Majestic: The Visitor, the film

Haaz Sleiman, Lebanese actor who played
the role of the djembe teacher,
  Tarek, a total charmer!

I just watched the 2007 film, "The Visitor." All I could do was scribble down immediate thoughts.

Flippin awesome djembe.
Syrian man + Senegalese woman + uptight, depressed professor.
Depression awakens into purpose.
Epiphany.
Freedom.
New York City scenes.
Staten Island Ferry.
Beautiful women.
Charming men.
Stellar writing, acting, and editing.
Walter. There could be no other name.
International economics in the classroom and on the streets.
Twist on academics.
Falafel.
This movie comes to me thanks to a friend who loaned it to me last year saying, "I think you'll like this." (This has happened to me several times lately.)
I finally saw it and she was right, I loved it!
Remembering the time I, while driving our family minivan with the family in tow, mistakenly blew a cop stop while approaching the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and we were pulled over by NYPD.
It was early morning raining, we were sad to leave the family, I seriously did not see the security check point.
We were treated like crap. They made us turn over our vacation video film.
Remembering how I was thankful we weren't Arab, knowing we'd be screwed. We put on our full Minnesota and were OK.
(Later, NYPD sisters, LG and Vivian would tell me that the "bridges and tunnels" section of NYPD have an inferiority complex and that's why they treated us harshly.)
Weird this is all coming up while my family is in NYC. (Our tunnel incident happened in about 2003 or so. Post 911 when everyone was newly crazy looking for terrorists.)
Back to the movie.
Liberty, Statue of Liberty.
Skim milk and red wine.
Subway. Lots of subway.
Love. A love story.
New glasses. Seeing anew.
Insanity of detention.
Tarek.
Music.
"She's so black," said the Syrian mother.
Central Park.
Majestic.
Remembering when Bob and I attended a citizenship ceremony for a friend from Egypt. We all cried when they played that song, "And I'm proud to say I'm American, where at least I know I'm free."
Our friend didn't want other internationals to know she got her citizenship because she didn't want them to feel bad for their own situation.
She had to explain to us how important it was to not make a big deal out of it or even mention it.
Pretend.
Acne.
Equilibrium. They needed each other. There  was no charity.
"It's kind of exciting not to know."
"I think that happens a lot in New York."
Economics.
Queens. Dreary.
Power and the powerless.
Who is the visitor?
Ice.
Cold. Cold hearted. Cold stone. Stoned human beings.
Blue eyes.
Deportation = death.
"That's all the information that I have."
Hardened heart feels something.
Courage.
Intimacy.
"You forget.You think that you really belong."
Did I say flippen awesome djembe?
Broadway Lafayette. I used to pass through here twice a day.
Not enough Tarek. Haaz Sleiman is an incredible actor.
Cambodian hammered dulcimer. Remembering this exact instrument with Mr. Bun and Cambodian choir at  Christ Church in St. Paul.
Richard Jenkins. Incredible character actor. Nominated for 2009 Academy Award for this role.
Female lead, Danai Gurira, was born in Grinnell, Iowa, to parents from Zimbabwe. Went to Macalester in St. Paul (love that school) and got her MFA at New York University. (Just cool, all the connections.)
I wanted it to end happily.
I wouldn't have cared if it was simple and cliche.
I hope you'll watch it. Here's the trailer:

Sisterhood of the Fresh Meat

Time travel is possible because the kids and I went to Africa last night.

A late night e-mail about Robert's heart inspired us into an impromptu trip to St. Paul. Apparently, Robert, 19, was at his Friday night soccer game and his heart stopped for no good reason. CPR. Ambulance. Induced coma. Scary.

Robert's mother is our dear sister friend, Margaret, who saved us when Bob's liver failed. We lived down the hall from each other at seminary. The 11 pm idea of going to St. Paul made the kids giddy. Aidan's been google-earthing the seminary for 2 years now. Begging to go, just to play on the playground with whoever might be there. And that's exactly what he did. Aidan's glory.

Not knowing if we would even see Margaret and Robert (who's father is now studying in Germany), we just got in the car and drove 4 hours due north to the hospital. The information desk guy didn't have to look up Robert's room when we asked for it because he knew it by heart. So many visitors. The East African stereotype of rich community is true in the Twin Cities. They are tight. When something happens, they all come. No one is ever left alone. And so Robert had "droves" of visitors as the nurse put it.

We didn't plan it this way, but the kids and I ended up crashing at Margaret's place. In a way we took our turn in the vigil of accompaniment. Again, total heaven as the apartment is very familiar. Happy. Playground. Lots-o-kids. I'm doing the dishes. There's a big blob of red meat in the refrigerator and Margaret is worried about it going bad. It's her share of the annual goat kill and with the heart-stopping thing, she just couldn't get to it.

Faith and Eve are there, also Kenyan PhD students. (Faith is Tanzanian, but from the border so it counts.) Margaret needs to eat and sleep badly. But she won't eat alone. And she won't eat leftovers. She instructs us on how to prepare fresh tilapia masala stir fry, which tastes out of this world. I sit silent as the African women coax my white-food eating kids to eat the fish. I can't believe it that Aidan actually likes it. Clean up the cooking. Get out the huge bag-o-red meat which covers a large garbage bag spread upon the table. We are trimming the fat and cutting into small pieces so it can be frozen in zip lock bags. Meat for the winter. Grissel under my fingernails; sinew entwined in my rings.

I am useless, mostly, as I cannot seem to cut through the fat. Eve and Faith have ten bags-o-meat and I am still hacking away at my second small piece.

"Give it to me," Eve says very kindly. I am in Africa, but I am definitely not African.

As we cut up the freshly butchered goat, we talk about women's rights and lack-thereof. My kids are totally content as they read their books nearby. Faith and Eve are both pastors and recount incidents how their position as religious leader have been discounted in their own countries. They imagined it would be so much more progressive in the U.S. of A., but no. What's happening to the women's movement here in the U.S., they ask? No one is speaking up for women here, and this is America, they say.

I think women here are just too tired, I offer as explanation.

I am curious about how they would restart the women's movement in the U.S.A. What would they recommend? I want to ask this question, but I am too tired. It is almost midnight and we are still cleaning up blood that dripped inside the refrigerator. We are all pleased that Margaret is sleeping. The East African community takes turns staying with her and it looks like me and the kids are taking this shift. Faith and Eve go back to their apartments, kids, and husbands.

Me and the kids could have easily time warped back to the seminary life. We could want to go to Africa. But no, we need to return to Iowa because our life it there, it is full, and we've got things to do here. I wish I could live in a way so that I am just present where I am, instead of thinking about what could be. Seminary was not *that* great when we were there -- and yet by now it has reached rockstar status.

We walk into the hospital family room and the circle of African's are so happy to see us. Hugs, kisses, and hand shakes for the ones we've never met before. How are you?! How's Bob?! How's Iowa?! How's your church?! We will come to visit. We hear stories of growing up with one father and 11 mothers who all speak different languages. Whenever someone new enters the room, they walk around the entire circle to greet each person individually. Even Aidan and Amanda have learned this; in this crowd anyway. I'll tell you about the bowl of grasshoppers later. No, it's not popcorn; and it's not funny.

One day, when we have moved away from Des Moines we will say how fabulous it was when we lived in Des Moines. And we'll wish we were there. We'll list all the sights that we want to revisit. We'll think of all the people we want to see again. We'll drive all over the city to find food at our favorite eateries.

Looks like Robert will be OK. Thank God. Somebody else will sleep with Margaret tonight. We're back in Iowa and I've got a ton-o-things to do tomorrow.

Thanks so much for coming over to the Charmer Blog. So nice to have you here, now, in the real.

With love, T