lovenotes
the blog (me. through stories and pictures and videos and poems) |
i my first thought to say to you is i love you. like the rainbow loves the sun i reach for you like turkana heat on boiling days i'm parched and wailing at the sight of you. like moonlight and romance and loneliness i am indelibly defined by you. like falling off a cliff on purpose i'm butterflies in belly, hands outstretched, screaming at the top of my lungs there for this. this is ride-into-the-sunset weather. grab your most comfortable shoes and comfort books, i've got my notebook and a pen, neither one of us knows how to drive and that’s perfect. ii i'm walking down this street. and it's made of ember. and it burns my feet. sunlight glares off the black of my skin. ashy. lips cracked and dry and thirsty. i'm thirsty. I keep walking, unsure of a destination but sure i stop i die. raindrops start to fall. i lift my head and open my mouth gaping. the first drops to reach parched tongue are manna. i must be patient now. leave the lava alone. focus on the water. water is life water is life is life islifeislifeislifeis. iii purgatory is an endless queue. are we in purgatory? iv.
'there are stains from when people look at me,' he says conversationally. 'i'm not afraid or ashamed of the looks,' he continues, 'i don't like how they make me feel.' how do they make you feel? 'like not enough. like changing. dirty and not enough and like i need to change. dirty and not enough and misshapen in my skin. i don't fit. like maybe if this thing changed or that thing changed i would fit. in my skin and also out there. on the streets. where there are pavements and stop signs and so many stories and traffic lights and designated areas. here is where you cross, it's black and white and red all over. red all over. green. green means go, orange means slow, red means stop. stop stop stop. i'm waiting for the light to change. and i'm not ready, no, and now i'm ready and now the light is red again, red again, red all over. i'll just move right here. the beat has dropped again and now it's rising. just in time for the second rising. the light goes green, green means go go go. i lean into the sound of it. and lengthen my strides and smile at the lady passing. is she smiling at me? is she frowning at me? did she see me? do i see her or my own reflection. am i me. is she me. am i her, am i me. what is me. ondi 1.11.22
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so far this winter i've managed not to fall while skating. i am quite proud of myself. i am astounded every time i enter the rink and assume jinxing is real and this time i'll fall but so far i haven't... hazaa! this picture is of me in my man skates. apparently the skates that are white are for the ladies and the ones i was given are for males. i find myself looking at men and women's skates just to verify that something so old-school is real in finland. so far it holds true; all dudes i've seen skating have black skates, and all ladies have white ones and the lady ones are somehow dantier which offends me. if i grew up here best believe i would have demanded the black ones just to be subversive. or better yet asked for my own colour or painted whichever ones i got. being unique is and has always been my saving grace, my armour and a calling signal to all other unique subversives. question to my finnish readers (assuming i have readers,) is this observation true? no one has told me or anything but 'm pretty sure it's true. and is that the case for all of finland or is my pori perspective infecting me here? i would like to assume that unless the reason for the differences is somehow scientific people would have rebelled against these binary boxes at least by now? right? if not in pori then in bigger cities... right? i'm honestly asking. i haven't done any research or asked any questions except for these right here and now. either way, sometime this past week i saw my first lady in black skates and it was nice to not be the only one. i don't think i have the right skating technique which irks me. i hunch my shoulders too much, probably in fear of falling, and my strides could be smoother. i am getting better each day. the five year old is a great teacher. he taught me how to get up when i fall. i fell a lot the first winter to his great amusement and (almost) evil laughter. this second winter (so far) has been my bitch as far as not falling has gone. that's not to say there haven't been any close calls, there have been some near misses for example when the five year old teaches me how to turn gracefully. whatever i was doing before was effective but very far from graceful. the five year old has been my only skating friend. none of the adventurers i have found so far have been keen ice skaters which is fine but i am on the lookout for someone who wants to skate and chat with me. the five year old and i also play catch, he is wicked fast, way faster than me but i'm wily and persistent. he will panic at corners then instead of waiting to be caught just fall on the rink which is genius because if i'm going too fast to break i won't catch him down there; i have absolutely no confidence to bend and touch him unless i am basically standing still. it is quite exciting playing catch with him because he never gives up and is way too fast and doesn't care about falling and i will do anything to remain uncaught include doing those ungraceful turns i mentioned unexpectedly. i got annoyed the other day because as opposed to going to the neighbourhood ice rink the five year old decided we must go to the one in the city centre which requires considerably more effort. once we arrived and had skated for maybe half an hour, he sees this mountain of snow outside the rink collected by trucks clearing snow off the roads and promptly decides he is done skating instead he wants to climb the snow mountain (i say mountain it's a hill at best.) i explain that he can go after we've skated a bit more (a normal skate lasts about two hours for reference.) i did not come all this way to watch him do something he could have done at home. he is resolved and i am pissed (it was a long day.) he spends a half hour on the snow mountain then we head back home. i tell this story to three dudes from pori and they tell me i was in the wrong. a good snow mountain can apparently not be found just anywhere and this one probably had caves and slides and kid-made adventures unique to that particular snow mountain and time and space. i'm glad they shamed me (nicely) for my lack of enthusiasm. i am wiser now and will factor snow mountain time into the equation when considering our future snow adventures. ondi there were four of us. working out the nuts and bolts of a song. drums, bass, guitar, guitar. every experience is different. the song started in my room with my semi-acoustic. in the band practice space i have an electric and the sound hits different when amplified. the songs start with me on the guitar and the drums, then the other guitar comes in. then later the bass and when it feels like the right space i start singing the first chorus. it's called clean. even the naming of a song is a story in itself.
later in the same space same people minus me, same space, three of the same people different instruments (except the guitarist) plus a vocalis, a trumpet player, a bass played, and a saxophone and clarinet player. what a different vibe. storytelling. i dance to their creation happy in a moment. same conversations in the making of the story. how long is this stretch, when do we change, this parts needs something. i liked how that sounds. could you try it this way? gratitude, is creating something new in isolation. revelry is sharing in the creation with someone else, or many people. We can call this a book study if we wanted. Maybe not to the standard of Mr Reid, my A-level English literature teacher, but let's call it a study anyway.
I am a black person, yes? I'm not sure if you knew this, or whether you think it is important that you know. Some days I do not feel black, some days I am just me, and people are just people. Other days I feel the weight of the colour of my skin on my back like a child that isn't mine but I must carry. Other days the weight isn't heavy but sweet like a crate of Tusker (Kenyan beer,) or a ripe, cold water melon. These books for me captured the at once glorious and heavy weight of being in a world that is continuously systematically, endemically, righteously racist. And I love them for it. They made me angry (so angry,) made me cry, made me hopeful, made me proud, gave me perspective. I am not much of a nonfiction reader because the history of the world is fraught with unlearned mistakes. But these authors have taken tragedies specifically related to race and culture and turned them into stories that paint pictures, tell stories, build lives all based on heavy, heartbreaking truths. I prefer it this way, because even if the ending isn't happy, it makes more sense, or rather the author tries to make more sense of it, more beauty; engenders empathy, and perspective, humour, and love. Ondi The article, as translated to me by my Finnish friend Roope, starts like this: ‘Kenyan Cosmopolitan Ondi Madete is a singer-songwriter and a lawyer by education. Now she works as a cleaner at Merikarvia and can’t wait to be back on the stage.’ If I say that I’ve been hesitant to share this article I bet you would be able to tell me why that is. I bet you could tell me the exact word that has made it so instead of sharing it when it came out I took some time to think about it. Here is my step by step thought process: 1. Hey! an article about me in a newspaper in Finland! 2. The article is beautifully written and truthful and captures how I feel and where I’ve been and where I hope to go wonderfully. 3. The pictures are dope. 4. What is the title of the article again? Eeeee… 5. What do I tell people when they ask what the title is? Do I translate the whole thing or just the first part? 6. Why wouldn’t I translate the whole thing? There is no shame in cleaning? Right?... 7. Right?... 8. Right, there is no shame in cleaning. I’m not ashamed of it… but… I’m still hesitant. Why? 9. Maybe I feel like I should be ashamed of it. 10. Since when do you do what people you should? 11. Okay that came out wrong… 12. Since when did what people thought you should feel become what you felt? 13. Since I started looking for a job in Finland and realized I would more often than not be judged by the colour of my skin and last name. And I didn’t want to fall under the umbrella of foreign cleaner. 14. But it’s a job! By the sea! In Summer! And you get to play music! And meet new people! 15. I know! 16. So? 17. So! So I'm an artist right? I mean art is my life. To me, the world only makes sense through art; poetry, stories, films, songs, music... these are the ways I know that I exist, that I feel, that I am. 'I think therefore I am,' doesn't apply to me, as much as 'I create therefore I can be.' For example. While I was getting a law degree; I joined a band, wrote for a magazine, and created, curated and organised Kiota a monthly event of creative sharing among artist in Nairobi. I did not do these things for money. I did it because any way I can consume and create and explore art is worth its weight in experiential gold. 'I create therefore I can be.' For example, I have been the vocalist in three different bands since Yellow Light Machine (the first band.) I did some tracks with Alan Strani which I loved doing because the process of creating with him was organic, and safe and warm and imbued with friendship and good feelings. I also wrote with Rahul who was an activist and loved his girlfriend and wrote song for the earth and to her. I wrote and sung with Todd who had no two songs alike. And played most of the instruments in his album while working a full time job in an NGO somewhere. For example I crowd funded and managed to record and release an EP called Tangawizi after a summer in Italy spent busking, eating, drinking, and rediscovering myself outside of motherhood, and relationships, and work, and expectations. For example I played death and walked around the streets of Spoleto, Italy in black with a scythe. Sometimes with a this epic white dog, sometimes with my friends, in front of cathedrals and in empty squares. Why? Because art! For example, I moved to Finland last September and the first thing I did once I got assimilated was to find places to gig. I was directed to Annis, a historically awesome place and had my first gig to a small crowd. It was awesome. And also my last performance for six months. Moving to Finland has been hard. The hardest part has been being so thoroughly part of a system. I feel like the Finnish system is a blanket that is supposed to keep you warm but the blanket wasn't made for me. Instead I feel cold. Maybe the winter chill seeped into my system. Maybe it's being so far away from the music and creative scene which is like the pulse that keeps my happiness breathing. Maybe it's living in a small town where the population of black people, or people of colour is low enough that every time I see one I smile and wave, and they wave back. I said in the article that it felt racist but really I think it's just the unknown. The same way in a village in Kenya, when they see white people for the first time they shout 'mzungu mzungu!' some do the same thing here just not aloud. Not everyone of course. I've made amazing friends here, one lady helped me find this job, as the part time cleaner; the couple who own Merry Monk where I will be working, gave me a chance because I went to the interview with an ukulele and played them a song; because of a video you can find on the Merry Monk facebook page, a lady from a newspaper called and she wrote this article about me because of the stories I tell. I tell stories because of my art, my curiosity. The point of all this is to show you, but really myself, that I am more than a system, more than a number, more than a job application. I am an artist. Yes, I am part of a system, and more often than not I hate it, but ironically that hate is also fodder for my creativity; so i can't hate it that much. And this summer I'm to be a part time cleaner, and I am not ashamed. I refuse to let the system make me feel ashamed. I still feel like I should be. I still pause before I tell people. And sometimes I don't tell them at all. Because the society I comes from says there is a place for cleaners, and there is a place for musicians, and doctors, and plumbers, and drivers, and guards, and firepeople (fuck the patriarchy!) And society is wrong. In the end the barriers we create saying one is more one is less is based around money, and class, and expectation. In the end we are all people, born from the wombs of our mothers and turned to dust when our time comes. The womb and the dust don't care that I'm a cleaner. They care that I live. And I'd like to think they wouldn't want me to feel shame. I am an immigrant, East African, black, female cleaner living in small town in Finland. I know how it looks and I don't care. Because everything is beautiful through the lens of art. The way it should be anyway. And I never want to take for granted the gift of that perspective; because whether I am cleaning, studying law, creating music, making videos, writing articles, teaching, or being a mom I am experiencing the world in all its wonder through the eyes of an artist. No system will ever take that away from me... I hope... hehe Since the pandemic lockdown started, I've been doing a series called #lovenoteforthesadgirlinthejeancoat or #lovenote. Also a blog. It is the one of the ways I have remained sane. I explore lenses, and emotions, and perspectives, and landscapes and people. Creativity is my medicine, my meditation, my safe space. I create to make sense of the world and I share it to connect. Ondi 5.13.2021 i've taken a variety of self-portraits in different spaces in the past year. here are the ones i've found in no particular order.
behold!
where before there once stood an ordinary human, with two arms and legs, normal sized hands and torso... now there stands a behemoth. not those socks! the cold will get you! definitely not those shoes, are you mad?! and your stocking thingies (they have another name for them.) like a good cake or lasagna you must think about the layers. waterproof trousers next if you have them, if you don't, layer. vest, then inner shirt, then outer shirt, then sweater, then coat ha! not that coat, nope not that one either, can you bend your arms? no? perfect, that's the one. now scarf, now hat, now headphones (music will save your ears and heart.) and finally gloves. do you have the inner gloves? and the outer gloves? good, now your fingers will only freeze a little, now take them off again. look at your feet, unless you want to try and put your shoes on wit those... no? not those shoes! do you want to freeze? don't look at the teenagers, with their bare ankles and stockinged feet. assume the snow is to you what the sun is to a vampire. ah sun... remember sun? yes those ones should be fine. now brace yourself and open the door. don't want to go anymore? yeah me neither. ondi |
ondi is a musician, artist, writer, teacher, lawyer mother, filmmaker, photographer and general creative soul. she loves sharing and exploring creative expression. |