The danger of a Single Story: Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market

The title of these essays (Turtle's Webb: My View From Here) comes from something that did not manifest when I wrote about my working life as a professional artist at Eastern Market.  But the concept of stepping back and looking at things from varied perspectives was part of me then, and it has stayed with me.  For those of you who have followed the writing I did on

"Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market"
http://www.turtleswebbraisinghellateasternmarket.blogspot.com


 I will start this project with a type of manifesto.  Chimamanda Adichie expresses my thoughts better than I ever could.

At one time I was going to be a person that professed history. I studied the history of Africa, the United States of  America, and Europe for six years.  But in the end I came to believe it was a waste of life to argue with those who fundamentally believed in their own cultural superiority and were unable to view me and mine as equally human. 

In 2009, the City of Washington took over from/disenfranchised/stole from the founders of Market 5 Gallery...everything, including the Saturday Arts and Crafts Festival and the Sunday Flea Market at Eastern Market.

While this was happening, I had an enlightening conversation with the city's choice for interim manager, Mr. Barry Margeson.  He stood in the plaza that John Harrod had built and informed me that he knew more folks involved in Eastern Market after his then-three-months of "management" than I did from my eighteen-year tenure as an exhibitor.  It was thus no surprise that within the year his reign began, police officers were being called on a regular basis on the exhibitor community. In my case, not only were police officers called to remove me from my space three times, but a member of his then-management team yelled and cursed at me, witnessed by a Sergeant of the force who had been ordered to remove me.  I did not move, and this member of the City Managements 'team' was subsequently removed from employment at Eastern Market.

Then came the ribbon cutting ceremony for the new monument--Eastern Market, the building.  The city officials et. al. did not mention, note, appreciate or acknowledge the existence of the Market's largest group, the economic power house that is the exhibitor community at Eastern Market. We were Ralph Ellison's "invisible men".  I noted for years that when Ward Six City Council member Tommy Wells deigned to come out to the market on the weekends, he spoke to, acknowledged, and look in the eye only two men.  He failed to understand  that he was seen by the invisible people and his measure was being taken.  Later, in 2010, Mr. Wells assembled a group to advise him on rewriting the law that governs the overall functioning of the Eastern Market complex, including exhibitor operations.  Mr. Wells "group" is composed solely of folk who match Mr. Wells when he gazes in the mirror.  He apparently did not deem "others" qualified  enough to be included in advising him on a law that will directly affect, one of the most (if not the most) diverse groups of exhibitors in the world.  No exhibitor, nor person with any historical knowledge of the exhibitor community was ever consulted by Mr. Wells as an equal part of his 'group'.

I did not want to waste my life arguing with folk who were perhaps, after a millennium of world domination and destruction, psychologically, genetically, emotionally, or spiritually unable to see me and mine as human.  I thought it was a waste of life.  What I am aware of in both Mr. Margeson's and Councilperson Wells' arrogance  is that an inability to acknowledge the "others" humanity, is what made it easy, and still makes it easy today, to put people in the hulls of boats, to sell, mutilate and breed them.

Failing to see a community can negate its existence; it allows people to demean, belittle, ridicule and ultimately destroy it. It is no wonder that a Pope once posed the question, regarding folk in the "new world", 'do they have a soul?'  He did not see them when he looked into the mirror.  It was impossible for him to posit their depth of scientific, economic, and or political knowledge. Those indigenous folk were not and would never be apart of his concept of 'community.'  So the Spaniards laid waste to what they could not see or value. The English, Portuguese, Spanish and...mastered race-based slavery, worked millions to death for profit, and built and destroyed worlds and souls.   The arrogance,oblivious ignorance and the dismissive mentality of Margeson, and Wells proves that this ugliness is still amongst us today. 

 

Ward 6 Councilperson Tommy Wells

Interim Manager of Eastern Market

DC Department of  Real Estate Services
Barry Margeson

However, destruction starts from within, and the best tools are always fear, self-doubt, jealousy and moral cowardice. If the "others" are weak or disorganized or, worse, really believe in their own inferiority,  destruction is assured.  If the "others" fail to value themselves from within their own hearts, minds and souls, again destruction is assured.  If the "other" fails to organize with common goals, to speak and act on those goals in one voice, then... A conundrum of the human condition-Chinua Achebe's -"Things Fall Apart".

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So I had forty-plus years of living under my belt, six years of "higher education", a strict old-fashioned southern Christian upbringing and...the reality of that inauguration day:  "the word made flesh", the role of my family in history.  I had the faith and beliefs instilled in me by a tough woman, who heard and taught me that "the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice." In July of 2009, "Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market" published its first essay, "In Front of the Monument: Eastern Market". In two years I created more than fifty essays.  In them, I took, as my staff and my shield, love.  As they say around my way, "God don't like ugly."  

And today, as I begin this new project (My View From Here) my essays on the exhibitor community at the historic Market 5 Gallery's Arts and Crafts Festival and The Flea Market at Eastern Market are being read in the U.S., Tunisia, El Salvador and Vietnam.  I check the stats on these essays  regularly; the world is reading them. You know the folk around my way are so right: God is good.

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Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market  was...

my grain in the sandstorm of the single story.

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My View from Here:  A First Person Narrative

Turtle's Webb

In 1998, I started traveling and now I realize I have always been on this journey. When I read about Art Smith, the world renowned Modernist Art Jeweler, I remember having that Alex Haley I found you feeling. Popular and independent media can leave one with my plumage feeling and seeming odd, 'unique' , different or just plan old invisible.  Where are you from... Dedonde estas tu...Vous etes de ou...   I tire of 'certain questions, looks, inferences, stares',- when I speak in general or about art, concepts, languages, travel, life etc.

 I am often asked--with scepticism, disbelief, raised eyebrows, shock, or all four--how did YOU do this or that, why are YOU here, how do YOU know that or this fact, where are YOU from...   At the market I wrote it out as part of my artistic statement. Now folk read it and turn to look past me, trying to find who this Sonda person is... (At these looks of astonishment,  I have been know to bare teeth, fang and claw)

I wish these questions only came from one source or one group, but because of the omnipresence of the single story, they have almost become universal.  Years ago I proposed to some friends that we start writing travel essays, because collectively we had been to and lived on almost every continent and spoke many languages.  I argued that our observations of the world and travel etc would turn most travel books on their heads. My View from Here: a first person narrative, is a nod to my teenage years and will be filled with travel, art, literature (and trash novels), music, film and the angst of a mid-career craft artist making a living at shows, online and at markets, with a touch of Spanish and a dash or two of French.  As the spiritual says, "This is my story, this is my song."

"He Dicho"

Sonda

Les bonnes bouffes au Mexique ou Las Comidas alla eran ... Part I

La bouffe. Ya'll la bouffe. 

I used to be fat.  So now when I eat, I pay attention to the calorie count of what I am putting into my body. I also power walk, swim, ice skate and bike to keep me fitting in my hoochie clothes. In the winter ,those ski pants I paid a fortune for are a size 8. 

One would think that exercise could be a challenge when traveling.  Not so, when the countries in question are Ireland, England (I powered into The Tower of London--by accident, naturally, or at least that is my story and I am sticking to it) and, of course, France.

The last time I was in Ireland, in 2004, I did a "bit of hill walking" climbing the Wicklow Way ( a mountain range) and was marched into the ground (I was in my thirties then) by a seventy-year-old who explained as he flew past me that he was part goat.  The aged awaited me a the bottom of the 'hill' with smiles, dentures gleaming, and old-folk patience.  Then we went to the pub; I love a good hot whisky.

Or, I lived in France off and on for almost two years, and brought two bikes, while I was there. I once (by accident, what else) rode into someone's front yard; it was a charming chateau, but for whatever reason, the owners were not pleased to see me.  I call this "real tourism"--you know, the good stuff not recommended in the guide books.  However, in France, let's face it, they put something in the food; one cannot get fat (though it may have something to do with the French sorta starving visitors to death.)  They don't eat between meals, so keeping in shape was not so difficult.  Every now and again I had to cut back on the chocolate and pastries that I ate only on the weekend et les jours ferie. 

Meanwhile, those of us on this side of the Rio Grande have all heard rumors about Mexican food....and those rumors are all true.  La comida alla esta rico.  J'ai mange comment un cochon. Comia como un cerdo embarrasada. I got my eat on.   I was based in Guadalajara in an area called el jardin de arboles.  Encanta mucho esta colonia. I arranged with the language school to be hosted by a local family...and  WOW is all I can say.  My highest compliment when I stay with folks is to say, "I got that Ona and Fatai treatment."  Ona and Fatai are friends from back in the day, and I flopped at their house every weekend for three years when I came into DC to show and sell my work at a local art, crafts, flea and farmers market.  They spoiled me and I loved it.  And this family, the Chavez family, gave me 'the Ona and Fatai" treatment. Do you know, there is really not a word in Spanish that means to overindulge someone? One can not be too spoiled in Latin culture?  My kind of folk.  The house consisted of Ms. Chavez, her daughter Ana, brother Julian, and myself.

Their home was spacious, with four bedrooms and three baths.  The floors were made of marble tiles.  They had an inside fountain and a lovely small back garden.

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inside mi casa en Mexico

Back garden with lime, fig trees and bird of Paradise plant

But let's get right down to it. This is Ti-Ti or Ms. Chavez.  She is la alma de la casa, la jefa and this sista can burn.

First she tested me to see if I was una gringa ou, una estadosuninese, ou una Mexicana pero yo soy de alla yo soy tapatia!  At first she offered me a homemade salsa of chopped tomatoes with a little salt.  I was like, "where is the heat?"   I made her understand that I loved mi comida enchililosa.

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I should preface these pictures by adding that my traveling experiences have always been nontraditional. I neither can afford nor want to stay in a hotel when I voyage.  I travel to learn; I have studied languages, art, metalsmithing, shown my work and volunteered, and I never consider myself a tourist.  There are these old books that speak of the power of breaking bread with other folks-strangers.  These books  (some call them holy texts)  make it clear that this is a sacred undertaking.  I agree. I have been welcomed at many tables, often with folk who had cooked for me as an honored guest even though I was unable to express my gratitude for their gift in their mother tongue.

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So let's talk dirty, Mexican style.  For the breaking of the fast I chowed down on fresh mango, watermelon, and  papaya...as the starter. Desayuno in Mexico comes in at least two courses.  Then maybe chilaquiles o huevos rancheros o torilla, salsa and frijoles, o...  Breakfast was rib sticking. It  was not a piece of bread and coffee a la Francais.  Yo fui llenita cada dia.  I never really got the word for lunch; since it was served at three pm I was usually to hungry to ask.  I was and am a fan of enchiladas, tacos, ceviche, and anything with avocado in it. But there are those dishes that stand out. Don't tell the children, but mi gente in Mexico make a dish with chocolate as the main ingredient.  Let's get nasty.

Pollo con Mole

ingredientes:

1. Pollo en piezas
1/2 cebolla
1 taza de pasta de mole
1 jitomate
3 cucharadas de aceite de oliva
un pizca de sal

Procedimiento:
En una cacerola ponga 4 tazas de agua, el pollo, cebolla y sal por una hora, cuado este listo pongalo, aparte, saque la cebolla, conserve el caldo en la misma cacerola.
Licue el jitomate y frialo en cucharadas de aceite.
Agregue al caldo, el mole y el jitomate dejelo cocinar por 20 minutos a fuego lento, agregue el pollo sin el pellejo y dejelo cocinar otros 15 minutos a fuego lento.

por bebe: Modelo ou Victoria

One does not need a dessert as you are eating chicken with a chocolate sauce.  This a a picture of my plate at the table.

Pollo con mole y frijoles en la casa de Alicia Chavez

Drinking in the Chavez house was all about water or Agua de... something.  Jamaica water, Tamarindo water, Fraises water...oatmeal water? nope, they do make it with oatmeal--not my favorite, but surprisingly mild tasting), you name it.  Whatever the secret ingredient, they crushed it, mixed it with sugar and water, and drank it. My favorite, bar none, was agua de Tamarindo.  What is a tamarindo, you ask?  well...it is a seed thingie, that tastes sorta sour and sweet at the same time sorta like a... well, no.  There is no equivalent that I know of in the States. Check it out.

Agua de Tamarindo

Tamarindo seed/pods

These are just a few of the meals I had a la casa de Senora Chavez.  However en las callas (in the streets) is where the real action is for getting your eat on, Mexican style.  You may know that the authorities of guide books, and administrators at school, suggest that perhaps, if one is from the States, one may not have the stomach for la comida de la calle in Mexico.  But, really, who listens to these folk anyway? I got my eat on again and again and again.   In Tlaquepaque (crafts and arts expensive tourist trap pueblo for Americans) I found this delicious, inexpensive roasted chicken and potato dish and even took a picture before I had eaten it all. (*Please note--Tlaquepaque has excellent arts and crafts, and I went several times, but it really is a tourist trap for Americans.)

 Here are some images of  good eats in ... Tonala.  Tonala is like the Flea Market at Eastern Market, on  crazy. without "the good guys that wear hats" as management.  Imagine that one or two of the more "street wise" vendors had taken over and strung up red lights, disco balls, and shoe sofas mixed with the worst imports; wonderful spicy fresh food; no side walks/walkways;  and all the artists and craft artists stuck in a back corner.  Now make it a hundred times as large as the school yard, with dirt and cobble stone streets where the asphalt is.  Are you getting the picture? No?  Well, then...

The Flea Market at Tonala

                                                               The Flea Market at...
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                                                                  STREET EATS

Fresh coconuts

Those green things are sauteed jalapeno peppers...goody!

Peeling a coconut, old school

It should be noted that many dishes in Mexico are...fried!

But there are salad-like dishes as well if one looks for them. Yummy!

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I grew up with a traditional southern American diet as my background culinary experience. I used to like picked pigs feet with greens and corn bread.  In Baltimore, where I have spent the balance of my life, my mother took us to folk festivals. Hence, I have eaten  somebody's mamma's cooking from Greece to Lithuania, with side trips to the Caribbean, West African peanut stews, Filipino pineapple and roast pig.  And don't get me started on a good hot borscht.  But Mexico had something new for la Sondita. Yeah, I ate 'em.  Tasted just like...

Yes:  crickets or maybe grasshoppers. Hell, I say pass the chili, lime and salt and grab the cat.   These are specialties of Oaxaca called "Chapulines".  Chocolate is also a speciality of Oaxaca. I chomped down on these crunchy treats while waiting for the bus in Tlaquepaque.

But what is food without something to wash it down with?  In Ireland, for me with pub grub comes a hot whisky, or, for the folk, Guinness.  In France avec poulet roti un petit vin blanc.  In Germany French fries with mayonnaise and larger.  But in Mexico did you know that Tequila was a....

Hasta la proxima




Witnessing Joy,
Sonda