kayeta

i had dinner at a creole, new orleans style food joint yesterday at the reading terminal market. the food was delicious..and our sweet chef was incredible as well.
his name is kayeta.
he grew up in the ghettos of north philly. there used to be ghettos that were stretch over 10-20 blocks on dauphin-cumberland. the city destoryed everyother block of ghetto and put minisuburb subsidized houses...pushing people, including kayeta, out, making the people weak, less mobilized, and while making the area a more desireable place to live...then kayeta moved where temple campus is now. and experienced being shoved out for the school he will never be able to attend. and then he met a woman (his fathers girlfriends sister) in norristown, married her. and moved to that area. he misses livin in the bulk of the city, so he chooses to work here...making it a daily routine to stop and see his family..where he came from.

kayeta says he is lucky and blessed to live through all these changes, at age 33..many people only get to 25.

a beautiful man. with a rich history.

..compassion

(Compassion is) not a bending toward the underprivilidged from a privilidged position; it is not a reaching out from on high to those who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary, compassion means going directly to those peopl...e and places where suffering is most acute and building a home there."-Henri Nouwen

parallel journeys worlds apart

this is a poem a friend and peace activist Mimi Copp wrote when she traveled to the U.S. Mexico border in Arizona with Christian Peacemaker Teams. I went to see first-hand the migration of people from Central and South America into the U.S., the militarization of the border by the U.S. and the humanitarian crisis of 100s of people dying each year in the deserts, (In 2009, 206 have died.) i thought this was beautiful and wanted to share -blew

~Parallel Journeys Worlds Apart

I am 29 years old.

I am 15 years old.

I am a U.S. citizen.

I am a Mexican citizen.

I came to Douglas, Arizona by plane.

I came to Douglas, Arizona by foot.

I came to learn why people are dying in the deserts of Arizona.

I passed through on my way to find a job.

I packed sunscreen, a hat, a camera, the Bible, a journal, a sleeping bad, band-aids, a rain jacket.

I packed some food, clothes and water.

I chose to come and spend a week of vacation.

I was chosen by my family as the one to make the trek in order to get work.

I was afraid they’d arrest me if I helped an “illegal” migrant.

I was afraid I’d get lost in the desert and die.

I couldn’t be afraid; people are dying.

I couldn’t be afraid; my family is hungry.

My heart is breaking.

My heart is breaking.

I “legally” crossed the border at the Port of Entry in a few minutes.

I “illegally” crossed the border through a barbed wire fence in the middle of the desert.

They look at me and think I’m “legal.” No need to look at my passport.

They look at me and think I’m “illegal.” No need to look at my passport.

I move about freely.

I must hide.

I sprained by ankle during a walk through the desert and couldn’t walk. I rode home in the car.

I must watch every step. If I get injured I might not get out of the desert.

I’m ready to go home and I will.

I’m ready to go home but can’t.

I’m a child of God.

I’m a child of God.