The Land of Jomo Kenyatta

Part II.
We are continuing our African Journey across the African Continent, East to West. We land at the Nairobi, Kenya airport from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. (January, 1974).

We check into the Nairobi Hilton. I am excited. Seeing a billboard of Jomo Kenyatta, the Father of the Nation, and people like me in the majority, is empowering. Kenya celebrated its tenth year of freedom and independence from colonial rule last year. Nairobi is one of the two major cities. It has the look and feel of a cosmopolitan city.

We spend our time sight seeing, eating and resting in our hotel. Mr. F. arranges for a tour guide and we see the familiar tourist sites. I will always remember the popular Wild Life Reserve. I took many pictures of the animals. Nairobi's assets are its wild life resources and admirable climate. The city is 1,661 meters above sea level. I enjoy walking on the streets, looking at the people, and walking between the hotel and shops. I feel completely safe. En route to the airport, I leave behind in the taxi the prints I purchased of  the revered first president Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya.

Excerpts from the poem: To "Our Mzee Jomo Kenyatta" By Ommar Nassar

"The father of our land of mountains, rivers and sun
  This land of plenty where once much evil was done
  Where the unity of the masses was one red-hot rod
  This land where the Mau Mau received the blessings of God.
  When the patriots fought to free it to every bit of sand
  That the people should enjoy the fruits of this land.

  Mzee, it was you who proclaimed our first economic war
  To enable every mwananchi to possess just a little more."

Excerpts from the poem, The Sons of Africa by Grace Ndelimiko
"Oh, Africa the continent of my birth,
Time is now here for you to rejoice,
Your sons now stand among men,
Their voices cannot longer be ignored,
Their initials they have carved,
among great names of the world,
Your lamentations are turned to expectations."

We rejoin Yemane, Trixie and little Zehai at the airport in Lagos, Nigeria.  The flight distance from Nairobi to Lagos is 2,368 miles. A beautiful flight day, we fly over Lake Victoria.

On immediate sight, there are mosquito bites all over the faces and arms of Yemane, Trixie and little Zehai. The guys decided we would bypass Lagos since Yemane had spent time there.They are flying back to the United States. I had enough time to deplane and set foot on Nigerian soil and haggle for the purchase of a female head carving in side the airport. So on to Accra, Ghana.

(c) copyright 2015

A Memory: Our Trip to Africa

Part I.  The Land of Sheba

It was a moment of excitement, inward joy, and expectation to land on African soil in Asmara, Ethiopia on the morning of January 2, 1974. As Fred and I deplaned at 5:00 a. m., I felt the chill of the morning air. The sky was blue. I turned to him and said "Thank you for bringing me." His response was "Thank you for coming." It had been a long journey of 6,697 miles which began in Dayton, Ohio on December 31, 1973 with a day stop-over in Rome. Once on the ground, I knelt down and beheld Mother Africa in my hands.

    We were married in the summer of 1972. When Fred's friend, Yemane Tekeste,  invited him to travel home, with him  to Ethiopia, I thought of it as a opportunity for a honeymoon trip since we had not one. The trip would be four weeks with scheduled visits to Asmara, Ethiopia, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Nairobi, Kenya, Lagos, Nigeria, Accra, Ghana, and Monrovia, Liberia. A trip from East Africa to West Africa across the African Continent, approximately 10,000 miles. Fred and Yemane would use the time as a study tour.  Both were working on  a Master's degrees in Economics.

     We eagerly looked forward to our first ride on a 747 Jumbo Jet but this anticipation turned into disappointment at J. F. Kennedy Airport in New York when we learned that a Boeing 707 had been substituted because of the energy crisis. It was my first helicopter ride from Laguardia Airport to JFK.  Through- out the overnight flight from New York to Rome, I sat sandwiched, miserably overheated, between Fred and another passenger. It occurred to me the airplane designer-engineer should receive  the "Pack Em in Award." Observing my fellow flying companions, listening to their different languages, there were some similarities about people that were naturally understandable. Musingly, I thought how wonderful and beautifully diversified the human family.

As the sun was rising over Geneva, Switzerland, I was awakened by a stewardess at 8:20 a.m.
(2:20 a.m. Dayton time) for a continental breakfast. At 9:20 a. m. our plane landed at Rome's Fiumicino Airport after 7 hours and 40 minutes airborne. The temperature in Rome was 8 degrees centigrade and the weather was rainy and cold. The airport was heavily guarded with armed security guards and Military. A Palestinian terrorist attack, December 17th, two weeks earlier, at the airport on the same numbered Pan-AM  flight  as ours, killed two in the Terminal and 30 of the 177 aboard.
The Pan AM jet was taxing for departure. This made me realize  the war between  Israel and Palestinians was real, and  less distant than projected over the television screen.

There was very little passenger activity and no heat at Fiumicino Airport on New Year's Day. Yemane, Pixie, and Zeghai, our Ethiopian friend, his American wife, and seventeen month old son, boarded a bus into the city, passing one of the familiar historical sights, the Coliseum where Christians were once fed to the lions.

We checked into Hotel Bianca. I was apprehensive about the Desk asking to hold our passport.
After several hours of chilly to moderately warm sleep under the bed covers, and relaxation at Hotel Bianca, we embarked onto the dimly lit crowded streets in search of food. Yemane was frequently
stopped and greeted by Ethiopian nationals living and working in Rome. Two such men graciously escorted us to a Delicatessen.

Rome is a a city rich in history. I regretted somewhat our plans necessitated only a stop over.
Regrets were easily assuaged by pleasant memories of my 1967 visit. Plans to spend several days in the city were cancelled earlier due to  delayed receipt of Liberian and Nigerian visas, by two weeks.

 Yemane's bilingualism, the ease in which he communicated in Italian and attended to business transactions, was a source of great comfort, inspiration, and at times amusement, and caused me to reflect distressingly on the inadequacies of my linguistic education. When Yemane was bargaining to convert US currency to Italian lire, his persuasive temperament was part of the ritual. Since the rate of conversion was fluctuating between 400 to 600 lire per US dollar, obviously, the shrewd banker was intent on being victorious. The stalemate was resolved when another banker entered the bidding and an amicable price reached.

Shortly after 10:00 p.m,  Ethiopian Airlines, Boeing 720, Flight # 723 soared into the foggy night. We had been searched thoroughly in the airport before takeoff. Our hand luggage was retained until boarding. Little Zeghai's toy doll radio was closely scrutinized. What a thrill to see competent men of color as pilots. Never flown with a black pilot in the United States

12:40 a.m.  Intermediary stop in Athens, Greece. My intentions to set foot on Greek soil was thwarted. Continuing passengers advised not to deplane because of security. Restlessness and fatigue descended over my entire body. I frequently looked out into the night wondering how much longer. Due to the hazard of flying over Israeli or Palestinian Territory, the pilot takes the desert route to Asmara, extending the flight time. I remember I cancelled my 1967 tour to the  Holy Land because of the Arab-Israeli War.

January 2, 1974. Asmara's temperature was in the 40's when we landed in the early morning hours. Asmara is the capitol Eritrea Province. Processing through Customs was brief and superficial for Fred and I, but much more thorough for Yemane. Painstakingly the Customs officials inspected the contents of each piece of Yemane's luggage. Fred had heard the people loved American t-shirts and we packed as many as we could for gifts.

Along the palm-lined street from the airport, men rode  bicycles,  and women in the distance could be seen brewing the morning kaffa. Two occupants smiling and waving in an approaching English Ford stopped suddenly, turned around and beckoned us to follow. To our surprise it was Mr. Teskeste and twelve year old son, David. Following the happy family reunion of kisses and gift presentations, a breakfast of steak, eggs and zegeni (the National dish) was served. Zegni is a curried stew made of beef, mutton or chicken, served over injera (a special bread made from millet, eaten by hand. Injera reminds me of unleavened American pancakes. Because of the abundant use of berbere (red pepper) I carefully avoided zegeni, served at every meal, because it activated gastric acidity.

Our host is bilingual. He speaks Amharic, other Ethiopian dialects, Italian, and English. The Tekeste
Villa is a six bedroom, two story, Mediterranean design, beige concrete and marble, atop a hill, surrounded by various tropical flora. The mural on the northeast wall depicts historic Ethiopian shrines. The interior marble floors are dazzling. The guard at the Villa gate, any hour day or night, became an accustomed sight. During the day the compound was filled with chatter as construction workers were completing the Servants Quarters and patio.The two house servants did not speak English. They kept busy with their tasks of cooking, cleaning, washing, and ironing. Each day at 2:00 p.m., they brought tea to our room, and shined our shoes overnight.

By noon on January 2nd, the temperature had reached 90 degrees. Ethiopia has high elevation and is close to the equator. Time for a several course leisure lunch of zegeni, meat, vegetables, and wine. I am accustomed to little or no breakfast, a thirty minute lunch consisting of a salad. I usually leave the table overstuffed.  There is a siesta after lunch. The school children come home for lunch and return to classes around 2:00 p.m., the shops and merchants close.

Tour of an Impoverished Community: This must be absolute poverty. I am blinded by tears." Why are you crying?" Fred asks. I am too emotional to answer. "Why aren't you mad at the colonialists?" I remain silent.

Shopping:
Asmara is a shopper's paradise, art, wood carvings, 18 karat gold, silver. Gold purchases are weighed (international gold standard.)

It's chilly in the morning I need a sweater. I am taken shopping. Why are there no prices on these sweaters? I have to bargain. I don't know how to bargain. Furthermore, I didn't know there is a local price, European price, an American price. Americans are seen as rich. Shopping at Gold Market: Outside, I am surrounded by beggars. How can I go in here to shop when there is so much need? " I say to Fred, "give that mother and baby some money." "She didn't ask for anything,"he replies. "Give her some money anyway."

Asmara is a police state. The army is everywhere on the streets. I almost get my camera confiscated, unknowingly taking pictures of the Summer Castle of the Imperial Emperor Haile Selassie. There is tension in the air. No one speaks aloud.

Medical Care: I develop a painful ear ache. I had tubes inserted prior to trip due to fluid imbalances while flying. I am taken to the U.S. Naval Center and treated by a Navy ear doctor.
How nice to be an American! We received recommended immunizations at our local Health Department in Dayton. Re: Malaria  Reality or Western Propaganda? I received my prescription and malaria pills in Dayton. Fred had to be convinced, and so he was by our host.

Status of Women: I get the opportunity to discuss  status of women in our society. Our host values education for his sons, and they are being educated in U,S. and Italy. He values traditional marriage arrangements. Women in the Villa do not go out unattended. Why does this mean me? We are invited to a traditional wedding. The groom seems much older than the bride. They were betrothed  by their parents. She is expected to be a virgin. They meet, the first, time the day before the wedding. It's a very lovely wedding. The priests with ram horns precede the processional. The reception is at a hotel.
I spend a lot of time drinking tea with the women, getting my hair corn rowed, watching US TV reruns. The guys are out studying. I had hoped to visit some  U.S. church missions. Mr. F. gets  lots of sympathy because of you know who. The culture shock is real.

Most people in the world eat goat meat except in the U.S. I see a goat being slaughtered for my dinner. The Italian influence in Ethiopia can be seen in the  architecture, cuisine and language. Many of the dishes served are Italian. Ethiopia was once occupied by Italy's Mussolini.

Going on Holiday: Port City on Red Sea, Massawa. (on coast of Eritrea)
The necessary documents are secured to travel. When our entourage arrived at the airport, on the day of departure, our plane has left. A decision is made to drive. Entering my seat in the back, someone says  "Mrs. F. hide your money, we may run into bandits." I see a lot of crosses on the side of  the highway. I see people on camels. I see women carrying firewood on their backs. I vow to fly back. " I am not riding back in this car!" Woes for Mr. F. and more sympathy. "You are causing an uproar."

 I see the distribution  difficulty to get Foreign Aid to the Provinces when there is a drought or famine. There is no network of highways like U.S. It seems I am in another century. Biblical times. Ethiopia dates back to biblical times. The Coptic Christian Orthodox Church is here. The Falasha Black Jews are here and not recognized by mainline Judaism. The Emperor's symbol is the Lion of Judah. He traces his lineage to King David and Queen Sheba.

Surprise! Our accommodations are at the  U.S. Naval Rest Center on the Red Sea. We have a great time. The weather is beautiful. The Red Sea is strikingly blue. I'm in awe. This is the Red Sea of the Bible. Who would have ever thought I'd see it?  Not even me.

 Time to return to Asmara: Airline travel is arranged for Mr. & Mrs. F. However, when I see the plane landing on a dusty field, looking like a crop duster, I'm sure I have made a mistake.  We arrived safely back in Asmara. Someone says just in time "before the gates to the City are closed."

We are offered the invitation to stay our remaining time in Asmara with our host. I want to continue our trip as planned. I may never get the opportunity to see this part of the world again. The guys agree to meet in Lagos.

Day of  Departure: We thank our host, say goodbye.

At the Airport:
The Mayor of Asmara meets us at the airport. He gives us a parting gift, two lovely Ethiopian carvings. Why is my plane to Addis Ababa not here?  When will my plane come? The answer:
"If it does not come today, it will come tomorrow. If it does not come tomorrow, it will come the following day." Since plane is delayed why not go to eat? Good idea. On return: "Why are our suitcases sitting here on the ground unattended?  Reply: "The plane has come and gone. You were not here. You may be terrorists." Time and timeliness are my cultural bias. I am discovering others, I am also discovering some of Mr. F's cultural biases about about siesta, eating raw meat. Are we the Ugly Americans who expect things to be like they are at home?

Addis Ababa:
We checked in to the Addis  Ababa Hilton.  Fred arranges for a Tour Guide. We spend our time touring, eating, and sleeping. I go shopping.

To be continued.

Post Script:
His Imperial Majesty Emperor Haile Selassie was deposed in a cou d'etat by the military in September 1974 and died in 1975. A Civil War between Eritreia and Ethiopia took place in the 1990s and Mr. F said many of the people we met died in the War including the Artists. Eritrea seceded from Ethiopia and became an independent country. Some of the Falasha Jews have been resettled in Israel.
Mr. Finney later publishes an article, History of Ethiopian Coins and Currency."

(c) copyright 2015

Literary Writings of Frederick Marshall Finney

"The Delta Tractor Driver and Mr. Charlie," short story, North American Review, Vol. 1,  No. 3,          September, 1966.

"Fools Glory," Manilla Black Magazine, 1966.

"Parchman's Corner," short story, North American Review, vol. 22, No 1, January, 1967.

"A Balm In Gilead," play, Confrontation Change/Review, 1976.

"An Old Man's Glory," short story, Confrontation Change/Review, 1976.

"Trouble on the Gandy," Confrontation Change Review, Vol. 2/No 1, Spring 1977.

"Show Me Your Hides," Confrontation Change/Review, Vol. 2 No. 1, Spring 1977.

"Dark Shadows," short story, Confrontation Change/Review, Winter, 1978 pn S.O Himes.

"The Drivers Changeth," short story, unpublished.

"The Breasted Hen," short story, unpublished.

Unlikely Coin Collector

                                                          A Recollection

My mother, Mary Bluford Turner, was an unlikely coin collector. She acquired U.S. coins, not in the sense of an organized systematic hobby but largely as a random finder and saver of coins. When she was a young woman, she developed the habit of saving every old coin she found, Indian head pennies, Barber dimes, Buffalo nickels,  Over the years her collection grew. She traded dollar bills for silver dollars.

She was especially fond of the Peace Silver Dollar. My sister and I were given a Peace Dollar with our birth year on it, and a two dollar bill with the admonition to never spend because "you will never be broke."

 Following her own advice, she was never broke.The Peace Dollar was minted from 1921 to 1928 and then again in 1934 and 1935. It was designed by Anthony de Francisci. It was to memorialize the peace following the Armistice of WWI. On the obverse is Liberty. On the reverse is a perched bald eagle. It was 90% silver and 10% copper.

In her collection was the  Morgan Walking Liberty Silver Dollar, and an 1888 V-Nickel.
Once when a coin dealer drove from Little Rock to Pine Bluff to offer her a quarter for an Indian head penny, she reasoned he would not have come that far for a worthless coin. She refused the offer. She did not understand the fundamentals of grading a coin. Whether the dealer was trying to take advantage of her was never known.

When her brother, James, came home from serving in Europe during WWII, in the Rhineland Campaign, he gave her a box full of European coins. They were coins which had been in circulation and brought home as souvenirs. Mary valued them and kept them alongside her other coins which were in a locked metal box under her bed. They included a 1936 German 3 cent
Reischspenny, a 1930 George IV sixpence (Great Britain), a Republica Peruane Veintiuno 10 Tavos.

Throughout her life she continued to save coins and collected every Kennedy Half Dollar that came her way.
       
When I was about thirteen, I won ten Peace Dollars on the local KOTN Radio Station. My entry was selected. I was elated.

(c) copyright 2014

A Minute of Thought

                     "A minute of thought is worth more than an hour of talk."

                                                          Unknown
Everyone is a poet. I recently came across some minutes of thought I crafted as poetry. The first, Invitation, was inspired by the actions of my cat, Tammy to sit on my lap. The second, An Old Oak Tree, was inspired by a large oak tree in my yard which I could see from a bedroom window.

                                                           Invitation
                                       Meow, meow, and a purr around the leg
                                               an invitation to sit on my lap.
                                         Slowly green eyes meet brown eyes.
                                         Presto! Tammy jumps on my lap.
                                  rolling and wiggling like a little wiggly worm
                                       until sound asleep and snoring aloud.

                                                    An Old Oak Tree
                                               There grew an old oak tree
                                        I could see from my bedroom window,
                                              reaching  towards the sky.
                                              its  bough close to the ground
                                              its trunk sunken in the cold wet snow
                                              on a glistering January day.
                                            So we like this old oak tree live
                                             between earth's cold embrace
                                             and lofty planes of hope and faith
                                                   on this celestial planet.
                                                     But still we live!

                                     
                                           

Charles R. Kilby Retirement- 57 Years of Service to Social Work

When the history of Social Work is written for Dayton and the Miami Valley, Charles R. Kilby will be there.

It is a pleasure to say a few words about my long-time colleague and friend, Charles Roland Kilby.  I worked under him seven years at Day-Mont West Community Mental Health Center and an equal number of years at the Dayton Department of Veterans Affairs Hospital.

When Charles Kilby entered Ohio State University, followed by a Master of Social Work degree at Wayne State, he chose a career path that truly allowed him to make a change in the life of people. He has combined a life-time of service in the profession of social work while taking care of his family.

The profession of social work has certain core values. Among these are service, a belief in social justice, and a belief in the worth and dignity of all human beings which Charles Kilby has aptly displayed.

He has been a "Man for all Seasons" in Social Work. He has been a clinician, administrator, supervisor, mentor and teacher of social work students.

He has made a difference in social policy and program development, administration, leadership, especially in mental health. During his administration as Executive Director of Day-Mont West Community Mental Health Center, he oversaw the writing of a federal grant that brought ten million dollars of mental health services to west Dayton and the western part of Montgomery County. This was the beginning of a new birth
of mental heath services to the community.

 He has served the profession faithfully with dedication and devotion. He worked diligently to secure passage of licensing for social workers, and was key in getting State Representative, C. J. McClin's support.
We now know the decade- long outcome of trying to bring licensure to the state as the State of Ohio Counselor, Social Workers and Marriage and Family Therapy Board.

During those years, we know as the Civil Rights era, and the struggle to bring diversity and inclusiveness in the professional organization,National Association of Social Workers (NASW), Mr. Kilby was there at the National Conference of Social Workers when the African-Americans walked out and founded the National Association of Black Social Workers, (NABSW), and the Welfare Rights Movement of America at Glide Memorial Church, in San Francisco in 1968.

He has always been there when (NASW) needed him and has served on every committee. He is the recipient of the prestigious Social Worker of the Year Award (1976), and the Life-Time Achievement Award, Ohio Chapter, NASW, Region VII.

On behalf of myself, the countless people you served at Day-Mont West, the Department of Veterans Affairs Hospital, those you mentored, supervised---I than you Mr. Kilby. I also thank your family for allowing you to serve. I wish you well in a well-deserved retirement.

Gladys Turner Finney
St. Margaret's Episcopal Church
July 12, 2014

Papa Babe's Clock

"My Grandfather's Clock, a song I sang during my youth in Arkansas, tells a wonderful story of reminiscence (joys and sorrows) of a grandson about his grandfather's clock.
     The first stanza of the lyrics: "My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf;
     So it stood ninety years on the floor.
     It was taller by half than the old man himself,
     Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
     It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
     And was always his treasure and pride,
     But it stopp'd-never to go again
     When the old man died."
     Papa Babe's clock sat idle and uninterrupted for twelve years on top an old humidor in a
bedroom in my house following the death of my mother in 2002. It sat idle and uninterrupted in my parent's house for fifteen years between the death of my father's step-father, whom we affectionately called Papa Babe, and my father's death in 1989.
     The 1807 William L. Gilbert Tambour Style Mantlel Clock was bequeathed to my father. My father brought it to his home in Arkansas after Papa Babe's funeral in Los Angeles. Papa Babe's home was in Compton, California, and so had been the home of the clock.
     To my surprise Papa Babe's 1807 clock is most likely a 1930 clock. The 1807 date which appears on the inside is the patent date and not the manufacturing date.  Like other Tambour Style Mantlel Clocks, it measures nine and a half inches in height and twenty-one and five eights in length. it has a "Bim Bam" strike on the hour and half hour.
     I do not know how long papa Babe owned the clock, when it was purchased, or if it were purchased in Arkansas before he moved to California in the 1940s. The clock was mass produced and its sentimental value exceeds its monetary value. It's a family heirloom to me.
     Papa Babe, born Aaron Shelton, February 17, 1880 in Tamo, Jefferson County, Arkansas died in Los Angeles on January 28, 1974. He was next to the youngest of seven living children of Cap and Caldonia Shelton. Among his siblings were Griffith, Dock, Matthew, Alice, Allen, David, and Lillie. His father was born in March 1840 in Tennessee. His mother, Caldonia, was born in Africa in January 1844.
     His first wife was Miss Eliza Nichols and they had many children. His second wife was my father's mother who called herself "Arned" instead of "Inez Mary" (Williams) Turner. They were married around 1927.
     I remember Papa Babe's annual train visits to Arkansas and my fun-filled summer vacations with him, his wife "Miss Tamer," and her grandson, Earl, and Papa Babe's grandson, John Henry, at 510 West  Plum Street in Compton. ( a white stucco bungalow with an immaculate lawn).
     Papa Babe was quite a dandy. He smoked cigars, was well-dressed, and did not display any gray hair. He was a farmer in Arkansas but went to work for the Pacific Fruit Railroad in California until he retired.
His obituary said he "leaves to mourn, a devoted wife, Mrs Tamer Bolden Shelton whom he married May 2, 1952, 14 children, 32 grandchildren, 69 great grandchildren, and five great-great grandchildren.
     Papa Babe's clock sat silent, and uninterrupted for twenty-seven years not because I had forgotten him. Dr. Timekeeper now has it up and running, (since May 22, 2014) "bonging" every hour and half-hour to great joy and delight
in remembrance of one held dear.
                                                                           

   

(c) copyright 2014