Big Maya and the Jinx

In the first week of classes while we were talking about cultural appropriation and the habit colonizers have of naming other people's stuff after themselves, the class decided that we should name something iconic in London after ourselves. Someone proposed that Big Ben should henceforth be called "Big Maya" and that kind of stuck. Every now and then there'll be a reference to "Big Maya" in someone's homework when I'm grading after a long day to bring me a chuckle.

This particular class has been a delight. They handmade me a Mother's Day card. They quote in loco parentis at me. They've taken to posting candid guerrilla pictures of me on the group chat with entertaining observations. All the graduating students have said how happy they are that their last class is with me.

I was just thinking I was so lucky when--at the very next sightseeing stop--I got yelled at. Talk about jinxes. I was so surprised, I started crying (behind my sunglasses, luckily). I excused myself for a while, reminded myself that I was a Big Maya, that the young person was responding from fear, and that this is part of being in loco parentis too. All good now. 

Pic: Long bus tour today to visit Stonehenge (here), Bath, the Cotswolds, and Stratford-upon-Avon.

Marx or... Lennon

Happy Mother's Day! Mine started with a phone call to my mom and finished up with a long phone call with At. Texts, reminiscences, and photos through the day and the promise of a proper celebration when (if) I get back.

A walking tour of Karl Marx sites with some students in the morning. I was joking that we should guess if the groups gathering at the meeting point were there for the Marx tour or the Beatles tour. And clever AB ad libbed that we could call the game "Marx or Lennon." (Said like "Lenin.") I almost died laughing.

A visit to Shakespeare's Globe later in the afternoon where they staged Romeo and Juliet as a western... and it worked so well! In the scene where Capulet threatens Juliet (Act 3, Scene 5), he brandished his gun on his daughter and wife and it was such a great accessorial representation of his toxic patriarchy. There was an awesome moment of chemistry between Mercutio and one bright-eyed, curly-headed member of the audience we were all buzzing about in the interval as well.

Pic: The view from our seats. Mercutio did unspeakable things to the pillar we had to imagine from the look on everyone else's faces.

tea and ceasefire

Pic: A proper afternoon tea at The Orangery in Kensington Palace. Our day of indulgence!

And a good day to revisit the wonder of how the world has only two words for tea: Tea if by Sea, Cha if by Land.

Back home in Michigan, the morels are up. I want to tell Summer to hold back until I get back.

Feeling a bit lighter as we're are halfway through our trip and the countdown to home is ON.

And when I called my mom for Mother's Day, I heard India and Pak have a ceasefire! I'm so relieved!!

"Facts Tell; Stories Sell"

I'm a bit of a ninny when it comes to navigating my way on the Tube and around London. I'm so thankful for the students who have the knack for it and help seamlessly. 

But today was one of our days to head to Oxford, and I know my way around that city SO well. We had our lecture in a seminar room at Pitt Rivers Museum, which a student aptly called "hodgepodge museum." I mean there are cases generically titled "the human form in art" stuffed with artifacts from disparate eras and areas. Our lecture was with the wonderful Will Allen who gave us the nugget that is today's post title. When advising people on immigration data, he said he always tries to give them a story to take away. 

I had to do a fair amount of in loco parentis-ing today and hope it was helpful. Later, I snoozed off on the bus to students good-naturedly arguing about video games and then dreamt about them. In my dream they were racing each other down the sidewalk and laughing hard and my father watching them from the other side of the street with me, asked me in the indulgent, tender way he has if these were my kids. I guess they are.

Pic: Our class on the steps of the Sheldonian Theater. It is the center of Oxford (and where my diploma ceremony took place!) but the building is important to our class for another reason. It is where Chimamanda Adichie's deservedly viral talk The Danger of a Single Story was recorded.

Multicultural Metropole

Our class went to Metropolitan University for a talk with Sunny Singh today. I had the same soft argument with Sunny as I've previously had with Big A. Sunny and Big A think Ta-Nehisi Coates is being lionized for "doing the bare minimum in speaking out against genocide" while I'm grateful that when so many continue to be silent, he's using his platform and risking his career. 

If I'm all cosmopolitanism this and kumbaya that, Sunny leads with a reckoning of "enslavement, colonialism, and genocide." She was dropping truth bombs and later I had to check in with students who were visibly upset and trembling. One of them said that it just hit them that their taxes would always fund genocides they didn't believe in. Devastating. 

Later a nice meander through Altab Ali Park, Bangladeshi Brick Lane, and Spitalfields Market to round off our morning of multicultural London. 

Pic: A bonus song at the end of Six, when the cast encouraged us to take pictures. It's a weird energy to check out a musical when you're homesick and worried about so many things in the world. But also, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself while stranded halfway across the world, doing my job like everything is normal. It's my mom's birthday and I had a nice chat with her--can't say it helped my homesickness or my worry. 

Elgin Marbles and Radcliffe Lines

Pic: With the British Museum dome above us. We talk a lot of trash about The British Museum and their culture of "taking" and "borrowing." But when we're actually there at the museum, the dominant feeling is awe for the sheer wealth of human accomplishment on display.

Choice quotes: "No matter where you're from, you'll feel at home in the British Museum because there will be stuff from your home country there." Ha. 

"You mean to say he just took the stuff from the ancient Greeks and then named it after himself?!" Cf. Elgin

And I can't help thinking how the India-Pakistan discord is the legacy of British misrule, mismanagement, and drawing hasty borderlines. 

"Come What May, We're Here to Stay"

Afternoon lectures today at the University of London via colleagues River Baars and Lola Olufemi. River's lecture was about British Asian Youth Movements (AYMs), and as promised, they "seamlessly" integrated the supreme court decision about Palestine and the biological definition of woman into their lecture. Students were blown away by Lola's radical revisioning of time and multidirectionality. "I feel like my brain grew three sizes," I heard someone comment.

In our morning session we connected the cosmopolitan threads linking a bunch of stuff from Eddy Grant's dancehall hit "Electric Avenue" and the Brixton Uprising to Stokley Carmichael/Kwame Ture sparking the Black resistance in the UK. The cross-cultural solidarities amongst everyone "politically black" in the UK is particularly heartening with British Asian Youth Movements supporting everything from Black Lives Matter to the Bradford 12. Today's post title is one their lasting slogans. But I like the one they borrowed from The Children of Soweto too: Don't Mourn; Organize!" I know that'll play in my head the next time I'm worried about the world.

Pic: A mural at the top of our street with the words "No child should be a part of war. Ever." I expected to get homesick and sad next week, but I'm--inexplicably--already there. AND after I wrote that, I found out from a text DV sent me just now that India and Pakistan are at war. I called my family, and they tried to calm me by saying the south is usually safer. But also that they're having "mock drills" today to prepare. It all feels so surreal.