
“BLAKE!” I yelled again as a smile of relief and excitement lit my face. He saw me, we smiled, and he waved.
Several “hey guys” and “yeeeeahs” were exchanged. We were reunited at last. Time to conquer Cameroon.

We made our way into Douala. Exchanging stories. I don’t think there was a single break in our conversation that entire night. From his arrival at 6:30 pm, till we decided to crash and watch a movie at 4 a.m., we didn’t stop. I felt as though I was releasing an 8-month build up of creativity, things I can only share with Blake, things only Blake can understand. His curiosity is like a magnet. He wants to know all the things that I am learning here. He is quickly grasping the culture. He is a perfect visitor. He doesn’t have any expectations. He lets the picture paint itself; he takes it in as it comes. Just like me.

We didn’t waste much time that first night. After Dib, the random Lebanese guy, decided to bail on us due to “a machine failure” in his “factory,” we went out to dinner. We drank a few beers and admired the whores' ambition of planning some sort of ambush on the two, handsome, young white men. We successfully avoided their attack, although it was tempting to let them go through with it ;)

We proceeded back to our “Baptist mission” hotel room," drank some Guinness and some fine Scotch and began to unleash a Tsunami of good old fashion lyrical art. We are some creative bastards. We really are. From the balcony, to the pool, to the room, we exploded. Words, brilliant words were strewn all about. We spoke in poetry, and we spoke in conversation.

The night flew by, as will the next month. But we are going to make the most of every minute. Or at least every waking minute (Blake is now curled up on the bed, I will soon awake him because I am going to lay down some rap). We are in Kribi now, the tropical paradise of Cameroon. I can hear the waves crashing outside our hotel room. Blake is taking an incredible amount of pictures here, some of which the people aren’t too receptive to. Some Africans have superstitions about having their photos taken, like its taking their soul away. Blake wanted to get pictures of some of the people in the market, but we were turned down by everyone. A couple of aggressive teenagers were willing to let us in exchange for some jewelry, screw that. Once we get to my village, where I know the people, Blake will be able to get some of the more intimate people shots. Until then he will have to continue his super spy action photography and the drive by shooting (riding on the back of the motorcycle, hold the camera by his waste, casually snapping picture after picture of the people we passed).

We are already swamped with ideas. We are creative beasts. Idea after idea popping through our minds. I like his ideas, he likes mine. Two ideas per minute per person. That’s 240 ideas per hour. Can we realize them all? Blake knows we can, I believe we can. Better get busy. Tonight we roll, we lay out some “floetry poetry,” and we record our Cameroonian friend “Alain’s” beautiful voice. The shit we did with him last night was amazing. Overlaying traditional African chants on modern techno/trip hop/funk/electronic music. Truly innovative. Alain was eating this shit up; the expression on his face was one of pure amazement and satisfaction. He was living a dream but he kept his composure. Man, he really kept his composure. A perfect representation of the African peace of mind that is embedded in these people. There is no such thing as self-doubt. The word “confidence” does not exist because there is no such thing as “no confidence.” It’s all natural. Alain made beautiful music, we provided a platform. The new 3WB: incorporating local sounds, on our ALWAYS tight ass beats.

Day 3 - Blake

Yesterday proved to be one of hesitation and fear when it came to being able to get the photos I saw (the composition, or shot I could see without the camera up) as we walked through the city market. The marketplace resembled a medieval bazaar with its structurally unsound construction and overall smell and feel. Each vendor attempting to sell his or her goods, each and every one selling the same thing as 30 others. A lot of the time the similar goods were being sold directly across or next to one another. There is no sense of competition in this world. No sense of doing better than the other. Everyone remains in a state of constant respect for each other’s livelihood, no one individual is more important. The concern for the community is all that concerns these people. Family, brotherhood, and respect seem to dominate their approach to life.

Off to Africa - Lata' London

Let’s see…where to begin. I’ll start with my last night in London. So back when Ben and I found a place to live, in order to celebrate a bit, we went to the hostel bar where I had been staying and enjoyed our first Guinness. Let me just say, it is one of the most delicious beers there is. Just so smooth and tasty…doesn’t get much better than that. So it was only fitting that our last night in our London flat should be capped off with a frosty Guinness. And we did just that. Once again, I was fully satisfied.

We then made our way back to 13 Frithville Gardens, but not before stopping at the liquor store to keep up the festivities. We still had some cleaning to do, so when we got back home, we got to work. Getting our deposit back was top priority, and we did just that. Nice work Benner.

Finally at around 12:00 we finished up with everything that needed to be done, and on top of that, all my packing was done as well. Not a minute left to spare. I then spent the last night with Liz in a room of that house that had been vacant for almost two weeks. Now, just a little info about this room…it’s not really supposed to be open, or used. But, it has a queen size bed. Nuff said I imagine. So, needless to say, I found my way through the window and into the room on a consistent basis.

It was quite nice to have such privacy for the last few weeks of being in London. Couldn’t of asked for anything more. It was really difficulty living with a roommate after not having to endure that for some time. I think the hardest part was the fact that I am a night owl, and Ben, having to work most of the time would crash early. I would be left to sit in the dark silence working on my computer, or watching a movie. It didn’t really lend itself to me being able to call anyone back home past about 10 pm. I got used to it though…but let’s just say I am glad it’s over. When I move back to London, my own room is going to be a huge priority. That is for sure.

So, back to the last night. Liz and I relaxed in bed and started to watch a movie on my computer, when before I knew it, I was out cold, along with Liz. I was exhausted from running around all day, as well as from the crazy amount of work I had been doing the previous two weeks in preparation for not being online and able to work for quite some time. Unfortunately, before I fell asleep, I neglected to set my alarm on my phone. I was supposed to get up at 4 in order to start my trip to the airport for my flight at 7. Thank my lucky stars, for some reason, Liz just ended up waking up at 4 on her own somehow! I would have been screwed had she not, that much is certain.

So now I’m once again running with all my worldly possessions strapped to my back and yanking my arms down. I made it to the bus stop just as my bus was getting there, said an all to fast goodbye to Liz, and I was officially off! Too bad as the bus started to drive away, I realized my smaller backpack (containing my plane tickets, passport, books, and more) was still hanging from Liz’s back. I ran to the front of the bus and some how got the driver to stop! They never stop for anything, but I think he heard the extreme urgency in my voice. Liz ran up to the bus and I got my backpack. Whew! Fuck an a. That would have been miserable had it not worked out. So…I got to the train station after a 30 minute bus ride, and the took the Gatwick Express straight to the airport.

Once I got checked in, I sat down and had a much needed “American” Breakfast. Good shit. Too bad the Brits have no idea what the bacon is. Its more like fried ham. Not bad, but I just miss the thin stripes of fatty bacon. MMMmmm MMMmmm.

I got into Brussels around 11 am and started my trek to the hostel I had reserved a room in. Train, to bus and I was there. It was unfortunately raining like crazy so I stayed inside for the rest of the day. I couldn’t check into my room until around 2, so I sat in the common area and watched a few movies. What I would do without my computer…I might never know.

Once I could actually get into my room, I immediately went to sleep. Early flights out of London don’t lend themselves to being well rested. I slept until about 6 and then I went to the bar and had a hamburger (which seemed to be micro waved on account of the rubberyness of it.) I then started up a conversation with this awesome group of Spanish guys and girls from Barcelona. I showed them some of my artwork and hung out with them for the rest of the night. My Spanish is definitely lacking, to say the least, but after a few days of chilling with them, I was no longer speaking any English. I was quite proud of myself for being able to slip back into the lost ancient knowledge that somehow made its way back to the surface.

At around 11 that night, I went in to my room and crashed for the night…not before setting my alarm for 7:30 the next morning in order to catch my flight on time. I asked a Spanish guy that was also staying in my room if the time was different from London, and he When I got up the following day, I had a sneaking suspicion that is was later than I thought. I asked one of the guys that had shown up while I was sleeping if he had the time, and he informed me that it was 8:30. Shit. Shit shit shit. Luckily I had already packed up the night before if an effort to make my getting up and going smoother.

I booked it out of the room as fast as possible, checked out of the hostel, and made my way onto the metro. I took it one stop and then walked a good ten minutes to the Norde Train Station. I then got onto the airport train and started the so-called 15 minute trek. You can imagine my surprise when the train sat at the last station before the airport for 45 mintues! 45 MINUTES! Are you fucking kidding me! I think not. I watched as the time crawled by and I started to have a bad feeling about everything that was happening. I cannot miss my flight to Africa, this is unacceptable.

Now, normally luck is on my side in situations like this, but today…today was not one of those days. I finally got to the airport, with no more then 30 minutes to spare. I thought I was maybe going to be able to get on the flight. The person who was checking me in, did not feel the same way.

So now I am at customer service getting the wonderful news that the next flight to Yoande is not for another week! A WEEK, ARE YOU KIDDING ME! Come on people! Work with me here! They apparently already had a job and that job was to not let me get on the plane.

After a little swindling and a tear jerking speech, they switched my destination and my ticket. I was now leaving on Monday morning and flying to Dubala, a coastal city of Cameroon. Let’s just say Allen was not very pleased with the news, but what can you do…what can you do.

Looks like I am staying in Brussels. GOD do I HATE rain! It’s just so damn wet. Seeing as a bit of depression had set in, I wasn’t really in the mood to see the city or do any of that tourist crap, I just felt sick that I was still there. I went back to the same hostel, got a room, and went to sleep. Did I mention I hate rain? Yea. I do.

That night I ended up meeting that super chill dude from London named Daniel who ended up being incredibly in to music as well, with very similar taste in what he was listening to currently. A lot of the bands I love, he had CD’s of, and a lot of the time, they were the ones that I did not have. That night I ripped about 40 albums onto my computer and it was then I realized I missed my flight for a reason. The harbored resentment towards the train had miraculously vanished.

The next day it stopped raining and Daniel and I took off to check out the city. I didn’t bring my camera out with me though, it was still a bit misty and I wasn’t necessarily in the mood to do any shooting. I’ll probably regret it later, but as of right now, I am just fine with it.

That night I met some super chill Canadians that had been living and going to school in Ireland. Daniel and I took of to a sweet Spanish bar where I rocked out to some sweet Latin music, and on top of that, some Gloria Estevan. Oh yea, you go Gloria…you go.

We got back later that night and I hung out more with the Spanish kids on their last night. At this point, my Spanish was stronger then it had been in over 5 years. I was really impressed…with myself that is.

In the morning I decided I would go with Daniel to watch the English and France rugby championship. It was in fact the first Rugby game I had ever seen. Good shit. Way better than American football. These guys are hard-core…bleeding all over the place and still playing their asses off.

After the game we shot a few games of pool and then went back to the hostel to call it a night and crash. I was NOT going to miss my plane the next day.
So, now its…now, and I am on the plane on the way to Africa. A few days late, but on my way none the less. AFRICA, you better be ready, cause I don’t know if I am. Here goes nothing.